Chapter Text
It had been catastrophic, the beckoning of the Tecnodrome. A sky of crimson overtakes the vast blues and grays of the sky, similar to that of a blood-tainted sunset over hills of swaying grass-clad hills, thunderous debris, and shuddering quakes wreaking havoc across the city of New York. Screams of sheer horror and agony filled the air, nearly smothering the horrific sounds of the foreign war machine, the monstrous Krang Virus consuming every vehicle, so many people, and everything it could manipulate.
It was, in short, absolute pandemonium.
The four turtles and their comrades across the city battled tirelessly for what felt like both ages and minutes, fighting for the peace they had had mere hours ago.
They had gotten Raph back. Now it was time to kick the ass of Krang and send him crying to the Prison Dimension.
When Leo had determined his fate of sacrifice, he couldn’t have known that his oldest brother still had the strength to be the stubborn asshole he loved so much. Or maybe he should have known, since Raph had always been the mule of the family.
So stubborn, in fact, that Raph was now missing.
Leo vaguely remembers coming to after his sweetest little brother rescued him [his arms-] and brought him home. He remembers crashing onto Staten Island and cracking a joke about it, and the embrace of four arms-
Four.
Not six. Two were missing. Both sets present were too small and skinny to be-
That notice was enough for him to prompt into the surrounding air with a trembling tone, “Raph?”
He was met with hushed voices, their words fumbled together as a harsh ringing in every part of his skull tore a primal cry from his throat, the world around him growing blurry before jumping to black within seconds.
He had been in and out of it for a good while [days, he thinks], every split millisecond of awareness being filled with utter anguish of burning and piercing, and everything hurt so bad-
When Leo eventually came through enough to be aware of his surroundings, borderline high out of his mind on painkillers, he was cooped in the med-bay, the fluorescent lights above making him wince.
“Raph..?” He had called, voice breaking and raspy [from not being used or from being used too much, he wasn't sure].
“Leo-!”
The slider had turned just a bit until he saw his Megamind-like twin nearly trip on his own two feet, hurrying to his bed. Donnie looked, in the short answer, horrible – eye bags hung so dark and low they could carry grocery bags, his eyes were frantic and wide, and his hands shook and were wrapped far more than usual.
“Don-”
Leo was cut off when the other wrapped his arms around him as best he could, tucking his head against his hoodie front.
They didn't bother mentioning the wetness in both their eyes, nor the shakes and tremors in their breathing, nor the quiet little cries of relief.
“Mi-Mikey?” Leo muttered, vision swimming.
Donnie pulled away, not-so-discreetly wiping his eyes and turning to the bed next to Leo’s. “He's here. Opening the portal nearly destroyed him, but Draxum examined him. He'll be fine, but his Ninpō is exhausted and critical as of this moment. He’ll have permanent damage to his nerves. Still, he should make a full recovery in time.” He pulled up his digital notes, scrolling to a document and jotting down something Leo couldn't quite read. He noticed the tremors in his hands, only able to whimper out a quiet “your hands".
The purple-clad turtle hummed, glancing his way for a moment before returning his attention to the purple screen. “I'm fine, don't worry about me. You are to focus on resting, Nardo. Anyways, he won't be able to use his arms and hands for who knows how long, but I've already begun several blueprints for compression sleeves for him, and for you as well, for future use. Your everything has taken unspeakable damage and-”
“Raph?” Leo gasped, unable to find the familiar hulking figure of green and red anywhere. Raph was hurt; he was sure of that. Has his eye been looked at yet? His shell?
The flashing memory of Raph's shell cracking into pieces above him, falling and falling and breaking-
“Leo.”
He hummed, still looking and not finding.
“Don’ see ‘im.. He's hu-hurt...”
“Leo.”
Leo felt a confused chirp leave his beak, finally turning his attention back to Donnie, who had moved to stand right next to his bedside table, shaky hands gripping the railing. His expression was mixed, full of something Leo couldn't read and understand.
“Raph, Donnie?” He asked again, voice rising just a bit. He needed Raph.
