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While the Hidden City didn’t exactly welcome the Hamato brothers with open arms, they weren’t turned away at the gates either. The brothers blended rather well with the general populace of the City and as long as they kept their noses clean, they were left well enough alone most of the time. (Besides which, you save the world a couple of times and people are willing to overlook a few past transgressions. Most of the time.) So when they weren’t causing chaos on the surface or in the sewers, they’d make the occasional trip to the Hidden City to explore all the delights it had to offer.
Lately, those delights had been of the culinary variety.
While yokai and humans shared similar dishes, yokai had wildly different sources of food and the boys were eager to get a taste of everything they could get their hands on.
So another evening found the four meandering down the street, pushing through the night crowd and chattering about where to try their next meal. They were wandering what could almost have been considered an open air market; a section of the city that was almost a whole block in and of itself, surrounded by towering buildings, buried in shadows except for the strings of lights that blazed along the brick paths. There were tents hung with banners and tassels, stalls and booths with awnings and eye-catching displays, the Hidden City’s version of food trucks squatting over the sellers and fanning their tantalizing scents over the crowd, and sometimes even whole patches of ground that were commandeered by a smattering of tables and chairs clustering around a tiny kitchenette sort of deal. The whole thing was very exciting, buzzing with energy and voices, and yokai.
“We’ve been here an hour already, can we please just pick somewhere to eat!” Mikey complained loudly, slumping over Raph’s head. He was sitting on Raphael’s shoulders, having whined his way up there when his hunger began to steadily chip away at his blood sugar.
“I’m with Angelo,” Donnie looked bored tilting towards annoyed, “We’ve already passed plenty of new places, let’s just go grab something from a food truck.”
“But it’s my turn to pick where we eat!” Leo protested, stopping in the middle of the path to turn around and frown at his brothers. Several yokai forced to abruptly change course scowled at him, though he did not seem to notice, “And I wanna find that one place we were lookin’ at last time! That cafe thingie run by them lizard dudes!”
Donnie threw back his head with a dramatic groan, “Oh my gooooodddd, we are going to be here all night if we try to search this whole market!”
“We’ll go down one more row,” Raph intervened, cutting off the escalating argument before it could build any more, “And if we don’t find it, then you gotta pick somethin’, Leo, ‘cause I’m getting kinda hangry myself.”
“But Raph—!” Leo began to argue and Donnie was puffing up to start shouting, when they were interrupted.
“Excuse me, I heard you were looking for a food stall run by lizard yokai?” A humanoid yokai with long, droopy pointed ears and pastel purple skin tapped Leo’s elbow, making him jump and spin on the spot to put distance between the two of them, “I think the people you’re looking for are another two rows down. I just came from that direction. They have bright green umbrellas at their tables, you can’t miss them.”
“Thank you very much, ma’am,” Raph smiled, inclining a bit towards her, “We appreciate the help.”
“Yeah, thanks! Come on, let’s go!” Leo might have started running if Raph hadn’t snatched his elbow and forced him to slow down. Donnie scoffed and rolled his eyes, following after them with a bemused expression. He didn’t even acknowledge the yokai woman as he passed her and she skirted out of their way to disappear into the crowd.
The mood lightened considerably when they found the little place (“Yes! This is the same one from last time! If we see that lady again, I’m gonna kiss her!” “Do not.”). They settled at a table—one with a sturdy chair obviously designed for heavier patrons and one that Raph happily took—and soon had their noses buried in the menus, trading banter and musings about what the food might be like. It was an evening of trying new things, of exploring the mysteries of the Hidden City, and expanding their knowledge. But really it was about getting out of the lair and having a good time and stuffing their faces.
They picked at the appetizer plate of doughy bread spheres drizzled in something pink that had the consistency of honey and tried each other’s drinks. Donnie and Leo swapped drinks when they found they liked the other better, Raph had to stop Mikey from filling up on the appetizers, and they all got tense and distracted when something across the walk went off with a popping bang! like a cap gun. Smoke was billowing out of a tent and some unfortunate shopkeeper was staggering out, coughing and waving their hands. Some yokai stopped to assist but, when it was clear that there was no immediate danger present, the rest went about their business and the liveliness of the market picked back up again.
“Food’s here!” Leo cried unnecessarily as their server approached with a tray of dishes. He grinned eagerly, rubbing his hands together as his steaming plate of wriggling multicolored tubes was set in front of him, “Ooooho-ho-ho yeah, baby!”
“Thank you!” Mikey chirped as he also received his food. Raph also murmured his gratitude, licking his lips at the heaping portion of purple meat and bright yellow vegetables.
But when Donnie’s plate was slid in front of him, his snout wrinkled and he frowned, “I asked for no seeds.”
Their server hesitated, glancing at Donnie and then at the meal in front of him, “Er...there shouldn’t...I could have sworn I didn’t…” Donnie’s expression soured even more.
