Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Donatello had always felt secure about his role in the team. He's expressed as much. His brothers know this.

Since the moment he learned to walk and talk, his hands had been busy with dismantling and reassembling anything electrical. Toasters, microwaves, the showerhead, several inactive pipes, even the TV one time, (though he was banned from ever touching it since then unless he planned to help Splinter reconnect it to the right HDMI, but that's less relevant) and he's learnt the ins and outs of anything in the numerous homes they've grown up in. He was the problem solver, the one to ease issues with ideas and brilliant creations! He could whip inventions up in a jiffy, everything meticulously planned with little to NO hiccups during the process. He even upgrades DURING upgrades, for pete's sake, awed his brothers constantly with his designs and the advancements he adds to their lives!

Today didn't seem like a very inspiring day.

Today was a much bigger pain to Donnie than usual as he couldn't get his recent technological idea to function how he envisioned. So why was this so difficult to manage? Where did he go wrong?

Beating Shredder should've inspired an entire artillery of tech! Safety rigs and alarms, fortifying the sewer, escape-pods even! But as he sat in his purple chair, shrouded in darkness aside from the string lights emitting soft glows, Donnie's staring himself blind on the wires. If he couldn't even fix this one problem in the upgrade he was adding to his tech-bō, then what even was he good for?

He didn't actually need his tech-bō anymore, seeing that he can harness his own ninpo pretty well, but his tech extends to the ninpo he could control. His brothers were way better at relying on the mystic stuff, more so than himself.

At this point they wouldn't even need him anymore-

Donnie cursed himself inwardly, knowing full well what his brothers would've said if they found out he thought this. Specifically Raphael. Despite all the jokes at his expense, that he's the one to be kicked off the team if they found a new teammate, that he's unfavorable and wished away from them, they clearly didn't mean it. They're brothers. Jokes were common between them, to everyone's expense. He knew this. Of course he did. He always knew, no matter what. Their Hamato Ninpo was a testament of this close and exceedingly strong bond.

And yet..

Despite all his instincts, his second nature of pushing aside his insecurities and pressing on, his knowledge of his importance, his role in the family, his skills as the tech-savvy, sarcastic and supportive brother, he found himself at the door of Leo's train car-turned-bedroom.

Ever since he could remember, Leo always claimed them to be twins, despite their biological aspects refuting this. Donatello often claimed as such, shooting down the idea almost every time. But of course, Leo being Leo, knows he doesn't actually hate the little role he endorsed on them both. It made sense from an emotional standpoint. At this point, his refusal was merely a jab at Leo to be difficult. Leo and Donnie had always been attached at the hip as kids, always been there for eachother no matter what and always sought each other during times of need and loneliness. If Donnie scraped his knee, Leo would comfort him and patch him up. And if Leo had a bad dream and cried himself awake and he wasn't able to sleep again, Donnie would stay up with him to keep the monsters away. If anyone understood Donnie, it'd be Leo. And if anyone understood Leo, it'd be Donnie.

After beating Shredder, Donnie hadn't seen Leo as often as before. Isolation does that to people. To be fair, Donnie would often isolate himself before, but Leo would bother him IN the lab whenever he did. He himself hadn't actually gone to Leo during Leo's isolation, which Donnie only had himself to blame.

So Donnie knocked hesitantly on the doorframe, eyes trained on the pebbles that littered the ground beneath him, hoping that there were no hard feelings. Not a sound was heard, so he knocked lightly again.

"I know you're not asleep, Nerdo." He jabbed softly, followed by shuffling.

Donnie assumed Leo was getting up in his bed properly instead of reading the oldest Jupiter Jim comic they had while bent at an awkward angle to see clearly in the fairy lights around his room. He snorted quietly at the mental image before hearing Leo mutter for him to come in.

The sight was almost exactly what he expected. Well, save for the sour expression on Leo's face. That's new.

"What'chu want, Don?" was what Donnie was greeted with. A lot of hard feelings, it seemed. The bags under Leo's eyes only served to deepen the shadows on his face and betray the amount of sleep he'd lost. It'd been a very good while since Donnie's seen him like this. Though, he couldn't actually grasp why his twin brother was so worn down? What was bothering him? Nightmares? He'd tell Donnie about nightmares, though. …. Right? They always told each other about those when they were younger, but thinking about it now, he realized it'd gotten longer between the talks they had about those since Shredder was assembled entirely. Leo wasn't telling him as much anymore. Or, Donnie was assuming the worst again and nothing was actually wrong. Maybe he just didn’t actually have any solid reason for his current lack of sleep?

It seemed that Donnie had been silent for a little too long, because Leo raised his eye-ridges slightly, expecting Donnie to answer. He bowed his head ever so slightly to indicate for him to speak whatever was on his mind.

Donatello started to fidget slightly under his brother's halfhearted irritation and took a slight breath. He wanted to hang out with Leo for a bit. Easy. He wanted to hang with his twin brother for a bit and then maybe go to bed when he felt better. Piece of cake. Not that hard. Hang with Leo. Feel better.

"You look like a body that just got pulled out of the water."

Not easy. Not Piece of cake. Very Hard. That's not what he'd wanted to say, his mind racing very fast as it caught up to his usual deflection of his concerns, his sarcasm in the face of discomfort, his insecurities buried once more. He could at least be honest with his twin brother, what was wrong with him?

Leo's initial surprise molded into a tired chuckle as he raised his hands to rub at his eyes.

"Yeah, I haven't slept that well. But," He dropped his hands to stare at Donnie, "you don't look too well off either, you zombified pickle."

It was Donnie's turn to snort, relief settling in his bones as his worries seeped away. Thank whatever stars that Leo could read Donnie like an open book, even if it was annoying at times. The newly zombie-assigned turtle goes to sit next to Leo on his bed, moving the comic a bit and scooting back to rest his shell to the wall, pulling up his legs to rest his arms on his knees. Leo scoots back as well but stretches his legs out to the edge of the bed, crossing them at the ankles and letting his hands lay in his lap. His eyes were pinned on his hands as he popped his knuckles one after the other.