Donnie swallowed thickly, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Leo.. I need you to listen to me.”
“M’ listenin’, you're not talking.”
The softshell huffed, though it was devoid of his typical “I am better than you” tone.
“Leo.. Raph isn't here. He...” he paused, forcing back a choke. “He didn't make it home with us. He disappeared after the Kr... the ship exploded through the Prison Dimension’s portal. He's not here.”
Leo felt his brows furrow, confusion clouding the few coherent thoughts he was having. “No, he.. He was with you, on Staten Island; I made sure of it. I saw ‘im- saw ' im with you and Mi-Mikey- I made sure of it–”
The room and Donnie started to spin, Donnie’s iconic indigo shade transforming into a withering speck.
“Leo, you need to stay down. You're too injured to be moving right now-”
“No, no, Raph's out there-”
“Nardo-!”
“He's alone-”
“Leo-! Shit, you're tearing your IV, stop-!”
“He's hurt-!”
“Shit shit shit-! Help! Help!”
A piercing pain shot up his arms, a cry escaping his chest alongside it. He felt more arms around him, holding him down and refusing to let him go. He needed Raph- Raph was hurt; he was alone; he wasn't there-
Too many voices were speaking to him, all hurried and upset. Leo couldn't begin to pinpoint what they were saying or who they were. Everything was moving too much, too little information was staying with him in the moment, and nowhere near clear enough for him to make out who was keeping him from saving his brother.
His arms began to feel sorely heavy. He chirped, begging for his brothers. He wanted his brothers-
Soon enough, he felt fuzzy and like he was lying on clouds of cotton mixed with silk. It was so incredibly soothing yet so incredibly wrong. It felt empty.
A small, clawed hand rested on his head, the warmth naturally magnetizing him to it. He leaned into the palm, a shuttered sigh overtaking the rest of his strength.
“Rest, my son. You are safe. Your family is here.”
That was a lie, and Leo was sure of it. Maybe not a total lie, but something- someone- was missing. There was a hollow space in his orbit, a big one.
He didn't have the energy to question it. The heaviness behind his eyelids and each of his muscles finally consumed his last bit of awareness, dragging him to the pits of darkened slumber, where he would accept the flashes of horrors while he slept.
—
Donatello hasn't slept in who knows how long. He thinks it's been two days, but he couldn't be sure anymore. Stacks upon stacks of energy drinks and coffee bottles lay in and around the trash can next to his desk, their sweet and bitter scents clashing terribly with the stink of body odor and exhaustion that seemed to have somehow infiltrated the very sanitized walls. He didn't pay mind to the growing mess, his attention far away.
Blueprints lay askew amongst his desk amid several of his monitors, adding notes here and there for the mechanisms that would best fit his brothers and their injuries.
His hands shook as he wrote, the crawl of stinging needles slowly but carefully nestling into his nerves until he was forced to drop his pencil.
With an angry huff, the boy slammed his elbows into his desk, hands cradling the back of his neck as he waited out the dull aches of mystic energy. He bit back a small sob, his figure shaking like a leaf against his resolve.
It was fine. It didn't hurt too badly. He could and would endure it. Mikey was so, so much worse for wear, and he didn't [openly] complain.
Donnie knew he needed to fix that as well, asking Mikey to come to him about his suffering alongside Draxum.
The idea of his baby brother purposefully masking and hiding his hurt made something in Donnie's stomach roll with nausea. He already knew that it was a skill Leo had long since mastered [he took a mental note of that], and it looked like their youngest was absorbing it more and more these days.
So, when the prickles finally gave him some reprieve, he quickly jotted down a note to bring it up to Mikey at a time when his brain didn’t feel like it was trying to ram its way out of his skull between his eyes.
And he got back to work, all while fighting back the frustration bubbling deep within the darkest of corners of his rapidly wilting psyche.
—
Donatello didn't sleep. The only time he allowed himself a few hours of rest was when he drifted into slumber unwillingly at his desk.
He didn't have time to sleep, you see. Too much to do, too many things he had to handle to keep his family safe, all while hunting for his missing part.