“Come ooooonnnn, Dee, it was an accident!” Mikey prodded him in the shoulder, a smile on his face, “And bessiiiddeesss, it’s Try New Things Day, remember! So just give it a chance! You might liiiikkeee iiitttt~”
“If you’re not gonna eat it, I will!” Leo eagerly reached for Donnie’s food and yelped when a metal claw from the Battle Shell whacked the back of his hand.
“No, Angelo’s right, I did agree to try new things. Don’t worry about it,” Donnie waved the server off, who hesitated a moment longer before scurrying away to the kitchen set up, “But if any of these get stuck in my teeth, I’m going to make it your problem, Mikey.”
Mikey just beamed at him and took another big bite of his squirming, blue-ish burrito thing.
Donnie grimaced as he speared a forkful of greens and meats and other bits, twisting it all together with the squiggly lime green noodles and pale sauce. It smelled amazing and he couldn’t keep the frown on his face as he put the bite in his mouth. The flavors were different but worked well together and the textures were tolerable. He expected the teardrop shaped red seeds that had been scattered over the food to crack and crunch like kernels between his teeth. But they popped like fresh, crisp grapes and released a small burst of mild spice that complimented the rest of the meal nicely.
All of them cleared their plates.
Stuffed full and happy, they milled about the market in a lazy daze, laughing and poking fun until Mikey started complaining about his stomach hurting. By the time they’d traipsed back home to the lair, Mikey was groaning in Raph’s arms, clutching at his middle with sweat beading his forehead.
“Should we take him to the med bay…?” Raph hesitated in the main room, hovering between putting Mikey to bed and getting him a medical checkup.
Mikey decided for him because he suddenly launched himself out of Raph’s arms, bolted across the room, and dove into the nearest bathroom. Donnie winced at the sounds of retching that echoed through the lair, looking a bit greener a he pressed his hands over his headphones. Raph sprinted after Mikey, all bluster and worry, immediately fretting over the youngest. Leo followed in his wake, scrambling over Raph’s shell to get a better look at the situation.
“Yo, Donnie! You’re not gonna believe this!” Leo shouted from his perch, grinning like an idiot, “Mikey’s puke is friggin’ blue! It’s just blue! It’s hilarious!”
“Leo, this is not funny!” Raph grabbed the back of Leo’s shell, plucking him off and setting him on the floor, “Go get somethin’ to help Mikey feel better! Donnie! You remember the thing Mikey ordered, right? Go get dad and tell him so he can make sure it was nothing bad!”
Apparently the wiggly blue burrito did not like Mikey’s stomach because of the fruit the sauce had been made of. Donnie added it to their list of foods to avoid, Mikey got coddled and cooed over for the evening, and that was that.
Being exhausted after the evening’s events was normal. Donatello didn’t give it a second thought.
“Geez, Donnie, when’s the last time you slept? You look like a zombie,” Raph was giving him a concerned frown when Donnie looked up from staring into the infinite wood grain of the tabletop.
“Huh?” Donnie blinked, trying to refocus, “Oh, uh...pretty sure...last night? What time’s it?”
“Almost ten in the morning,” Raph flopped down into the chair across from Donnie, “You sure you’re all right?”
“Mm,” Donnie grunted, scrubbing at his face, “Yes, I’m fine, sorry. Still waking up. Sleep’s been a bit rough lately…”
Raph hesitated for a moment and then asked in a low voice, “...is it nightmares again?”
Donnie worked his jaw, staring at a spot on the floor to avoid looking at his big brother. His fingers flexed on the table and he shook his head, “No. No nightmares. Just...losing track of time. Sort of. Head’s full of thoughts, busy scheming, planning, you know.” He waved a hand dismissively, pushing back from the table and getting to his feet, “A genius’ work is never finished!”
“Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?” Raph called after him as Donnie trotted out of the kitchen and back towards his lab.
“Not hungry!” Donnie replied and was only a little surprised to find that it was true.
The lethargy clung stubbornly to him throughout the day, making his energy wane and his body sag. He took frequent breaks, slumping over his desk and begrudgingly giving in to nestling his head on his folded arms. It wasn’t a sleepy tiredness that clung to him, but a sort of weakness in his core, his body lacking the usual energy and drive to keep going.
Donnie managed to nibble a few bites at lunch to satisfy Raph’s concerned frown, but he still didn’t feel hungry. He felt...not full, maybe, but he certainly didn’t feel up to a whole meal. Maybe a snack.
Luckily, his family was distracted from any further worry by Draxum arriving for their weekly mystic training session.
He’d given them all a huge lecture after witnessing the state of Michelangelo’s arms in the aftermath of the Krang invasion. He might have gone on for hours if Leo hadn’t interrupted him with an annoyed and sarcastic, “Well, why don’t you just train us then!?”
And that was how they all wound up in a spare room Draxum had set up specifically to focus on mystic training. Once a week, the yokai would drop by to help them hone their skills, sometimes focusing more on one brother than the others, but doing his best to educate all of them.