"How come you can't sleep?" Leo asks. Donnie rubs his arms in a way to fidget as well. He sighed, feeling his guards fall apart.

He could be honest with Leo. He knew as much. They've been best friends since the beginning of time, through thick and thin, against all obstacles. Donatello had never been great at expressing his needs or what he wanted, and Leonardo seemed to always know exactly what was wrong and how to deal with it. He wouldn't ever admit it out loud, but Leo was honestly his rock in times of need.

So, when Donnie glanced over at his twin, he noticed something behind his spaced-out expression. Something beyond his fatigue and insomnia. He didn't know how to quite read it, as he wasn't as perceptive as Leo was of Donnie, but he noticed something was weighing his brother down. Something nasty, probably rooted in Leo's own insecurities, whatever those could be.

Should he really burden him more? His own insecurities had no basis in reality, they were really only his own emotions and thoughts going on a rampage to sour his mood. There was no solid evidence to even strengthen the validity behind his worries. Donnie sighed again, more irritated as his thoughts kept going around his head, fueling his restlessness and making him bite down on his lip, hard, fingers digging into his own arms.

A hand placed on his arm made Donnie jolt back to reality. His eyes darted to the hand and remembered that Leo had asked him a question. He had a half baked reply, one that Leo probably wouldn’t accept easily

"My tech isn’t cooperating with me right now, so I took a break.”

Expecting follow-up questions, he steeled himself to maybe spill whatever he was feeling, but the hand only patted his arm once and retreated back to Leo’s lap. It didn’t make Donnie feel better. Honestly, it might’ve fueled his earlier thoughts a little too much and he realized with a heavy weight pulling his heart down that maybe he wasn’t so wrong about keeping his guard up. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything about his concerns for what he provides to the team? He glanced at Leo discreetly again and noted once more the bags under his eyes, the irritated skin around them, the distant look reflected in them.

Uncurling himself to stretch his legs, Donnie crossed his arms and bumped his shoulder on Leo’s.

“What about you? What’s up?”

Leo shook his head, not uttering a word. He didn’t want to talk about it, it seemed. Donnie only got more curious and maybe a little impatient at this. Leo wasn’t open about how he felt about most things, putting up a smug attitude and dancing around problems so as not to get too burdened by them, but he usually at least said something to wave their concerns away. Put on a grin and joked about it until his brothers dropped it. Donnie had seen Leo cry multiple times more than the others had, and vice versa. He never understood why Leo hid his emotions in such a way, however hypoctritical it is for Donnie to think so.

He had spaced out again, eyes still scanning his twin brother. Before he could stop himself, Donnie spoke again,

“Do I provide anything to the team, Leon?”

The shock on Leo’s face would’ve been worth it had this not been an incredibly personal topic for Donnie. The shock got erased quickly and a smirk took its place, having not noticed just how genuine the question was.

“What, save for your sarcastic remarks and being an endless source of material for my comedy?” He joked, laughing a bit to himself before he noticed the lack of response. The laughter died quickly when he also saw the furrowed brows of his brother, seemingly taking it to heart.

“Hey, I’m just- It’s not really what I think, Dee. Of course you provide for the team? I- Aw man,” Leo lamented, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, “Sorry, okay, I’m exhausted.”

Donnie let the words simmer in the air, glaring holes into his hands as he picked at the skin around his nails. His breathing didn’t seem to fill his lungs properly, and there was an irritating itch at the edge of his eyelid near the bridge of his snout. Something was squeezing his chest as well, despite there being nothing to even do so. He hated it. Feelings were irrational. They made no sense. There is no solid fact, no factual catalyst or even a proper solution that was true no matter what. Everything about emotions were hypotheticals and a guessing-game from person to person. It frustrated him.

“Don? I mean it. I don’t think of you like that. I really don’t.”

Leo reached to put his hand on Donnie’s shoulder. The latter shook his head slightly, holding up a hand to indicate he needed a second, which the former quickly respected. His hand landed back in his lap and stayed silent for a while. Donnie had no idea how long they kept the silence for, but once he managed to stomp the pain in his heart down and ignore the itch near his eyes well enough to not feel like he was a second from crying, he let out a deep breath and gave Leo a thumbs up. Leo instantly felt relieved and turned to look at him, waving a hand to grab his attention, even if Donnie only looked at his hand.

“It was a joke. You’re important to the team, Don. I mean it. You’re our tech guy. Without you, we wouldn’t have the tank, the shell-hogs, the safe passage to our home. We wouldn’t be able to communicate easily with each other, we wouldn’t know when something was going on in the city, see what’s up even. Hell, your tech practically saves our lives on the daily!”

And it was true. Donatello was the one that provided the support beyond what anyone else could. Without his tech, they would’ve lost many battles.

Something was nagging him though. The very reason he had gone to Leo was to take it easy and feel safe for a moment, to be able to silence his worries and remind himself that no matter what, they were all brothers. The earlier worries suddenly gripped him again, the thoughts that had brought him here. He was sarcastic, sure. He did give Leo a bunch of jokes to bounce off of him and they all bantered. They’re brothers. Jokes were common between them, to everyone's expense. All Leo had counted was related to his tech. Not him.

“Without my tech, then.”

“What?”

Donnie stared at his own hands, resting in his own lap now. Similar to how Leo was positioned. He felt his breath stutter lightly, glaring at his hands as if they were the reason he felt this way, the reason his heart stuttered with anxiety, the reason his throat struggled to let the air pass through.

“Without my tech.” He forced out through his teeth, heart feeling as if it itself was gripping the base of his throat and trying to stop the words, “What am I? Strip me of my tech, Leo, what am I without my dumdum tech?”

His cheeks felt tense, the frustration boiling up and scratching at them as he tried to slow it down. Leo wasn’t the reason he was useless. His twin wasn’t at fault because Donnie couldn’t do other things than just build whatever was on his mind. The least he could do was be patient to hear Leo’s words on his place in the team. Whatever he was to say was not Leo’s fault. Donnie could handle it if it meant it was true.

