Archive of Our Own ^beta

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“Donnie!!” The eight year old red-slider turtle bounced up and down on his twin-brother’s bed, startling him awake. “It’s time for bekfast!!”

“...breakfast, Leo.” Donetello corrected, rubbing his eyes in a circular motion. Being awoken by his bombastic brother was a daily routine he didn’t think he’d ever get used to.

“Yeah, bekfast.” Leon smiled. Donnie couldn’t tell if his brother was being genuine in his words. Did he pick up on Mikey’s slurred speech? He threw his covers back over his head, protesting his brother’s nonsense, intentional or not. His brother gave out a groan that was satisfactory enough for Donnie to sit up once again.

His eyes landed on a pouty-faced box turtle standing in his bedroom doorway, contrary to the red-slider still jumping on his bed. Michel looked at him, trying his best to look upset that he was not out of bed yet, but Donnie had seen this time and time again. He kicked off the covers, and walked towards his baby brother.
It was known that Donnie hated physical affection, but he was most tolerant of his baby brother’s cuddly behavior. As soon as Donnie opened his arms, indicating a hug, they were immetaly filled. Donatello exhaled harshly when the box turtle barreled into his soft shell.

It’s not that he didn’t trust his brothers to be careful… okay, that was a lie, he admitted to himself. He couldn’t trust them to be careful, that would be a death wish. There had been days where he had no choice but to carry his covers with him around the lair to avoid being vulnerable to his brothers’ antics.

He was deep in thought when he realized Mikey had pulled away. He assumed he had heard his sharp exhale and was concerned.

“You otey, ‘onni?” Angelo whispered—Donnie took a small amount of pride in assuming correctly.

“I’m okay, Michel.” The soft shell turtle gave a half-baked smile.

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Before he knew it, Donnie found himself downstairs at the dinner table. He idly poked at his food, watching his brothers practically inhale their pancakes and eggs.

Donnie took note of how similar the pancakes looked to his own shell. He frowned at the realization. Was he really that soft? —his thoughts were swiftly cut off by a loud, shell-rattling noise coming from the end of the table. He looked up to the culprit and was unsurprised to find that Raph had knocked over a chair. Donnie inferred that he had done so by knocking into it with his shell. He knew the snapping turtle had a habit of forgetting how big he was.

His thoughts abruptly changed tone as he realized, despite Raph picking up the chair and moving on, all eyes were on him. All of them looked worried. Over what? He didn’t know—or well, he didn’t know until he was verbally reminded of the fact.

“Are you okay, Purple?” His father’s voice was calm, careful, as if he thought that Donnie would break over the slightest raise in tone. The soft shell turtle glanced between his brothers, all of whom had returned to their normal aloof state. Mikey was messily eating his food, while Raph and Leo were seeing who could chug their orange juice the fastest. Donnie’s nose wrinkled—he hated orange juice.

Before he could let his thoughts wonder again, he pulled his focus back to the rat standing in front of him. His face was painted with concern. It made Donnie’s stomach swirl.

“Yes, I’m okay, Sensei.” He said dryly before turning away from his food and hopping off the dining room chair.

“Mm, well, that’s good,” Splinter exhaled, probably noticing the spite in his purple son’s tone. Regardless, he put a steady hand on Donatello’s shoulder, and spoke again. “I know you’re capable…”

Splinter trailed off, his eyes fixated on something far behind Donnie. Though he was grateful there was no pressure of eye-contact—he clenched his fists, preparing himself for something he did not want to hear.

“It would…” His father stumbled around his words, Donnie assumed this was because he thought—as everyone else did—he was fragile. “It would make me feel better if I knew your shell was protected, Purple.”

It was then he noticed the pillow Splinter had badly hidden behind his back. He furrowed his brow, tears creeping out of the corner of his eyes, and he sank to the floor. “I don’t want to wear that stupid pillow!” He snapped at his sensei, who was clearly taken aback by his outburst. Donnie felt all the eyes in the room once again land on him.