Donnie watched as Mikey demonstrated how his control over his levitation had improved, sighing heavily as he leaned against his bō staff and let his mind wander. He’d been laying out plans for a new tech-bō recently and was eager to get back to his project, despite the way just thinking too hard seemed to sap his energy. He blinked slowly, the world sliding out of focus, his thoughts turning into molasses that oozed lethargically over the folds of his genius brain. That fatigue was setting in again, sitting so heavy in his muscles that he felt like he was going to fold in on himself like origami paper.
And his stomach was starting to ache. The distraction chewed up as much of his concentration as the fatigue did, his insides slowly tying themselves into knots. Maybe he actually was hungry and his appetite was just—
“DONATELLO!”
Draxum’s shout made Donnie jump and flail clumsily for a moment, his feet nearly going out from under him. He straightened up, clutching his staff, trying to look like he hadn’t been zoning out and had definitely been paying attention. Zoning out was Leo’s thing, Donnie would never.
“Show me the progress you have made on your constructs,” Draxum was looking down his nose at Donnie and it raised Donnie’s hackles, his ego bruised.
“With pleasure,” Donnie stepped to the center of the room, spinning his staff in one hand and passing it behind his back to the other without breaking the spin, “Gentlemen! Prepare to be amazed!” And he thrust his staff in front of him, parallel to floor, grinning as he summoned the familiar swirl of his mystic power.
Purple energy began to coil around the ends of his weapon, mystic constructs clicking together, their shapes rapidly becoming Gatling guns as they built themselves with but a thought from Donnie.
Until it all sputtered, fizzing like static, and went out.
Donnie’s grin slipped and he gaped at his bō staff. That…had never happened before, at least not since Donnie had figured out how to make the process of mystic energy and his Ninpō work for him. And it had never just gone out like a snuffed candle!
Ignoring Leo’s muffled snickering, Donnie focused and punched his staff forward again. He could feel the mystic energy unspooling from inside him to form the pieces of his mystic tech, that silken slide of cool steel against his senses. And weapons did start to form, but even less of them were there than last time before the glowing purple constructs went out again. The pain in his stomach was building, a slowly flooding chamber of pain bubbling in his gut. Donnie bit off the frustrated growl that was stuck in his throat and tried again, jarring his arms with how hard he shoved his staff in front of him. He was met with the same result, even faster this time.
“Come on, Donald,” Leo smirked, draped over one of his katanas, all smug angles and teasing edges, “I thought you were going to amaze us.”
“Shut! Up! Nardo!” Donnie hissed, jamming his staff forward with every word. Only pale sparks were clustering around his hands, the barest flicker of light before they went out again, “It’s! Not! Working! Dumb-dumb! Mystic! AHHG!” A scream of frustration tore itself from his chest, that old, ugly, painfully familiar sting of self-doubt beginning to creep into the back of his mind again. With every attempt to summon his constructs, he felt the exhaustion sink deeper and deeper into his core. He was breathing heavily, his legs and arms trembling with effort to stay upright and focused, his staff feeling heavier and heavier by the minute, sweat beginning to bead uncomfortably along the lip of his Battle Shell. His stomach was a coiled, throbbing ball of pain, making his breathing even more labored, and he stubbornly shoved the ache down, tried to ignore it, told himself he’d get something to eat after this training was over as he prepared to try again.
“Enough!” Draxum barked and Donnie angrily slammed the end of his staff into the floor, leaning his weight on it again. When he turned to look up at Draxum, the room tilted and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to ignore the wave of dizziness rolling over him.
“It seems as though your abilities have atrophied,” Draxum sounded...disappointed. And that, more than anything, made Donnie feel oh so very small, “Mystic powers are like any muscle; if you do not exercise them, then they will become weak and flabby.”
Donnie bristled, “But I have been—”
Draxum held up a hand, “Do not argue with me. Only do better.”
Indignant, embarrassed anger bubbled in Donnie’s chest, a bitter froth of acid that stung the back of his throat. He clenched his teeth, grip so tight on his bō staff that the wood creaked, and spun around to stomp out of the room.
Except the floor dropped out from underneath him, the world flipped, and Donnie hit the ground with a resounding thud.
He just lay there on his plastron, snout smarting from where he’d hit the floor, his head spinning, a bit stunned by the position he suddenly found himself in. His body felt heavy and impossible to move, his joints ached, his stomach was screaming in pain, and something inside him felt hollowed out, scraped clean like the bottom of a carton of ice cream.
“Uhhhh, Don, you good?” Mikey ventured and there was worry in his voice. Through the ringing in his ears, Donnie could hear Mikey shuffle a few steps closer.
Donnie tried to speak but all that came out was a hoarse croak. The pain in his stomach was beyond hunger pains now; it had become something frothing, hot and acidic in his organs, threatening to erupt. He swore he could feel it pushing up his throat and let out a distressed mewl.
“Something’s wrong.” Leo appeared in his line of sight, dropping to his knees to cup Donnie’s head in his hands, “Donnie? Donnie can you hear me? Doesn’t feel like he has a fever...could he have hurt himself trying to summon his mystic tech?”