Leo struggled for a short while to speak. He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed at his own forehead, trying to ease the furrow in his brow.

“You couldn’t just talk to Raph about this? I’m way too exhausted for this right now, Don.” He said, a drop of regret and honesty in his tone. He did look exhausted. Donnie knew this.

He always knew, no matter what. He knew Leo like the back of his hand, every secret and every mischief he had done when they were kids, things even their older brother didn’t know, despite his hawk-like attention on them. Donnie knew this. He knew this. Of course he knew this. This was his twin brother. Attached at the hip since the day they gained proper awareness, through thick and thin, against all odds. No matter what.

Yet, despite all of this. Despite everything up to this point, he was just so stressed and angry-

“Okay. I’ll explain then,” He got up and turned to Leo, the boiling frustration rising to fill behind his eyes as well. They felt dryer than a dessert, but he couldn’t care.

“I feel like I don’t contribute a single thing other than my tech. I have two options to choose from on this team, in our family. The one who can build anything, or the sarcastic emotionless extra. So what happens then, if I don’t know how to build something? If my tech becomes useless?” He inhaled sharply, “Shredder broke all of my stuff by just standing there! If I were to lose every bit of inspiration and ability to make anything anymore, what would I be?”

His heart was beating insanely fast. It shouldn’t be possible, the body can only handle a certain BPM, and his throat couldn’t raise his voice any further. He rarely raised his voice in general, if Leo’s wide eyes were anything to go off of.

“Everytime we go on missions, I worry that nothing I do will help! You have your katanas and the ability to teleport, which honestly would be the most effective superpower for any hero, Raph has literal projections to throw people off on his position and can make an outer armor for himself, not to mention he’s naturally strong, and Mikey-” He broke off. Their little brother was amazing. Not only did he have fire-based ninpo, but he was acrobatic, nimble, fast, slim and his chains could extend and lift anything his mind was set on. If Raphael was naturally strong, and even more so with his ninpo, Michelangelo was THE strongest if Ninpo was included.

What could Donnie do? Make his tech without actually building it. It was still his tech. No matter what, his tech was all he was. Remove his ninpo AND his tech, he’s literally nothing.

“You guys don’t actually need me in any capacity. You’re already a full team, I’m literally just the one to even out the number. I can’t even use ninpo without a base to work off of!”

Donnie started to glare at the floor, hands tightened into trembling fists. He refused to cry. He hated crying. It was slimy and wet and all over the place, and it often led to hugs and unnecessarily soft words. He loathed being comforted, no matter how nice and warm hugs could be, no matter the relief that usually settled in his bones after he cried hard enough. It’d been a good while since he openly expressed himself this way, not even crying when Shredder had rampaged in their home. He felt the itch near his eyes, the slight dampness building under his eyelids. He blinked hard, the dampness lessening a tiny bit. He would NOT cry.

A sigh brought his attention back to his brother, vertigo slamming into him at the thoughtful expression. No argument, no comfort, not a word. Leo simply looked at him, exhaustion dragging at his cheeks, making him look worn down and older than he was. What was he stressed for? Why wouldn’t he tell Donnie what was wrong? Maybe then, his brain wouldn't run a mile a minute, thinking on its own based on nothing but emotions.

Donnie steeled his own expression, refusing to allow any weakness shine through. If Leo couldn’t be open about his vulnerability, why would Donnie be able to be open about it? He wished he knew what Leo was thinking as he stared at him.

“You’re more than your tech, Do-”

He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want the lies. He’d rather be told that he was a liability, an extra, a side character, an additional voice. He knew what they were thinking. He knew. His whole life, he’d been nothing but the weakest, least skilled, most arrogant and most unwanted brother in their family. Data usually calmed him down, but this data. These facts? They hurt.

“Fine.” Leo snapped, making Donnie realize he’d been saying his thoughts out loud. Leo snapped at him. Huh. He never usually snapped. He’d actively avoid them to not get angry at them. Though, Donnie remembered now that Leo is basically cornered in his own room, having no way of avoiding him.

“I’m exhausted, Donnie. If you can’t listen to what I’m saying, fine. You’re benched. Don’t go on the missions for the next two weeks. There. Is that what you want?”

Leo snapped at him. A rational part of Donnie’s brain told him that Leo was tired, worn down, that Don had cornered him and wasn’t taking any of the comfort his twin had tried to give. Leo even said as much, he hadn’t slept in a good while. Not to mention he was just made leader. Raphael was the team-leader before, making sure everyone was aware of what was going on, were doing okay, was protected and safe. Leo usually only joked and checked wounds, boosted morale and winged everything. The rational part of Donnie’s brain knew this. After all, he always knew things.

And despite it all, his loathed emotions take over for that very split second. He should've slept on it, taken a moment away to figure something out, a response, or maybe just take time to let Leo explain what's up.

Donatello felt something snap inside of him. The grip his heart had on his throat tightened, the itch in his eyes growing unbearable, the heat in his cheeks boiling from frustration and impatience as he felt every way of communicating melting away, his brain jumbled into a mess, bolting to the opening of Leo’s room. He didn't hear Leo's call for him to wait, to let him talk to him a bit more. He didn't care. Not now.

He managed to get to his own room before the emotions finally got to the boiling point, shutting him down entirely. He clamped his mouth shut, eyes shut tightly, and made a frustrated, contained noise, shaking his arms up and down hard, hands clenched into fists, hitting himself on his thighs to release some of the pent up, overwhelming emotions. Tears threatened to spill over as he sat on his bed, gripping his knees.

Last time he'd been this close to a full blown panic attack, a whole shut down, had been when they were both 7 years old. Leo had grabbed every blanket in the lair, building up a shelter for Donnie to sob himself to sleep in while Leo hugged him close. He'd drag the tip of his finger down between Donnie's eyes, the bridge of his snout, to soothe the tense expression on his face, while humming to the japanese lullaby Splinter usually sang for them. Humming, because he never learned the words to it, despite Raphael's constant repeat of the chorus whenever he zoned out.