He worked. He examined footage. He worked some more. He re-examined footage again, all until his mind had begun to show false teases of red.
Donnie patrolled the yards of security systems, constantly checking and updating. Oftentimes, he allowed Casey Jr. to tag along, who was able to keep up with a great idea of what the turtle was talking about.
“ – and here's the tunnel's D.O.N–11 Scanner Set. Most of them are full-body scanners, y'know what that means?” Donnie asked, pulling up the mechanics of the scanners lining the tunnel before him. Nothing seemed off nor out of place within the system across the top and bottom of the darkness ahead.
“Those use non-ionizing millimeter-waves, right? For detecting silhouettes and 3D images, like weapons and things we can't see on people?”
Donnie felt a grin immediately grow on his beak, nodding in the boy's direction. “Correct! You keep impressing me, Casey Jones. I must ask, was it the future me who taught you about this sort of thing?” He asked, waving his hand briefly as if saying, “All of this?”
Casey Jr. chuckled, his distant gaze turning to stare at the seemingly endless void ahead. He rested a hand on the wall, careful not to touch the sensors and cables close by.
“Yeah. He was the main head behind our security systems, and he was pretty fond of X-ray scanners like you are. There was a small group of survivors who came along, seeking to join the resistance and claimed to only have a few weapons, like the spears they were holding.”
The turtle hummed in acknowledgement, sparing the human a glance before turning back to his system notes and blueprints.
“They lied.”
Donnie raised a brow, now granting him his full attention. Casey Jr. did not meet his eyes, as his eyes were somewhere in the future and past, remembering times of unbridled war that forged the scars of his being.
“It wasn’t that late into the apocalypse. A few years, I think? Trust was the most fragile thing, but connections were still made between the resistance and outsiders. But, uh, we had opened the main doors for only a minute or so with Master Leonardo and Master Raphael at the front. They were going to let them in until Master Donatello got through the speakers.”
. . .
Casey remembered Master Michaelangelo telling him to stay in the bunks with the rest of the children, though there were very few at the time.
Despite his deep respect for the mystic master, the young boy had yet to develop his constant obedience and slipped out through a crooked vent just large enough for his frame to fit through. He crawled and crawled until he was above a crowd, many of whom were their warriors and guards.
He could only barely see the unmistakable figures of his turtle-y masters. From his perch atop them, he was unable to hear what they were saying, but caught sight of Master Raphael’s expression– one of distrust and caution, a deep furrow in his brow [chasm, as Master Leonardo called it]. The slider gave his brother a comforting pat on the shoulder, a confident grin on his face.
Something did not feel right.
A camera of the outside world lit up before the crowd, showcasing roughly ten or so humans and yokai alike, all of whom sported gear and altered spears. Through the speaker provided, an unseen spokesperson stated, “Resistance! We have come from across the city, having heard of your numbers and safety! Please, allow us to discuss joining your base!”
Murmurs of discussion rang amongst the members on the floor, clearly debating the offer with increasingly obvious paranoia. Casey caught mixtures of agreement, hesitation, and outright declination. He could see Master Raphael huddling with Sensei, the two exchanging words for what could have been hours by how thick the air was becoming with unspoken tenseness.
Finally, Master Leonardo sighed, merely nodding to his eldest brother. The snapper of the two pressed the bright ‘speaker’ button next to the footage. “Send in your leader, if ya have one. We will discuss it with them.”
The small group outside nodded, the few in the front turning their backs, seemingly talking amongst themselves, before a tall woman and a shorter tentacle-having yokai stepped forward. “I am Chief Fong, and this is my Commander Hun. We accept your offer of discussion, and the rest will await us out here.”
Master Raphael replied with a quick agreement, reaching for the scanner next to the large metal-and-steel-enforced doors. His large hand barely fit into the frame, but a few moments later, a string of loud ‘beeps’ rang out through the corridors, signaling the opening of the entrance.
The scraping of the entry made Casey wince, watching as the crowd seemed to tense. The turtle brothers rose to impossible heights of sheer intimidation, reaching for their weapons.
Right as the sighting of the outer group began to peek through, alarms came blaring.