“If he exhausted his pool of mystic energy, then yes,” Draxum’s voice rumbled from over Donnie’s shoulder, “Though this does not seem the same...the symptoms…”
“Stomach—” Donnie grunted through gritted teeth and hated that his eyes were burning and welling with pained tears. His entire body was starting to shake, his breathing strangled and rapid, the agony in his gut so fierce it crushed his lungs and seared his strength away. He pulled out of Leo’s grip, tried to curl in on himself, tried to wrap his arms around his middle and put pressure on his aching midriff. The movement squeezed a cough out of him and he rolled onto his side, wheezing as he struggled. His stomach lurched and Donnie vomited hot bile onto the floor, groaning in pain and humiliation.
“Guys!? What the shell—is that a petal!?” Raph’s voice, raised in alarm, cracking with emotion.
Donnie blinked the tears from his gaze, struggling to focus on what was in front of him. The voices of his brothers were bouncing in his skull, making his ears ring and the world shake underneath him. The stench of his own sick was making his stomach roll and Donnie squinted, gasping for air, heart thudding in a desperate bid to keep him alive.
In the puddle of mostly stomach acid on the floor inches from Donnie’s nose, was a thin, white flower petal.
Another cough racked Donnie, worse than before, and it felt like something inside him popped. His mouth filled with the tang of copper and heat. And even through his tear-smeared vision, Donatello could see the splatter of red that he left on the floor.
“Med bay! Now!” Leo ordered and didn’t even wait, he just pulled his katana from his back and spun it through the air. A single slice and the fabric of the universe peeled itself apart into a glowing wound, spilling bright blue light over them all.
“Wait—!” Draxum tried to say something but Raphael was already scooping Donnie up into his arms and diving through the portal.
The movement jarred a whimper of pain from Donnie, his stomach cramping and stabbing into him with a fiery vengeance. But he outright screamed when Raph crossed through Leo’s portal, bucking in Raph’s arms, clawing at his brother’s plastron. His back arched, tremors running through him, his eyes rolling, mouth open as his scream cut off into a gargled choked whine and then nothing.
It was seconds that felt like an eternity for Donatello, the pain in his stomach escalating to knife point stab wounds, pressing up and out. His addled and exhausted mind thought of the chest bursting aliens from the movies and he would have kept screaming except he had no air left to do so, his lungs compressed and his throat raw, acid stinging the back of his mouth. The world was a blur of too much and too many and it was pounding into his tired and aching skull with hammer blows that shook him to the core. He felt drained, brittle, a plant plucked from its garden bed and hung from a line until he dried out into a crispy husk of himself.
The smell of antiseptic and cleaning solutions punched his senses and made him wretch, convulsing as Raph set him down. The pressure-pain in his gut had eased ever so slightly but Donnie still felt like something was definitely and inextricably wrong inside him. He coughed and vomited again, sticky bile and blood and another couple of flower petals smearing down his front. He whimpered, shivering, all the warmth sucked out of him, his body weak, his head stuffed and dizzy.
“Lee—“ His voice was a raspy whisper, hand flopping uselessly against his side.
Someone caught it, grabbed it tight, squeezing him with warmth and sunshine. Smaller than his own hand and logic sloppily pinned Mikey.
“It—it’ll be okay! Just hang on, Dee!”
“Mikey! Move!”
“He’s scared—!”
“I know, but I gotta see what’s wrong!”
More tremors, more flaring pain, a strangled whine that turned into a hacking cough. Another spray of vomit through his clenched teeth but this one was so hot it burned and the taste of his own blood in his mouth was stronger than ever.
“Donnie! Breathe!”
“Leonardo! Back up! All of you back away!”
“Fuck off, Draxum!”
“I am trying to help you!”
“Don! Donatello! Don’t—!”
But the pain and the anguish and the exhaustion was too much.
Donatello gave up fighting and let himself slip into the dark of unconsciousness, where the pain could not reach him. And he knew nothing else.
His family was not so lucky.
All of them watched with muted horror as Donnie’s body convulsed, his eyes rolled back in his head, his body twitching and arching. His mouth was open, saliva and blood oozing down his jaw, but he wasn’t making a sound.
“He’s not breathing…” Leo whispered in a horrified realization, “He’s not breathing! HE’S CHOKING!” Panic seized him and he dove to Donnie’s side, pressing his brother’s shoulders back down onto the exam table, “Donnie! Donnie, fuck!” He tried to feel Donnie’s neck, tried to push his plastron, tried to do any of the things that he knew how to do. But Donnie’s body was spasming and wheezing and trying desperately to find oxygen that just wasn’t there.
“Hold him still!” Draxum’s voice was as steady as his hands as he swept up to the table, looming over the boys like a reassuring thunderhead. His sleeves were rolled up and tucked tightly against his upper arms, his expression hard and serious as he leaned over Donnie’s twitching body with a scalpel in his grip.
“What the fuck are you doing!?” Leo swiped at Draxum with a snarling hiss, snout wrinkled to bare his teeth in an instinctual threat display. He might not have had the bite force that Donnie and Raph had, but he could still do some damage if he wanted to.