After a while of comfort, Mikey, 6 years old, had found his way into their room and cuddled close as well, which inevitably led to Raph, 8 years old, settling next to Leo and holding Donnie's hand the rest of the night.

He choked on a sob, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes hard. Taking a deep, stuttering breath, he tried to calm his anxiety enough to think clearly for a moment at least.

Facts helped. Donnie was a softshell turtle. He always loved technology and figured that he could be useful in that way at least. Purple was and always would be his absolute favorite color and if there was a single portion of yogurt left, he'd practically inhale it. He hated cereal. Yogurt was all he usually had for breakfast. He needed to eat meat more often than he actually did because of the carnivorous nature of his species, but he preferred vegetarian meals. Everything about Donatello's species was against him, huh.

His softshell was the very reason he had these thoughts about his role on the team, his insecurity of his skills and the reason he's viewed as fragile. He couldn't even just enjoy food, he just had to need what he didn't like.

Why softshell?

His mind glued itself on that question. Softshell turtles had an incredibly strong bite and are rather flexible, able to bend and turn a concerning amount. But the shell didn't protect him. Why softshell?

Nothing but flexibility, and yet Mikey was the acrobat. Why softshell? Out of all the species, he was a softshell. There must be a reason.

With a jolt, Donnie realized he could literally ask the source of their existence. The very reason they exist, the man who'd used their dad Splinter's DNA to make warriors.

Draxum.

Chapter Text

It had been a year since Barry’d gotten the apartment and was aggressively coerced into trying his best by the youngest turtle of the family. He’d never admit it openly, but he really did appreciate the persistence behind Mikey’s sunshine personality. Being considered family was another topic.

Draxum had caused a lot of grief for a multitude of people and yokai alike, most prominently to the Hamato family. He’s not entirely accepted yet by the whole family, but Raphael, O’Neil, Michelangelo and Splinter, albeit slowly and with a lot of boundaries placed, had seemed to come around to the idea of his rehabilitation. He respected Leonardo’s and Donatello’s stubborn attitudes however. He wouldn’t force them to deal with him if they didn’t want to and commended their reluctant support of their younger brother. They were strong, mentally and physically, and their bond was unbreakable. He could respect that.

Therefore, his surprise was justified when he was greeted by Donatello of all people at his door. Drax didn’t exactly know how to deal with Donatello or Leonardo, not sure what they needed or how they preferred to be interacted with. He knew nothing of their boundaries. Raphael, despite having not interacted with him as much as he had Mikey, was an open book, so even he was understandable enough for Barry to comfort if he needed to. Rare, but it happened. Leo and Donnie never really expressed themselves openly, opting more to deflect, joke or wave it away as something else.

Donatello was especially stubborn, claiming himself as an emotionally unavailable ‘bad boy’. Even physical wounds were covered as if they didn’t matter. Leonardo would actually let people check on him, even if just the bare minimum, but Donatello REFUSED any help and opted to stay away until he couldn’t anymore. Yet, these were things told to him by Michelangelo or Splinter. Draxum had never observed or grown used to this behavior.

Still. Despite the lack of time Draxum had spent with the twins of the family, despite how Donatello refused to look up from the edge of the doorframe at his feet, Barry could tell that Donatello was stressed out, slightly winded and eyes only just hinting on a more pink shade. Emotional distress. Oh boy.

Michelangelo had lent Barry some books on psychology and methods to best handle situations such as these, since he’d been caught off guard a few times when he was the only one around when someone cried and Mikey often sought him for reassurance when Splinter didn’t know how to help. That didn’t mean Barry actively studied every inch of the books and honestly, he’d slacked off recently. He wished he hadn’t as he let Donatello in.

Donnie seated himself on the couch, the only place he probably thought was free reign. Barry had no clue how to deal with this. He never planned to have kids in any sense, and suddenly being seen as a guardian for five (six? He remembered briefly how Cassandra adopted herself into the family) at once. That wasn’t to say he didn’t care about them. He was glad to have somewhere to go and wanted the best for them all, hoping to make up for how he fucked up at first. Even if they were to never fully forgive him, he’d still work to keep them safe and make sure they’re okay.

Physically.

Because despite how great Draxum thought he was, he knew NOTHING about how to handle emotions. He knew anger, loss, protectiveness. Those were the emotions he’d felt several times in his life, most notably when Shredder had attacked the Hamatos. Relief and horror were some more he’d felt when they came out okay and Splinter had survived, the armor destroyed. He barely understood his own emotions, let alone how to handle someone else’s. Even worse when it came to teenagers. Teenagers were timebombs, rebelling and exploding at most things. They were unpredictable.

Barry’s eyes swept from the door he just closed, passing by Donatello stiffly sitting on his couch, who was avoiding eye contact, and next to the kitchen. He noted the coffee-machine and remembered Donnie had a love for the stuff, as he himself did. His gaze landed back to Donnie, clearing his throat.

The stressed turtle jolted in place, eyes obviously set beside Draxum’s head. Not that the yokai cared if Donnie made eye contact or not.

“Coffee?” was all Barry muttered, earning a reluctant nod. That was all Barry needed to flee to the kitchen and prepare some coffee. While it brewed, he studied the mugs in the cabinet, mind racing. What had the books said?

One of the books had mentioned the individuality of people. Everyone needed different support. How bothersome. Barry tried to remember more advice he’d read, even thinking back to the talks he had had with Mikey, Raph and Splinter respectively. Listen more, talk less? What if he asked a question, though? He’d have to answer, wouldn’t he? Though, he’d break the listen more rule.

He also remembered Raph mentioning physical signs of discomfort, distress and much more like it, how to spot when someone might need certain reassurances or certain comments. Mikey had added how to act based on what the person exhibited, though he couldn’t for the life of him remember what they both had said about Donatello and Leonardo. He did remember Mikey mentioning that Donnie was a tricky person to help, as he needed vastly different comfort than others in the family, and he reacted harshly to certain behaviors that Mikey absolutely adored.

Alas, the book was in the living room, and even so, it’d look incredibly silly if he had that in his lap while Donatello told him what was wrong.