“Donatello, your shell is fragile,” Splinter said in a sickeningly careful tone. He picked up the soft shell turtle before continuing his lecture in a hushed voice, “You know how… unknowing your brother’s can be.”

Donnie knew he was right, but that didn’t stop the tears from following. The purple turtle kicked at his sensei in a fit of rage and embarrassment as his father carefully attached the soft pillow onto his back.

The second Splinter set his son down, he bolted to his room, stumbling as he went. Donnie climbed up onto his bed and slid under his purple cloth covers, angrily pulling at the pillow on his back. It was no use. It didn’t budge. The soft shell turtle’s thoughts swelled with anger. He was angry at his sensei, he was angry at his brothers, he was angry at the pillow, and he was angry at himself.

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Donnie sat in the dark of his room, shaking from how hard he had been crying. He held his arms close to his chest in an attempt to hold himself together. Of course, it did nothing to solve the problem that mocked him constantly from the back of his mind. Donnie dug his nails angrily into his forearms, cursing himself for being the way he was… Weak. Useless. Soft—

His bedroom door opened in a less-than-quiet creak, causing Donnie to shoot up from under his covers, his heart racing as though he was under attack. He found his little brother standing in the doorway, eyes wide and face covered in bandaids—Donnie suspected this was the work of Leonardo, who frequently coerced Mikey into playing “Doctor”.

“‘Onnie!” His gap-toothed grin beamed at Donatello, though there was something tied to his back… did Leo put Mikey up to this? “Lookie!” The box turtle spinned around to show off the blue-striped pillow that was tied onto his shell. Don gave a small smile through choked down tears, unknowing of how he was supposed to react. Were they mocking him? Was he supposed to be happy?

Shortly after Mikey, and much to Donnie’s dismay, two other turtles piled into his room—also sporting pillows on their backs. Donnie couldn’t read their faces—they were smiling, that was good, right? But what if they were laughing at him? As much as he tried to, he couldn’t understand their intention. He guessed that their actions were well-meaning, or, atleast, were supposed to be—still, shame twisted in his gut. He took a deep breath as his brothers approached his bed, his thoughts practically muting their cheery voices.

“Yo Don?” His eldest brother piped up, “You in there?”

Yes, of course he was. He was too busy thinking—even though he didn’t necessarily want to be. Raph waved his large hand in front of the soft-shell turtle’s face. Donnie scooted back on his bed, trying to make it known that he didn’t want to be touched. He knew Raph was quick to use physical touch to comfort his brothers. The snapping turtle must have gotten the message, because instead of resuming his physical nagging he sat down next to Donnie.

Leonardo lifted Mikey upwards by his armpits and the littlest brother climbed onto Donatello’s purple sheets, followed by Leo throwing himself onto the bed as well. Raph raised up his hands, holding up his three fingers—two fingers and a thumb. The oversized ten-year-old took a deep breath and began lowering his fingers, counting down from three to zero. Donnie comfortably followed the rhythm. Splinter had done this with him many times before. The soft-shell assumed that he had done the same with Raph as well. He knew his eldest brother was also prone to panic attacks—that they had in common.

Surely enough, Donnie’s breathing regulated into a steady rhythm. In and out… In and out. Donnie carefully leaned onto Raph. His death grip on his own forearms loosened greatly as his face pressed up against his older brother’s plastron. Donnie noted how Raph’s heart beat seemed to be perfectly synchronized with his own breathing. In… one two three… out… one two three. His concentration broke when he heard his littlest brother give out a quiet yawn. Statistically, his own yawn was sure to follow. Donnie stretched out his legs before promptly returning them to his chest. He felt the weight at the end of the bed slightly lighten as something rolled closer to the other side of Raph. Donatello guessed it was one of his brothers wanting to get in on the cuddling.

Donnie had been too panicked to realize how tired he really was—not until drowsiness was actively overcoming him. He let himself relax, knowing he was safely under the watch of his brothers, and drifted off to sleep