“I am trying to help!” Draxum snapped, “Find me some clean tubing and bandages! Raphael! Come hold Donatello as still as possible!” When no one moved, he shouted, “NOW! OR DONATELLO WILL DIE!”
Leo hesitated a second longer before swapping places with Raph and dashing so quickly across the med bay that his feet skidded on the floor and he almost fell over. He crashed into the cabinets along the wall and jammed his fingers yanking open drawers and cupboards to pull out what they needed. His mind was threatening to blur into panicked white noise but he bit his lip as hard as he could, forcing himself to focus.
Antiseptic wipes, clean needle, medical tubing, bandages, tape, thread, fresh syringe, local anesthesia…
A quick double check and then Leo spun on his heel and bolted back across the room, dumping everything onto the cart and hauling it to Draxum’s side. He jumped up and grabbed the swinging surgical lamp, flicking it on and pointing it at Donnie. Donnie was shuddering under Raph’s broad hands pinning him to the exam table, one hand pressed on his plastron, the other cupped under Donnie’s chin to tilt his head back and expose the taut lines of his neck. Leo could see Donnie’s throat working, even in his unconscious state, desperately trying to breathe, to function, to keep him alive.
Leo felt cold. He swallowed and looked up at Draxum, “Tell me what to do.”
“Clean here.” Draxum pointed and Leo scrubbed the spot with the wipes. When he held up the needle and anesthesia, Draxum nodded and Leo quickly administered a low dose.
The med bay doors slid open and Splinter burst in with a frown that turned into horror when he saw Draxum standing over one of his sons with a blade in his hand. Rage burned in his eyes and he tensed, but before he could move, Mikey threw himself at Splinter,
“Dad, don’t! He’s trying to help! Something’s wrong with Donnie!”
Draxum didn’t spare Splinter a glance, he just leaned in with a concentrated furrow in his brow and a remarkably steady hand. Raph sniffed and squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched, but his grip never wavering. Leo couldn’t—wouldn’t—look away.
Everything else became muffled and indistinct as he watched the silver edge of the scalpel cut into emerald skin. Bright red welled up immediately and Leo automatically wiped it away, keeping the workspace clean. His heart was pounding in his ears, he felt like he’d stopped breathing right alongside Donatello.
Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die, don’t die.
Leonardo felt selfish.
Draxum worked quickly, efficiently, with a remarkable skill for someone who claimed to only be a scientist (well, a warring warrior scientist). Apparently he had medical knowledge as well, knowledge that exceeded Leo’s own. He moved with confidence and Leo handed him whatever he asked for. It was still difficult to watch Draxum slide the tube into Donnie’s throat and stitch it in place, wrapping a thick layer of bandages around Donnie’s neck to cover everything.
But it was worth it to hear the whistle of breath through that tube and see Donnie’s body slump against the exam table, going boneless and still under Raph’s hands. Raph let out a sob and crashed to the floor, hugging himself and crying. Splinter and Mikey hurried over to him, helping him stagger to his feet. Splinter ushered them a short distance away, easing Raph to sit in a chair and fetching a damp cloth to wipe the sick from Raph’s hands. Mikey was crying, clinging to Raphael’s side with his face hidden in his brother’s shoulder. No one said a thing.
“Leonardo,” Daxum’s voice was a low rumble but Leo still jumped when Draxum lightly touched his shoulder, “He needs an intravenous line and...whatever else you do up here. Where are your supplies?”
“Um…” Leo’s mouth felt dry and his throat clicked as he swallowed, glancing around the med bay, “I...I got it, just...okay. Okay.” He moved mechanically, by memory, hardly aware of Draxum trailing him around the med bay. Gathered what he needed and made his way back to Donnie’s side. And there, he hesitated, staring at his brother for a moment before looking up at Draxum,
“The bed.”
He meant to say more, but just forcing out two words felt like a monumental effort, one that drained him significantly. Draxum seemed to understand but he still hesitated, an odd look on his face, struggling through something before he very carefully, very tenderly slid his arms underneath Donnie and lifted him up. Being careful of the breathing tube, Draxum moved Donnie over to the hospital bed and lay him down on it, easing out his arms and legs and propping his head on the pillow. He helped Leo slowly remove Donnie’s gear, handling the Battle Shell with a ginger unfamiliarity until Leo took it from him to set aside, and cleaned the blood and sick from Donnie’s plastron with warm water and a soft cloth. When Leo’s hands started shaking while he tried to insert the IV line, Draxum gently took it from him and said nothing about it.
The drone of the fluorescent lights and the soft sniffling from Raph and Mikey sank into the heavy silence between them. Leo stared at his brother, gaze snagging on the breathing tube coiling from Donnie’s neck. Words piled up in his chest, pressing against the back of his throat, but Leo couldn’t make his jaw work and his tongue felt like lead in his mouth.
“What happened?” Splinter’s voice was hard, sticky at the edges with emotions he was clearly burying. His eyes were bright and his expression was cold as he pushed a chair over to the bed and hopped up on it to look at Donnie’s still form, “What did you do?”