Draxum set a purple mug on the counter and grabbed his own frequently used white mug (the words “Wanted for being Awesome” on the side, worn down, but still readable. A cheesy gift from Mikey. Draxum loved it, though he’d never admit it), pouring the coffee. He stopped. He had no idea what Donatello usually got in his coffee.

Oh well.

Finally emerging from the kitchen, he placed the two cups down on the coffee-table, fetching a package of milk and the container of sugar, showing them a little to Donnie, who nodded to confirm that he’d like some. So, Draxum poured some milk and sugar, putting it all back in their rightful places. When he returned, he seated himself in his own recliner.

Donnie had already grabbed the purple mug, holding it close to himself. Barry hadn’t noticed it before, but he didn’t have his trademark headphones or smart vambrace. Odd. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume Donnie didn’t wear his battle shell either. Although, he was wearing one of his bigger hoodies, so Barry couldn’t actually tell. He did however know Donnie wasn’t a risk taker. Or so he hoped.

Sipping from his own mug, he tried to stifle his curiosity for the sake of letting Donatello speak first. He’d tell Draxum if he wanted to. That was one of the first things Mikey had made sure he got into his head, to not pressure others too much. The youngest turtle was surprisingly mature and wise for his age. Possibly a side effect of taking on too much responsibility during their earlier development.

Donatello was staring at the swirling liquid in his mug, the silence stretching for what felt like an eternity. Draxum was still genuinely shocked that the most reluctant of the turtles decided to come to him during distress, as Mikey usually did whenever Splinter couldn’t and Raphael had visited on occasion, but only once due to need of guidance. Barry had no experience on this. He had no idea how to handle this, and dreaded whatever it was Donatello was gonna tell him. He swore that he’d try his best, though, no matter what it was.

If push came to shove, he could always check in with Splinter or one of the kitchen ladies at work. Some of them had kids. Maybe they knew something?

A shuffle from the couch paused whatever train of thought had started rolling in Draxum’s mind. He focused back on the situation and glanced at the purple clad turtle in front of him. He’d moved to hold the mug in his lap, not a single drop left. ‘He must’ve chugged it while I was spaced out,’ Barry thought before Donnie finally hummed a short note to indicate what Drax assumed finally was the therapy-session starting. Hurray.

Donnie spent a few seconds in silence to arrange his thoughts, not wanting to stumble on whatever was on his mind, it seemed. After patiently waiting, Draxum preparing to find the situation unmanageable and panic-calling Splinter to be of any help, Donnie finally spoke, eyes locked on his mug.

“Why am I a spiny softshell turtle?”

Draxum’s initial reserved panic-induced acceptance subsided, replaced by extreme confusion. This wasn’t at all what he’d expected. He always had thoughts behind his own work, never really making choices that didn’t have inherent theories and speculated results that could benefit, so he knew the answer to this question. He’d studied the different species to get the best result possible. Having prepared himself for a discussion of worth or how to talk to people or just how to tell someone how they feel, he’d driven himself to a wall that didn’t even exist.

It did make sense though. Donatello was factual, almost strictly so. He obviously cared and felt for others, but often turned to facts and would rely on the objectivity of everything. If one didn’t pay attention, it’d be assumed he felt nothing sometimes. Everyone in Donnie’s family knew better though, even Draxum. Whether they knew the full picture or not wasn’t as relevant right now.

“Draxum?” Donnie was still staring at the mug, knuckles paled by how hard he held it.

Barry cleared his throat, thinking back to when he’d chosen the first six turtles he’d wanted to study. Raphael was the first who was considered for the experiment, an alligator snapping turtle. He was based more on the brute force and strength that he’d possibly possess, not to mention the resilience and fighting-spirit he’d harbor. The ultimate tank. He’d also brought in a big-headed turtle. Their tail was as long as their body and they’re known for their amazing ability to perch on and climb trees, though Barry would never know where she had gone. He assumed she’d be similar to Leonardo in build and skills.

But he’d honestly not had too big thoughts on Mikey, Leo or Donnie. Not to mention, he couldn’t remember the species of the sixth one. Mikey and Leo had been more based on their ability to retract into their shells, which would be an amazing advantage. And Leo was a red eared slider, an amazing swimmer.

“Honestly,” Barry began. Donnie’s eyes snapped up, showing full attention. Draxum mulled his words at the speed of light,

“I had a plan for everyone, from what I remember. I chose different species to see how their individual attributes would translate into mutated warriors,”

Donnie shifted a little, eating his words up as if listening to a messenger to life’s meaning. Draxum did feel a little egoboost from even being asked about his best achievement in life. He saw his work as a huge revelation, years of work that’d succeeded with what he’d wanted to do. He didn’t believe in the morals and ideals he held at the time anymore, realizing the lack of ethics and respect for life that surrounded his experiments. Though, he was a scientist, and having someone ask about his process, his reasoning, his drive, his biggest invention ever?

Well, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him just a smidge motivated to talk about it all.

Draxum leaned back in the recliner, humming in thought, “I don’t actually think I had a massive plan for a soft shelled warrior. I studied some of the species’ qualities, how they would all come in handy for strong soldiers…”

He should’ve thought the next words thoroughly. He should’ve rephrased all that he had said as Donnie’s expression fell slightly and his eyes flitted to the mug in his hands at what Draxum had said up to this point. But Draxum had never claimed to be a good parent. He cared about the Hamatos. Even if they were to never fully forgive him for the pain he’s caused, he would do his utmost to make sure they were all safe and happy. He did his best and would continue to learn to be better than before. So he didn’t think much of what he said next,

“I didn’t expect much from a softshell at the time.”

- - - -

The world tilted in an unsettling way, silence stretching painfully through the living room. Had the lights dimmed, or was his vision getting tunneled?

Draxum hadn’t expected much from ‘a softshell’. He hadn’t expected much from him. Donnie was exactly what Draxum expected. Nothing. He had nothing to fall back on. He had nothing to his name. His brothers were warriors, he was an addition.