Master Donatello’s voice shouted through the bunker’s audio system. “Shut the doors! Larger groups are hiding right around the corner! They all have weapons under their clothes! Get back!” The gates screeched to a halt due to invisible forces, most likely the purple-clad turtle overwriting the doors' allowance to open.
It was too late.
Outsiders had already begun to plunge towards the awaiting group, guns oozing with mystic energy filling their hands. Shots were fired, weapons were drawn, and screams filled the atmosphere.
Blood was shed in thick, red splatters and splashed on the ground within a minute.
Donnie stared at the young man with wide eyes, wobbly fingers having refrained from analyzing his systems. He watched as the other lifted his hockey mask from his face to stare at it in his hands instead. His eyes were filled with sorrowful melancholy. “A lot of people got hurt, a few killed. My Masters were able to get the last of the Raiders out before they even made it past the main entry hall.”
“But we still lost comrades and family.”
Casey Jr. finally looked at the turtle, who had padded closer, peering at the mask with interest. “I see. A mistake had been made, and therefore there were consequences.” He examined the painted crimson stripes of the face covering, thoughts already whispering into his ears. “Why was my future self so late? Why was he not able to detect the hiding Raiders before the doors opened?”
“Someone had gotten access to some tech that was able to screw with the signals inside the base. I believe Master Donatello got his hands on it after they were seized and dealt with. After that battle, he increased his security systems by a hundredfold and recruited a small group of scientists to help him update the codes constantly so a mistake like that wouldn’t happen again. The doors were not to be opened unless he was present or at least spoken to beforehand.”
Donnie nodded, unable to tear his gaze away from the mask. “Your mask has been modified, right? By your Donatello?”
The young man raised a brow. “Yeah, he was able to include a bunch of his tech blueprints, plus how to run his systems and how to fix Sensei’s arm.”
That last part sparked a hint of curiosity to settle in the turtle’s chest, but his thoughts were too loud now to bother with questions about that.
“Say, Casey.. Would it be possible for me to borrow your mask for a short while for my study? I would like to figure out how your Donatello formed and organized his surveillance networks and likely apply them to my own for better performance.” The idea of having future knowledge being used for his own work ignited a sense of hopeful joy he had not felt in many weeks. Perhaps, with the information provided, he would figure out where Raph had disappeared to. He would be better able to keep his family safe.
Casey Jr. tugged the mask closer to his chest, a frown decorating his lips. “Donnie, I’m–.. I don’t know. I don’t want you tearing it apart or anything.”
Donnie couldn’t find it in himself to think that the statement was not erroneous.
He scoffed lightly, leaning back and crossing his arms, finally meeting the other eye-to-eye. “Choosing to ignore that, I mean your mask, nor the knowledge inside of it, no harm. I simply wish to upgrade my own security systems, and I am quite, positively so, sure that future me was able to evolve his tech that far exceeds my own.” He felt the frustration inside his guts coming to a boil, fighting back a bite in his voice. He took a deep breath, forcing his body to stiffen and his tone to stay calm and patient. “Please, Casey, I just.. I need to make sure nothing, no one, sneaks up on us. Not again.”
He could feel Casey’s inner debate screaming, his frown twitching. His grip on the hockey mask tightened before a heavy sigh breathed from his nostrils. As hesitant as a baby deer’s first steps, he extended it towards Donnie, who felt a twinge of surprise. “Please, don’t tear it apart. You’re welcome to look at everything he has entrusted to me. Only the blueprints and document notes, nothing else.” With that, he allowed the purple-clad to take his most valuable treasure, one of the last remaining pieces of evidence that his world existed.
Donnie found himself brushing his thumbs against the stripes, able to feel hints of texture left by the red paint. The irritation within his figure slowly returned to the corners of his soul, being shadowed by mere teases of hope and excitement. This, he can work with.
He swallowed a thick glob of air, meeting the other’s gaze. “Don’t fret, I will respect your wishes.” He paused, biting his lip. “And I thank you, Casey. This will greatly assist me in my venture of making our protection much more bulletproof and at less of a risk of an attack.”