“He was choking,” Draxum explained in a low voice, surprisingly gentle, his own face tired and worried. He had one hand on the bed, inches from Donnie’s own, “I did not have a choice but to perform a tracheotomy. Leonardo was...very helpful. He is a skilled medic.”
That compliment normally would have had Leo gloating for days. But now it just rang in his head, a sound bouncing around the hollow bell of his skull as he stared at Donnie.
“What was he choking on, though?” Mikey and Raph had come up beside Leo, and Mikey was looking up at Draxum with a pleading hope, “We were just practicing! What happened!”
The look on Draxum’s face darkened and his loose hand curled into a fist in the blanket of the hospital bed, “I believe someone cursed Donatello. I heard you mention something about a flower petal. What color was it? What did it look like? Where did you see it come from?”
“He threw it up,” Raph said hoarsely, his voice gummed up from crying. He wasn’t looking directly at Donnie and was instead picking at the fabric of the blanket, “Or—or coughed it up? But it was white and—”
“Looked like that!”
Leo’s shout drew their attention. Mikey screamed and Raph made a sound like something was breaking deep inside him. Because Donnie’s throat was working and his mouth was lightly open, and pushing slowly past his lips was a small, white flower. It’s petals were heavy with saliva and stomach acid, the white stained with tinges of red, the stench of vomit heavy in the air as it wriggled into view.
Draxum swore, actually swore, and bared his teeth at the little thing. When Splinter let out a cry and went to reach for it, Draxum batted his hands away,
“Do not touch it! It is a flower from the Hidden City! It feeds of mystic energy. Usually they thrive by feasting on the natural ambient energy of the City. But implanted in someone with mystic powers…”
“That’s why he couldn’t make his constructs at training,” Mikey gasped in realization, “This thing has been feeding off of him! We gotta get it off! You know how to do it, right Drax? Right!?”
“If we act swiftly, yes,” Draxum was once again steady and firm, taking command of the situation with confidence, “The plant cannot be extracted with magic, it must be done manually. You must listen carefully and follow my instructions. We do not have much time…”
Donatello’s waking was an excruciating thing.
His consciousness clawed its way through slick clay and sluggish thoughts, occasionally slipping back into the gentle waves of sleep that lulled against the shore of his mind. He didn’t have the energy to struggle against the pull of the tide, letting himself get carried out to the sea of unconsciousness when trying to wake up grew too much. Still, a part of him grew frustrated each time, knowing he was missing something, knowing something had happened though he could not grasp what it was.
When he finally managed to pull himself up and out, it was a slow rise. His body reported back to him with the numb sluggishness that spoke of medication in his system but Donnie could still sense the dull pressure of what would have been pain pressing against his senses. His stomach throbbed with an uncomfortable hollowness, the kind of emptiness that came with throwing up its entire contents, and a distant ache radiated from his gut, all the way up his chest, through his throat, and across the roof of his mouth. His tongue was shriveled sandpaper, breathing felt like it was scraping the inside of his face with ice, and the rest of his body was heavy and lethargic, a solid block of concrete. He struggled to orient himself, to try and find sensations outside of his body, and twitched at the stinging scents of antiseptic, vinegar, citrus, and cleaner tangling together.
His eyelids peeled open like pieces of tape stuck together, gummy and crackling with sleep detritus, and he had to blink a few times to clear his vision. But eventually the cool gray of the med bay ceiling swam into focus, the shadows cast on it long and deep. Donnie stared at it for a while, gaze lidded, drowsy and listless, until he took a deep breath that made the ache in his chest flare and turned his head to look around.
The lights were all off in the med bay, save for the table lamp on Leo’s desk on the far side of the room. It was like a nightlight in the gloom, enough to light the space but not enough to drown out the shadows. As his eyes wandered and Donnie became more aware, he realized he was tucked under a couple of blankets, there was an IV in the back of his hand, and the heart monitor was clamped on his finger. The oxygen mask on his face should have been more noticeable but he figured could be forgiven for missing it at first. Things were starting to become clearer the longer he was awake, the world settling back into place, logic clicking pieces together as he took in the environment.
And one thing that was abundantly clear was that he was alone.
That shouldn’t have been a problem. Donatello valued his space immensely, he liked being alone.
But there was a difference, a very painful difference, between choosing to be alone and waking up alone. And it struck Donnie then—laying in the hospital bed, with no clear idea of what had happened to him, in pain and cold and maybe a little frightened—it struck him that all he wanted was the warm, familiar, stupid company of his dumb-dumb brothers.
Unbidden and entirely without his say so, a trembling chirp slipped out and rattled weakly into the chill air of the empty med bay.
It stung his throat to make the sound, the sting making him flinch and try to swallow it away. His eyes burned with the threat of tears but he couldn’t say whether it was because of the pain, or because no one had answered him. A knot was forming in his chest, a loneliness trembling inside him, the drugs in his system skewing his thoughts and dropping his guard. He chirped again, softer and weaker, a whisper of sound scraping up his sore throat.
The med bay doors slid open.
“—totally fine, Dad, I just want to keep an eye on him.”