Donnie’s heart stuttered hard at the thought. He had been right, and that usually was preferable. He loved to be right. Except, this time, he had hoped, wished, prayed just this once, just one time, to be completely incorrect. To be proven wrong. To not know everything for once in his life.

That was the curse of Hamato Donatello, though. He knew everything. No matter what. Despite how ugly the truth was, how much it hurt, how worthless it made him feel. He always knew. Donnie had been unsure of himself, even sought Draxum out to ask about his own purpose, what he was made for, what he was expected to do. Maybe it would make him feel better! How foolish. Now he knew the one thing he thought would change everything.

He was literally an afterthought. ‘I wonder how this unprotected, soft, slow idiot will fare’. Nothing changed and he hated it.

Donatello finally focused on the mug in his hands. It was empty, sitting in his hands just to give him something to cling to. He could faintly hear what sounded like Draxum still talking. What was he even saying anymore?

Everything was muffled, everything was somewhat out of focus and he felt extremely lightheaded. It was almost as if he was a figment of someone’s memories, a constant buzz, like that of a tv that barely got a grip on the signal to the channel one wanted to watch. The people on screen would just fade in and out of sound and sight. Instead of a screen, it happened right before his eyes as he tried to focus back to the moment. Without his tech, he quite literally was nothing. Just as he had predicted. Because he was always right. And this time, it was something he couldn’t rub in someone’s face for being right about. It festered in his heart and choked him, a sludge weighing him down and pulling him to the darkest parts of his thoughts. He was nothing.

Raphael had thought behind why he was who he was. Leo was planned just as meticulously. Even Mikey was planned from the beginning to a T. Donnie was thrown in to see what would happen. An anger boiled in his chest and threatened to boil over into the hands holding the mug. The useless hands that would forever belong to someone who had little to no worth.

The only thing in focus was the purple mug in his hands and the window to his left. The impulsive thought to throw it hard to shatter the glass crept into his mind. The mug could probably only handle so much force as well, as he gripped harder. The glass and ceramic would probably rain down with a satisfying clinking at the bottom in the alley below, a loud satisfying crash. He wondered if the glass would simply form a hole that stretched out in jagged cracks, or if it perhaps would shatter entirely before the mug would hit the concrete. Perhaps it’d get the point across, of how useless it was and how it led to nothing just like Donatello when Draxum tossed a fucking softshell into the basin with the others.

Oh right. He was in Draxum's apartment. Donnie’s focus snapped back to the situation at hand. The serenity of Draxum sipping his coffee contrasted to Donnie’s inner turmoil in a way that stabbed the eyes and gave whiplash. Donatello wanted to be angry at the man, wanted to throw and punch and scream at everything around him for the unfairness that he couldn’t control, for the way he felt helpless.

But Draxum hadn’t done anything wrong. He had merely stated the truth. He wasn’t in the wrong for wanting to get a full report on the effects of his experiments, how it altered based on the subject. Donnie was a scientist himself, he should understand Draxum’s curiosity for the possibilities of differing results.

“..-incredibly skilled with that staff of yours though.”

Donnie’s hearing finally returned at the cost of his common sense. He must’ve heard wrong. But Draxum was still talking as if he didn’t just compliment the useless one in the family, as if he didn’t just say the most revolutionary thing to spark an idea in Donnie’s head. So, he managed to force the sludge from his heart away, prying it’s cold fingers away from his throat so he could speak,

“Could you… repeat that? About the staff?”
And Draxum delivered. He repeated that Donnie was highly skilled with the bo-staff. Something seemed to kickstart in his brain as he remembered that he WAS good at the bo staff. Almost insanely so. Even without tech, he’d been able to fight two foot ninjas at once in the train Big Mama owned.

He’d just have to try harder to make himself more at place and more useful.

Donnie stood, leaving the mug on the coffee table and nodded to Draxum, “Thanks. Bye,” he said, and left abruptly out the door. Draxum didn’t get a word in, Donatello didn’t want him to respond anyways. He got what he wanted. He found out why he was a softshell, even if the truth hurt. If he had to, he’d work harder to be useful, just like he’d decided as a kid all those years ago when he came up with the battle shell.

At the time, he’d gotten hurt by just tripping backwards, hitting his shell hard against the concrete of the sewers. A bruise had bloomed all across the lower part of his back, and he could barely walk without it hurting. Donnie’s brothers had been terrified of playing with him after that, which was the WORST.

So, he had pushed his sleeves up and gotten to work the second he got his hands on the first toolbox he ever got and built something simple to protect his back. It took ages, but once it finally had been finished, it’d worked wonders! He had proven to be equal back then. He had been useful!

Naturally, as they grew up, he had to adapt more and more. Donnie’s brothers all gained vast skills and cunning, which he had to catch up to. This time was no different. He’d just have to catch up again, and if anyone could catch up to his great brothers (he’d never call them that to their faces), it was Donnie!

As the softshell turtle climbed down the fire escape-ladder from one of the windows of the hallway, he took a few deep breaths. The earlier panic had left his fingers numb until now, and they started gaining their feeling as they got used to the cold handlebars. It was uncomfortable and made him shiver, the grimy, wet metal digging into his hands, he couldn’t reach the ground fast enough. He wiped his hands fast on his hoodie, shoulders up to his ears at the feeling, grimacing slightly.

Donnie hadn’t realized what a long walk it was to the abandoned subway they had made their home. He had been in a daze when he sought Draxum out, wanting answers and thus not being completely present as his mind had wandered away from him in the alleys. Now that he had nothing to really mull over, he focused on everything around him as he walked through the alleys and tinier streets of New York. The air had a chill to it, but not an unbearable amount. The wind picked up some stray leaves that had fallen earlier than the rest on the few trees one could see from where he was, and the sky was just as covered as always. The moon was strong through the smog, though. Neon signs, windows lit up despite the time, occasional cars now and then, a small group of friends laughing loudly between each other from down the block.

New York City. This was his home, despite his and his family’s ability to enjoy it fully like most others. There his mind went again, finding something to think about as his senses closed off just barely, aware of his surroundings in case.