Casey Jr. smiled in return, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck, a nervous habit Donnie has noticed but decided not to point out. “I get it, don’t worry about it. I’m trustin’ you with it. Do whatever you have to do, Donnie.”
The snapper nodded in affirmation, muttering a thank you before turning to do a final check on the tunnel. Once he deemed them in top condition, he walked side by side with his human companion to another tunnel to check the security there.
He placed the hockey mask deep within the safety of his battle shell along the way, keeping it for when he could hyperanalyze every bit of expertise his future self was able to attain through years of back-to-back battles of war.
Surely, he was going to protect his family until his last breath.
—
The purple-clad awaited hours upon hours until he was sure that his brothers had receded from Raphael’s cart to move. The lair was quiet, minus the near-constant sound of Splinter’s projector, faint music, and words filtering throughout the concrete walls. Unyielding roars of subways and overall New York [what a town] helped make his thoughts a little quieter, providing the grounding racket he had grown so very used to.
Donnie made his way from his lab’s solitude to the train carts lining downwards against the main stairway, the row of used and unused cars suddenly feeling bigger than life itself. Despite the looming walls of red he stared at, his feet still found the strength to pad closer and closer until he stood just outside of his brother’s space.
He could feel his breath becoming shallow within mere seconds, the hints of overwhelming red graffiti letters across the metal doors sending a shiver down his spine. He vaguely remembers Mikey insisting on naming each of their new spaces, and the desperation in his words made it hard for them to argue.
He tried for nights to forget the tremors of his baby brother’s arms and the dropping of tin-plated steel echoing against the walls. Alas, it would truly be in vain.
He shook his head wildly to avoid the tempting memories from invading his thoughts, refocusing his gaze forward. He was not going to retreat from his task.
Donnie finally found himself gripping the doors, pulling and pulling until they shuttered open–
“Get out.”
The air froze, the previously content atmosphere stiffening into something unspoken and excruciating.
Donatello stared at the tiny rat man who dared to stand before Raphael's bed, paw resting on the bed sheets. Splinter met his son's stone-like expression with brief, wide eyes before a solemn look took over. “Donatello…” he started, raising his free hand towards the other, who refused, a quiet growl escaping his throat. “I understand that you are still upset with me, and I understand that I should have spoken with you and your brothers first-”
“You shouldn't have done it in the first place,” Donnie stated, eye twitching with bursting irritation. “You come in here and start building a shrine for Raph as if he’s dead, as if he’s gone from our world and joined our ancestors.” The terrapin gritted his teeth, arms crossing and hands gripping his scales with painful force. “You stopped helping us search after just a couple of weeks, even when Leo was too stubborn to stop despite his legs and shell, and Mikey was too caring to stop regardless of his arms. April and Casey Jr. helped every single day for hours on end, even though they had other things to do. Hell, even Cassandra searches and updates us regularly!”
He wasn't sure when exactly, but the softshell now stood in front of his father, fat, angry tears whispering at the edges of his eyes and begging to be released. His father seemed to swallow whatever it was he had to say, his own orbs looking wet and shiny.
Donnie glared at the smaller man, lips wobbling and teeth biting down until he tasted blood. “You gave up on Raph,” he muttered, inhaling with effort, “You gave up on my big brother, the one who was there when you weren't. Then, you go and say he's gone just because he's missing. He is hurt, he is in pain, he is alone, somewhere I apparently can't find, no matter how hard I try-!”
“And you, Father, have given up on him.”
He took a shuddering breath, biting back his tears until only distant hints remained, and his arms relaxed enough to fall to his sides again. His scowl rested into an emotionless tilt of his head, pure exhaustion seeping into every fiber of his being. “I.. I guess that I was mistaken that you had changed, was all. It seems that my calculations were off and therefore incorrect. Raph told me several times you were really trying to be more present, and I suppose you did try.”
Donnie shrugged off Splinter's hesitant hand when it came to hold his own, turning his head further away so as not to see damp fur and whiskers. He would not be guilted by the man who risked such a heinous act.