“You have been doing nothing else! You need your rest, Blue! I could make a coat out of your eye bags!”
“Okay, uh, one? Got my mask on, therefore you cannot see my eye bags. And two, how dare you say that my beautiful face would ever have some unsightly eye bags like—”
A sound that was more squeak than chirp cracked out of Donnie’s abused body, soft and sad and pathetic, barely audible under Leo’s voice. But Leo’s head still snapped up, his gaze zeroing in on his conscious sibling.
“DONNIE!”
Leo was beside the hospital bed in a flash, hands resting lightly on Donnie’s chest, relief and worry reading in every line of his body, “Shit, Donnie, buddy, I’m so sorry! Of course you’d wake up the second Dad drags me out, you asshole, always tryin’ to make me look bad…!”
“Oh no, you do not get to blame me!” Splinter snapped from the floor, “Now go! Get Draxum!”
“But I—”
“Now, Leonardo!”
Leo screwed up his face, snout wrinkling, looking seconds away from starting a shouting match with their dad. But he huffed out a breath, pressed his palm to the side of Donnie’s face with a soft “be right back, bro, I promise”, and darted out of the room. Donnie tried to sit up to watch him go, arms trembling as they sunk into the mattress, but Splinter hopped up onto the bed and pressed a hand to Donnie’s shoulder.
“No, no, Purple, stay down, you are very weak right now. You need to stay still, my son,” Splinter looked tired and just as worried as Leo as he crouched beside Donnie, smoothing his hand over Donnie’s head in a comforting manner, “It is all right, you are safe. I promise, you are safe and so are your brothers. Just stay laying down for now…”
Leo came back with Draxum in tow mere moments later. The yokai must have been staying in the lair; his shirt was rumpled and he was hastily tying his hair up as he leaned over Donnie. The expression on his face was...concerned, fear tickling the edges. For some reason, the softness of it surprised Donnie.
“Donatello, how are you feeling? Are you breathing all right?” Draxum ran the palm of his hand over Donnie’s plastron with a furrow of concentration in his brow.
Donnie’s throat clicked as he dry swallowed, no moisture in his mouth to wet his tongue. But he still opened his mouth and tried to speak. Pain flared in his throat and he grimaced, squeezing out a word through gritted teeth,
“Hurts—”
It sounded like gravel being chewed up in a blender, hoarse and quiet and hardly a word, more a sound made manifest. It scratched up his neck and clawed its way out of his mouth, raking a rusty blade over tender flesh as it went. Tears sprang into the corners of Donnie’s eyes and he squeezed them shut, trying not to breathe to heavily. His hand pressed against the base of his throat, a strangled wheeze squeezing out of his chest.
“Hang on, lemme sit you up so you can breathe easier…” Leo’s voice, Leo’s hands on him, holding him up, the shuffling of fabric, and then Donnie was eased back down against a mountain of pillows. He slumped against them, cracking his watering eyes open to peer at Leo’s worried face, “There you go, Don, you’re okay. Can he have some water?” Leo directed the question at Draxum who nodded once. Leo smiled reassuringly at Donnie, patted his arm, and trotted across the room to fill one of the disposable cups. When he came back, Donnie tried to take the cup but his hand was trembling too much to hold it steady. He grunted low in his chest, sparking another flare of pain, when Leo had to help him drink it. But it was worth it for the soothing balm of water down his aching throat.
“Wha’...happen'…?” Donnie whispered, trying not to agitate the aches in his body any further. It took effort to talk, like he’d been socked in the stomach and his diaphragm was swollen and bruised. The pain in his throat bristled and itched and he absently raised a hand to scratch at his neck. When his fingers snagged on the line of stitches on the side of his neck, Splinter gently grabbed his wrist and pulled it away.
“This happened,” Draxum reached past Donnie and plucked a tiny jar from the nearby medical tray. There was duct tape and hot glue congealed around the lid, and inside was a small pile of little, teardrop shaped, red seeds. Some of them were slightly cracked apart, peeling open with little dried up brown sprouts curling from them, but most were still as Donnie had seen them scattered on his salad. He felt sick.
“These are a type of flower from the Hidden City that feed on mystic energy,” Draxum explained, rattling the jaw so that seeds bounced and clattered against the glass, “In the wild, they’re mostly harmless. But this particular, domestic variant was bred specifically to be parasitic in nature and it’s only grown in one place in the Hidden City—Witch Town.”
Donnie blanched and tried to curl up and hide. But his body was still weak and tired and all he managed to do twist himself to the side a little. He knew the shame was showing on his face, could tell by the looks Splinter, Leo, and Draxum were all giving him. He dropped his gaze to stare at his lap instead. The increased pounding of his heart made his insides throb and a pulse push behind his eyes.
“Donnniiiieeee?” Leo leaned down, trying to catch Donnie’s gaze but Donnie turned his head away. His face was starting to burn, the humiliation and self-doubt congealing in his already aching stomach.
He wasn’t ready to tell his brothers about that yet.