Apparently he hadn’t paid attention enough to hear a commotion in the alley he had set his eyes on as a way to get back home. He turned into the alley after crossing the street hastily, hood up, and bumped right into something solid. With a loud yelp, Donnie fell back onto his tailbone, ‘ouch’ loud in his mind, before snapping his eyes up at the person who had the audacity to block the way, breathing instantly stuttering at the sight of three mutants.

Donnie could only see two of them, but they were clearly talking to a third individual. The two he could see were the infamous hippo magician, Hypnopottamus, and the brutal tv-show host Meatsweats, who just turned to look at whoever dared run into the him,

“Well isn’t this a surprise? Can’t a mutant go about his day without one of you pesky turtles butting into his business?” The mutant pig sneered, making Donnie once again grimace before getting up to back away. Meatsweats' sneer turns to a wicked grin as he flips the meat tenderizer, (when the hell had he grabbed it?) nudging Hypno to ready up his weapons as well. The third person seemed to have gone.

Donatello’s mind raced, sticking to one single thought under all the noise in his head. This was an opportunity. He could prove himself. If he fought these two, he could prove himself. Him alone, no tech, no use of ninpo-constructs either, versus Hypno and Meatsweats. What kind of game was God playing, presenting this?

Before he could think much longer, he automatically called his ninpo to summon a makeshift bo-staff, stopping himself before anything else, and readied himself into the stance he’d practiced a million times before. He could do this. He was Hamato Donatello, these two were nothing compared to a member of such a clan!

As Meatsweats leaned back to swing at the intruding turtle, the latter spun his staff and stopped it perfectly to parry off the tenderizer, sidestepping to jab forward at the pink mutant’s head, missing the hits twice before one of Hypno’s rings barely missed Donnie’s arm and forced him to turn his attention to the magician. To ward off sharp objects was a little harder with a spiritually assembled staff, but he managed to knock most of them away, quickly twirling the staff to keep them from his body in every way. His heart was beating just a tad bit faster as he kept his hands busy.

In a window of a pause, Donnie slammed the staff down and turned hard, lifting himself to land a brutal kick on Meatsweats, who was trying to attack him while he had been busy. The resulting stumble of the former show-host led to a trip up onto a pile of trash, allowing Donnie a few moments for Hypno again.

Hypno seemed more annoyed than before, “You really need a hobby! What have we ever done to you?” to which Donnie snorted. They’d done a lot to harass the people of New York. Hell, they’d even joined the EVIL League of Mutants when Draxum was still dead set on his villainy. He didn’t answer Hypno though, just picked up his staff properly to fight Hypno.

The hippo magician launched his rings at the turtle, the latter deflecting them easily now that he could focus wholly on one target. Faster and faster, the blades came flying, knocked away every time until he managed to flick them into the walls of the alley, rendering them useless.

Time seemed to stop when a light fell on the alleyway. A pinch shot through Donatello’s leg before he could process what was going on. Barely registering Hypno’s and Meatsweat’s retreat, his attention snapped down to his thigh, a dart lodged into it, empty of whatever contents had been in it.

The sensation of falling followed by a dreaded unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

Ba bump... Ba bump... Ba bump...

His heart was racing, running, sprinting...

Why was his heart beating so fast?

Why was it nearly exploding?

...?

...Why was he so scared?

Michelangelo rose from his bed and put a hand on his plastron over his heart. It beat hard through the plating, making him worry about the possibility of it bursting. 

It’s been a constant the last few days, unpleasant and unrelenting. Donnie had told him there was nothing to worry about one time, explaining to how fear isn't rational, 

”Possibly anxiety, nothing dangerous. Don’t worry, Mikes.”

Leo had told him as much as well. The ray of sunshine didn’t want to worry. Worrying SUCKED. It presented itself like a nasty scab every now and then, itching at the most inconvenient of times and places. Anxiety wasn’t new to him, not even close. He’d experienced plenty of unreasonably high fear over minor things, having to seek his older brothers out for comfort and safety many times before. Raph's hugs were the best, Leo's jokes always lifted his spirits and Donnie's rambles could distract him for days. 

Michelangelo just wished he knew why he felt this way at the moment. 

Not knowing what to do, his feet met the soft rug on the cold metal floor of his room, softly padding off toward the direction of the kitchen. If he was lucky, there might be some food left in the fridge to make something fun. Even if it wouldn’t turn out great, his mind being fuzzy and heart going at the speed of light, it’d at least provide a distraction.

The moment he turned the corner to enter the kitchen, Mikey wishes he’d stayed in bed.

If anyone asked Splinter what he was doing, he wouldn’t have a concrete answer. 

Having been thrown into parenthood in a moment of pure panic and empathy for four newly conscious turtles that just happened to be made aware because of his own negligence and a mad scientist’s endeavor to destroy the world, he was never sure what he was doing right or wrong. Splinter never expected this outcome, which meant he wasn’t prepared to become a single father of four boys in a single minute. 

The former movie-star never regretted the direction his life took though. His boys meant the world to him, no matter how much he might’ve missed his ability to walk outside in the daylight without a worry in mind other than the worry of being pestered for autographs and selfies. The man-turned-rat would never trade his sons for anything. 

Said rat was walking through the subway-turned-lair, passing the main area and making his way to the boys’ rooms. Since they got big enough to stay put through the nights, Splinter would find himself checking in on them while they were sleeping. Perhaps it was a safety-measure, or possibly even a self soothing method, but seeing his sons sleeping soundly, or just still being there, calmed him immensely. Especially since the rise in threats against their family. Oftentimes, he’d check in the early hours of nighttime, the moments before they all had drifted to sleep. As it stands, the clock showed 2:30 AM and he couldn't sleep.

To Splinter’s surprise, Donatello’s room was still drowned in darkness, alongside Michelangelo’s and Raphael’s. His tech-savvy son would often stay up into the early crack of dawn, working on something that decided to plague him before bed. It was a side that Donnie possibly got directly from Splinter, as the latter would often work hours on a single scene to perfect it and would rarely rest until he was satisfied. 

