Chapter Text
It had been a chilly fall day for New York, gradually shifting seasons as the day cycle changed. The clouds billowed across the skyline as the wind cooled temperatures and bodies of water. Yet, the snow had decided the biting winds and thick cloud cover was still not enough for its presence, so civilians, recognized as a person or not alike, found the annoyingly undeserved sheet of ice just so lightly glazed on the surfaces of abodes. As was the predicament of one Donatello Hamato.
“Guh, why can I never prepare ahead of time for the change of weather ? It is quite literally the most predictable occurrence in my poor excuse of a tragic living.” He laments as he comes out to the garage of the new lair to find that he had not equipped the Turtle Tank with chain treads. He had pleaded under his breath as he looked through every chamber in the tank and cabinet in the garage after he noticed the incline was too slippery for the tank to climb up. But his efforts were in vain when he popped his head up for the last time after hurriedly double-checking every nook and cranny. He sighs dejectedly, he’ll just have to travel airborne instead, running into the thing he wanted to avoid today; the weather.
He grits his teeth as he practically stomps back to his lab. It wasn’t that he disliked such weather, but it was easy to despise when you had to take certain precautions and the fact he wouldn’t be able to reap as many goods as he could’ve with the Tank and Spider Shell. The precautions being his fear of getting his jackets stuck in the rotors of his shell, which always brought shivers down his spine- unfortunately, this time literally, as he would have to fly holding his jacket instead of wearing it to minimize the possibility of it happening, and the fact he didn’t exactly want his Battle Shell/SHELLDON, surrogate son, to be exposed to such temperatures for a possibly extended period of time, even if its heating function would help him during transportation, as it could freeze up its mechanics.
In reality, the only reason the Softshell didn’t just give up and stay home was that he didn’t exactly want to stay home at the moment, he needed to get out and move to get his mind off his own thoughts. He had still not settled into the new lair and it made him so uncomfortable to just exist in it at times as the sufferingly sad memories of the old home invaded his thoughts. At night in his dreams, he was subject to the painful vibrancy of dread and panic enveloping his chest as he witnessed the beautiful and sorrowful death of his grandmother- the Shredder taking her down as an alarmingly familiar feeling of the action striking across his own shell caused him to flinch. The excruciating expression his twin wore as he was dragged away just in time before his beloved tech-bo gave way to the debris. He always woke up from the disturbing flashbacks thinking that it was so real before realization dumped its freezing bucket upon him as he reabsorbed- each and every time- that it had been real. More than a few times he had sighed out in relief and giggled at the mere insight of it ever happening before the splash of anxiety would grip his senses and he abruptly stills to remember that it had. Those instances were always harsh; embarrassing as he let out tiny sobs of grief.
It had happened last night, he was just too uncomfortable to be in the poor excuse this new home tried at being nostalgic, warm, or familiar. Too ashamed to be around his family after one of his manic reactions to his nightmares- should he really label them nightmares? They did happen after all.
On top of that, as soon as Splinter had the spare time to provide after helping complete the new lair as much as he could, he had set up a traditional Japanese shrine for not just his own mother, but of their grandmother and Saki as well. All the boys had been hesitant to pray for the wellness of Saki at first, him being the source of their greatest anguishes. But in the end, they all knew it wasn’t really Saki, it was only his mind corrupted by the Kuroi Yoroi, so, soon after several nights of their father praying alone, Mikey had joined with his sympathetic nature, then Leo, his motivations unclear if he was trying to fulfill being a role model as the new leader or if he really was trying to move past it all. “Hey, Peepaw deserves some rest after 500 years being used as a teapot.”
While it elicited chuckles of amusement from everybody, both Raph and Donnie had the hardest time coming around. Raph had endured so much as designated leader, throwing himself in front as the shield and big brother he was. Taking the majority of the Shredder’s hits and confronting him the most out of anybody else- his face to face confrontation with an armor adorned Draxum, unsuccessfully crushing a feral, insentient Shredder only to be knocked unconscious and left the younger brothers to fend it off themselves. Then getting crushed by him while protecting his Softshell brother- something he swore he would do if anything like what happened at the docks would occur again (they all hoped he wouldn't need to act on that promise, those hopes were quickly dashed), and in the final battles, saving his immediate youngest brother from fatal death and having his mystic form ripped apart only to be narrowly saved by a still weakened Karai. It took him a long time to process that he wasn’t demoted exactly, just on paid leave. The fact had remained he would always be the protective, loving big teddy bear of a brother. Leo had spent many a night just being there for him, the two breaking the sudden, stiff tension gradually over the course of midnight tea times and mind-melding sessions, to finally get Raph to come to morning prayer.
But Donnie? He just didn't know what was coming over him, surely if Raph, the arguably most traumatized - although there really was no point nor was it healthy to compare trauma - of all his brothers could start healing, then so could he? Or maybe years of putting up his ‘emotionally unavailable bad boy’ facade really had stunted his emotional development...