“You just did not try hard enough when it came to the one who needs you the most right now- your eldest son, who can never bring himself to ask you for help. The one who kissed our bruises, eased our fears, and ensured us that we would be okay, that you were okay.”
The words hung in the torturous car, slowly inching into Donnie's guts and making him yearn for a trash can or toilet. His legs did not move, did not even attempt to escape the room he so desired to stay in. He pleaded with his throat to stay shut, to simply absorb the acidic taste of his sorrow and disgust.
“You abandoned Raph and attempted to form a sort of spiritual sanctuary for him in his own room. For that, I can not forgive you. So, please, leave his space.”
He faintly registered Splinter nodding after what felt like hours, a meek action if anything. The rat did not say a word, only slipping away from the crimson bed decorated with teddy bears and drenched in yearning. The man did not meet his eyes, his figure reeking of shame and guilt. Donnie couldn't bring himself to apologize, let alone form any words, for they would be a lie. This family had endured enough falsehoods.
Splinter shuffled closer to the door, pausing just short of the threshold. His claws held onto the metal, gripping it so hard it might've creaked if his grasp was any tighter. “Donatello, my brilliant son.. I am sorry.” He said, voice scarcely loud enough for the boy to hear. “For everything, and for the pain I have caused you and your brothers. I am forever deeply sorry.”
The turtle stiffened with each passing syllable, the stream of silent sobbing running down his throat immediately becoming uncomfortable. His claws dug into his biceps [the tips of his nails felt warm and wet], willing every ounce of his strength to stay as still as possible and fight the way he craved to fall to his knees and wail into the arms of Raphael. To weep into the arms of his eldest brother, who never did mind when Donnie’s snot left a snail trail down his shoulder, no matter how disgusting it was.
Raphael was not there.
Splinter hummed after a while, his nose ducking closer to his chest when he received no response. “And you are correct, as you often are, my amazing Donatello.”
Shut up.
“You were not mistaken and told nothing short of the truth. I have not done.. I have not tried anywhere near hard enough for you or any of your siblings. That, my boy, will always haunt me and my choices.”
Please, shut up.
“And Raphael, my beloved Red, surely became more of a parent to you than I have in many, many years.”
Stop talking.
“I am sorry… for everything, my son.”
Please leave-
“Then try harder if you're really sorry,” was all Donatello could bring himself to snarl out, tossing a glare over his shoulder. “Now, get out.”
Splinter made a quiet noise of acknowledgement, and the turtle was sure he saw a couple of tears hit the metal flooring [he wondered if Raph ever thought of getting carpet in here- he would absolutely install it for him-]. Without another sound, the rat slunk out into the hallway with a nudge of the door, effectively shutting it and leaving the softshell to at last crumble.
Donnie felt his knees hit the floor; the loud smack of scales and bone against steel thrashed throughout the room. His vision swam and swished until he felt the coldness of the ground kissing his cheek and neck. A dire, quiet chirp dribbled out of his beak, trembling hands reaching for the crimson blanket as his breaths became short and labored. It hurt to inhale and exhale, fresh tears threatening his lashes as he hiccuped and cried silently, not a wail to be heard.
—
It felt like untold hours until his chest settled into a semi-comfortable rhythm again, a stutter here and there almost enough to send him toppling over again. He stared at the boxes and random objects under the large bed, eyelids lowering and raising slowly with far too much effort. It took minutes he couldn't count until Donnie rose to his knees, using the edge of the bed as leverage.
With a choked grunt, Donnie pressed his forehead into the soft blankets as he climbed ever so sluggishly to make it atop the sheets. Without a thought, he reached around to his shoulder and felt around until he pressed the button that released his battle shell. It fell to the floor with a loud clank, the sharpness making him flinch with a guttural squeak.
The feel of such cozy blankets, plus the sight of large pillows and a mountain of stuffed animals [each named with thought and love], made Donnie want nothing more than to collapse right then and there. His mind and body alike, not to mention his aching soul, begged and craved and yearned so desperately for repose. He wanted to sleep; he would- right there, in the space of his beloved elder brother. A space of truthful sanctuary where no betrayals were further permitted to cross the threshold and take root; here, hatred and pain and bone-deep torment were smothered out and died in the doorway when met with the energy of Raphael.