As his gaze drifted to the fourth train-car, Leonardo’s room, Splinter couldn’t help but sigh softly. The fairy-lights were on. As they had been the last month, with few exceptions for when Leo turned them off in favor of sleeping. But his most perceptive, strategic son barely slept as of late. Steeling himself, Splinter knocked softly on the side of the opening, hoping to speak to Leonardo, only to be greeted with an exhausted ’Donnie?’. Confusion replaced his concern for a moment as he stepped inside of the room and raised an eyebrow at his son.

Why specifically Donatello? Had something happened?

”Oh. Hi dad,” Leo said, somewhat relieved and disappointed it wasn't his twin brother, settling back against the wall. He hadn’t moved since Donnie had come to talk to him and then ran out, left alone with the racing thoughts in his empty brain.

Unaware of the events between Leo and Donnie, Splinter furrows his brow, 

”Blue? What is troubling you, my son?” asked Splinter, walking over to take a seat on the edge of the bed, leaving some room between them for the comfort of Leonardo to talk about whatever kept him up at this hour, the teenager seeming to appreciate it immensely.

Said teen started to fidget lightly with his hands, picking at the corner of his pillow as he seemed to mull over his answer,

”Donnie came to me about some issues and..” He hesitated, not wanting to admit he had acted rashly, ”I wasn’t very helpful? He stormed out suddenly. I think he’s upset.”

The father hummed softly,

”What kind of issues?” 

Leo stared at his hands as they fidgeted with the pillow-casing, a grimace forming on his face, ”He asked what his role in the team was-” He found a loose thread on the casing of the pillow, grabbing it carefully,  ”-I mean, he’s our tech guy. His inventions have saved us several times, right? Isn’t that a great role to have?” 

As he twirled the thread lightly, it loosened more, slowly losing its grip on the fabric, ”He kept insisting I disregard the tech or something. Since I didn’t answer ’correctly’, he stormed off...”

Splinter digested the information. That might’ve explained the lack of activity in Donatello’s room. The inventor might’ve holed himself up to wait until the morning to talk again. Deciding to check on Donnie soon, he put a hand on Leonardo’s shoulder. The newly made leader seemed to relax slightly at that, letting out a soft sigh,

”Your exhaustion is understandable, Leonardo. Rest easy for tonight, you need to sleep. I’ll check on Donatello.” 

With one last pat to Leo’s head, prompting a soft smile from the young turtle, the rat hopped off the bed and made his way to Donnie’s room. Passing by Raph’s and Mikey’s respective carts, he peeked inside to see that they were sound asleep. The rat quietly picks up one of the pillows that had fallen to the floor from Mikey’s bed, placing it back onto the bed before finally going to his intelligent son’s room, knocking lightly on the door to alert Donatello,

”Donatello?” Splinter called out lightly, opening the door.

It was cold and oddly quiet, no soft breathing or snores coming from the room. Had the soft-shell not gone to bed, perhaps still being awake in his lab? Impossible, thought Splinter. He had passed the lab on his way to their carts, the room dark and quiet at the time. Where else could his son have gone? 

A presence appeared behind the rat. Recognizing it as the older of his twin sons, he turned and looked up at the red eared slider, a dread slowly building in his heart.

His perceptive son stared into the room, his pillow clutched in his hands,

”He’s not here?” he asked. Worrying his lip between his teeth, Leo stepped into the room, eyes drifting to the made bed. The sheets were slightly ruffled, as if someone had sat there a while ago. Splinter looked around as well, suddenly spotting a dark screen framed by purple under the bed. 

Donatello’s phone.

.

..

...

..Why was his phone here?

Leonardo seemed to catch on as well and found the vambrace, techbo, goggles, every single piece of gear his brother never left in a heap behind the bunched up blanket on the floor. The turtle’s expression one of worry. Heart in his throat, Splinter clutched the phone in his hands and thought about every possible spot they’d usually disappear to. His sons had all done this before, ran off to hide during a particularly difficult time. This time was no different, he hoped. 

Leo ripped the thread he’d fidgeted with off the pillow, fed up with it as he threw the pillow entirely onto Donnie’s bed. 

”I’ll ask Raph.” he grumbled, clearly riled up as he hurried out to get to the carts of his oldest and youngest brothers, leaving Splinter to worry himself to death in the room. 

His reasonable and scientific son would often stay up into the crack of dawn, working on something that plagued his mind the evening before. He might’ve gotten that from Splinter himself, and the rat never liked the habit. He often wished Donatello could sleep properly and stay healthy, wished all of his sons could recognize their own talents, importance and skills, and wished they’d love themselves more. 

Some of the problems Splinter sees his sons struggle with were derived from his neglect at the earlier years of their development. He was to blame for what his sons struggled most with, and he had no excuse for his behavior.

After all, if anyone asked Splinter what he was doing, he never had a concrete answer. 

And he hated it. 

Michelangelo just wanted a snack.

Instead, he was met with Raph, Leo, April, Cass and dad all gathered in the kitchen, rambling and worrying about something. Mikey was only trying to spot one more person, his beloved older brother, their brother who always had a rational mind, who made sense of everything and who always spoke in facts.

Where’s Donnie?

They hadn’t noticed him yet, too engrossed in discussing something. Something urgent. Something with what seems to be a time-limit. Leo was leading the discussion, asking April something in the most serious tone Mikey ever heard of him. April nodded seriously, worry etched into her face. Cassandra was nodding along, pointing at herself and April. Why?

Where is Donnie??

Raph spotted their youngest brother. He was just about to open his mouth to alert the others when everything around Mikey seemed to get muffled.

He didn’t hear anything. Instead, he was doused in ice cold water, his ears stuffed with cotton, his heart threatening to explode as the anxiety grabbed at his throat. 

Because just as Raphael had planned to alert the others that Mikey was awake, a single voice cut through the fog. Leo's voice.

Through the cacophony of voices came one clear sentence from his second oldest brother, stabbing his core like cold steel, 

”We have to go out and look for him!”

Donnie isn’t here.

Donnie is missing. 

It was all the youngest needed to prove that hearts can burst when beating too hard.