So, a grand expedition for spare materials was in order; to escape this morning’s prayers. It was just too awkward sitting in the lab, knowing he was purposefully avoiding an important family gathering. Not that he was ever shamed for it, in fact, everyone treated him exactly the same, other than the occasional sad and pitiful look he caught them in that was sent his way every once in a while. He couldn’t stand those; if they had something against him- which they probably should- why not just confront him as much as he hates the idea himself? It was almost more heartbreaking them being merciful to him than spiting him for his negligence to his family’s honor. He reaches the lab, but not after awkwardly side-eyeing his kneeling family in the theater room, and removes SHELLDON’s flash drive from his Battle Shell, he doesn’t exactly want company at the moment, especially not if his beloved child figure was going to be subject to his discontent today.
He takes off his jacket to drop off the Spider Shell and fastens his Battle Shell. He lets out a huff, placing the flash drive in a locked drawer, and holding his jacket in the crook of his elbow. He leads his way to the garage exit once again. This time as he rounds the corner, he hides himself in shadows to observe his family, peacefully resting in front of the lit shrines. His mouth tightens into a shallow grin at the serenity. They all had their eyes closed, heads bowed, and hands either clasped together or resting on their thighs, even so, he knew that at least his father knew he was eavesdropping if his ear twitch was anything to tell. It was bittersweet, his family rarely ever had serene silences like these, and now they were slowly becoming a routine, just without Donnie. The guilt was enough for him to get a move on, shaking his head lightly and tapping to the garage exit to not disturb the warm ritual by using the atrium’s skylight.
The frigid air hits him in his snout like a whip. He immediately finds refuge for his drying eyes behind the hetero-chromatic goggles he flips down. He blinks the newly forming tears away and sneezes. A sneeze his brothers would coo at like he was a kitten. He shakes his head as he flits off, gaining distance from the ground as he propels into the sky. He had no worries about people seeing him, as most people were stuck inside from the weather and the morning fog would shroud his form just fine anyway. He beelines for Repo’s yard, not thinking about much on his trip over, instead, admiring the frozen city from his bird’s eye view; he can see his warm breath turn to fog as he soars. He spots the yard, landing with a soft thump on the cold soil, and strolls in the front gate. Surprisingly, the mantis man had been leisurely about the junk Donnie took from his yard, (after the final battle with Shredder, it seemed a lot of things were seemingly magically cleared up between most of the turtles’ enemies), as long as the teen checked in with what parts he brought home and they could barter on the contents.
He flips up his goggles as he tours around, finding a nice mound to start off on. He heads to the North side of the yard and spots a decent-sized pile that he can immediately spot some circuit wire sticking out from at the top. A gust of wind blows through the valleys of piles and his spine shivers at the contact. He flicks through to the settings on his brace to the heat function in his shell and shrugs on his coat. He sighs out a breath in content as he gets to work, climbing up in the smooth ninja-like way he knows how and picks up what he identifies as a Roku that had the common red and blue wires strewn about.
He starts rummaging as he lets his thoughts drift. As much as he claims he is not , in fact, emotional, he contradicts himself almost every day, really, he just uses his sarcasm to put up a front. But he can never get over the way he fanboys over Atomic Lass, or fawns over another update he installs in SHELLDON. He can't help but be passionate, it was his nature, naturally, as someone who is always so enthusiastic and curious about anything and everything new. Even so, he can admit that he does tend to be one of the more serious of the Mad Dogs, even if it's not the level he thinks he is. The times he was seemingly unemotional was when he was focused on a project or analytical part of a mission, which was actually normal, of course, you’re supposed to be focused on business. Although maybe sometimes too much, especially after days being cooped up and being dragged out by the limb by a brother or two, then forced to slurp, chomp or crunch whatever sustenance was served at the designated feeding times.
He sighs as the food salad getting tossed up in his brain gets mushier and mushier- like the lettuce dried out and was rotting just minutes after it was turned into a meal, he knows he’ll have to truly sort out his thoughts and emotions someday, somehow, but that day is probably not today, so he pushes it all to the back of his mind and lets his brain numb out with calculations and schematics- y’know, the stuff he’s actually good at.
He hums a familiar tune he must’ve picked up as a tot as he rifles through and stuffs a piece of rubbage or two in his shell. Mikey once commented how similar his shell was to Wall-E, and asked if the endearing garbage robot inspired some of the building, to his disappointment and Donnie’s chagrin, he said no, no his Battle Shell was not inspired by a musty little trash bot. His beak lifted a bit at the memory anyways. He wondered if the youngest brother was disappointed with him. Knowing his reputation as Dr. Feelings, he had surprisingly not confronted Donnie about any seminars at all. Perhaps he’d thought the subject was too sensitive, or that he just needed some time as they all did. As thoughtful- and probably true- as that was, there was nothing more that he needed than a visit with his favorite amateur therapist. And maybe a hug.