Fuck, how badly he desired to stop thinking for a little while and to bathe in the fortifications of the softest of bed sheets on the planet [Donnie remembers sleeping here for the first time after Raph dragged him to bed and having the best sleep of his life].
Nonetheless, his brain was still too loud, reminding him of his task, the entire reason why he dared step into the red-drenched train car.
Donnie huffed and puffed as he forced his legs to stand, using his arms to push himself off the mattress; an action that took far too much exertion, draining his will of all that he’d accrued during his brief respite. With movements that briefly reminded him of a sleepy but grumpy cat, he crouched next to his battle shell and opened a panel deep within the confines of his tech. Reaching deep, deep, deep until his fingers wrapped around a palm-sized camera, pulling it out to inspect the lens. Regardless of his foginess, he tip-tapped against his gauntlet until a tiny red dot appeared on the black optics.
Wearily glancing around the space, Donnie used the bed as an anchor to pull himself into a stance. He ignored the soreness in his body, the drained tugging of his chest towards his stomach and muscles. He ignored it all-- nothing mattered enough for his attention besides the camera he carried.
Donnie mindlessly placed the new surveillance piece atop a high corner shelf, slightly hidden behind several action figures, while being in the right spot for complete viewing of the entire room. He peered down at his gauntlet, finding his way to the camera's footage, and felt a small spark of relief and delight when he saw exactly what he needed: a complete oversight of every inch of the inside of the car.
No one would come in or out without his knowing.
Once he felt content with the positioning and being one-hundred-and-one percent certain it covered every space, Donnie gave himself a nod of approval and trudged his way back to the true prize: Raph's bed.
The mere spectacle of it made him want to bawl all over again, but it seemed his tear ducts were dry for the time being. It was okay because he didn't believe he could try even if he wanted to, which he did not.
Within moments, Donnie delicately made his way beneath the surface sheet, a gentle yet oh-so-soft throw blanket that Raphael would often bring to movie marathon nights. The bigger would wrap the kind fabric around whoever was in his lap that night.
It held a scent so nostalgic and accustomed.
Shell turned to the wall, Donnie’s eyes fixated on the daunting steel doors. He shuddered a sigh as he pawed before him until he reached the enormous collection of teddy bears. Picking at random, he gingerly cupped one against his plastron, momentarily glancing at it and recognizing Captain Snuggles.
Donnie didn't need to hunt for the faint memory of Raph being so, so excited to get this bear only a few years ago. It came all too naturally.
The purple-clad turtle sensed the depths of slumber climbing up his spine and invading his very being, whispering sweet promises of slumber and genuine repose.
He was tired. Tired of thinking, of being strong. He craved the saccharine numbness and reprieve he rarely experienced since the days of Shredder and the Kraang.
He could rest now. He could solely imagine it was Raph who picked him up with a firmness so gentle and familiar it gave him no room to argue, and Raph would tuck him in and ask if it was okay to hold him.
Donnie never refused. He would never reject such an offer.
It wasn't hard to surrender to the tender and forgiving touch of the invisible, allowing his eyelids to finally shut and let his consciousness descend into the comforting darkness of nothingness.
He could rest. Perhaps for a little while.
—
Donnie liked this dream. He’s very sure he has had it before, many times in fact, for it felt all too recognizable and comfortable. The softshell was in no hurry to open his eyes or to move a muscle– he was resting, so it was fine if he stayed.
It was tranquil, it was calm, it was safe.
The softshell hummed, he thought, if the gradual thrumming of his chest and throat was anything to go by.
Perhaps it was not him. He didn't mind, did not care to bother with thoughts and thinking.
Ultimately, Donnie lifted his lashes to gaze at the endless sky of looming clouds- all very fluffy with hints of pale blues and warm oranges- and peered to the side, voice made of airy softness and lips pulling into nothing short of the purest of bliss.
“Greetings, Raphala.”