Instead, Donnie glanced at the jar still in Draxum’s hand, then looked at Draxum himself. He sucked in a breath to speak, winced at the sting and burn of it, and tried to sign instead. His motions were sloppy and shaky and the effort left him feeling drained and tired. But at least it wasn’t aggravating his throat more.
Draxum frowned, “What...was that? Was he trying to cast a spell?”
“That was sign language, goat man,” Leo scoffed with a smug twist to his grin at knowing something Draxum didn’t, “Pretty sure he was asking what those things did to him.”
“They do what seeds do,” Draxum replied, ignoring Leo’s jab, “They take root and grow. They were siphoning off your mystic energy, which explains why you were unable to summon your constructs during training. Once they’d nearly drained you dry, they were set to consume your flesh and blood. One had already taken root in your stomach and several others were close to joining it. Had they entered your bloodstream, you would have never recovered.”
The med bay suddenly felt cold. Donnie shuddered and Splinter pulled the blanket up to tuck it against Donnie’s plastron. He rested a warm hand on Donnie’s shoulder and Donnie leaned closer to his father, allowing Splinter to put an arm around him and gently stroke the top of Donnie’s head.
“But how did they get in his stomach in the first place?” Splinter was making a conscious effort to keep his voice level, aware of how closer he was to Donnie, “Purple is not the type to put random objects into his mouth, especially if he does not know what they are! That is Red’s thing.”
“Somebody spiked his food on purpose,” Leo’s voice was hot with anger, fists clenched into the blankets near the end of the bed, “Those seeds were on your salad, Don. So,” His eyes flashed brilliant neon blue for a second as he looked at Donnie, the threat to his family sparking against the fuse of his Ninpō, “Who’d you piss off, huh? Who we gotta rough up?”
Donnie hunched his shoulders, slouching further down into the blankets and pillows of the bed. His chest ached and his pride stung and his nerves buzzed. He avoided looking at his family, staring into the folds of the blankets on his lap. He took in a shaky breath, stamped down on the pain that wanted to overwhelm him, and forced the words out,
“Ask April.”
It wasn’t hard for the pieces to fall into place after that.
The very yokai who’d pointed them towards the place they’d eaten that night had been a witch from Witch Town. She had recognized Donnie at the market and had been tailing them for a while, looking for an opportunity to get revenge. She’d caused the distraction across the path with all the smoke, taking everyone’s attention just long enough to drop the seeds into Donatello’s food.
Apparently she held a very nasty grudge.
She wouldn’t be holding anything anytime soon after the Hamato clan finished with her. They’d even let Draxum get in a swing or two.
Donnie had spent several days pretending to be asleep each time someone came to see him, unable to face them after April had spilled their story. Leo finally managed to sneak up on him by portaling directly into the med bay, giving Donnie no chance to fake sleep.
He’d expected mockery and teasing, the usual affair from his brothers when he screwed something up. But Leo just checked Donnie’s stitches, peered down his throat, and listened to his breathing in a fairly professional manner (professional for Leo, at least). Donnie kept bracing for the other shoe to drop, unwilling to lower his guard in case that was the moment Leo chose to poke fun at him. But the insults never came; Leo just plopped himself onto the end of the hospital bed and propped the clipboard on his criss-crossed legs so he could keep filling it out. Donnie kept a wary eye on him, confused, but not wholly despising the company. Being in the med bay by yourself for days was a boring and lonely affair.
“Your stitches should be able to come out in a couple days,” Leo said to his clipboard, “And your throat seems like it’s healing fine. Gonna keep you on the anti-inflammatory meds and soft foods still, just in case. But once the stitches are gone, you can move back to your room.”
“...what…do you want?” Donnie’s voice was healing, but he still sounded awful; sandpaper scraped raw across chalkboard surfaces. It left a dull throb of pain that made him want to cough and clear his throat, but experience had taught him that would only make things worse.
Leo looked up at him, blinking in confusion, “Uuuuhhhh, nothing? For you to get better? I dunno. What do you want?”
Donnie made a frustrated face, “None of you...have said anything. I know April...told you...about what h-happened in...Witch Town. P-perf...perfect blackmail material...for you Nardo.”
Something complicated flashed across Leo’s face then, some wretched and hurt thing that was very unlike Leonardo. But it was quickly schooled into a typical smirk as Leo tsk’d and shook his head, “Ah, Donnie...so smart and yet...so dumb.” He giggled childishly when Donnie growled at him, rolling off the bed and skipping out of reach to his desk across the room, “Let’s make a deal! You focus on getting better aaaannnndddd there will be no mention of Witch Town so Raph doesn’t fly into a homicidal rage!”
The false cheeriness in Leo’s voice was a stone disturbing the calm surface of a still pond. Donnie could see the white-knuckle grip Leo had on the clipboard, fingers clenched so tight that his hands were trembling. Leo’s smile was all teeth, a grimace in his tightened jaw as he beamed at Donnie and pretended everything was okay.
So Raph didn’t fly into a homicidal rage.
Right.
Donnie sighed, “W-what happens in the med bay…”
“..stays in the med bay!” Leo winked, tension uncoiling and smile softening at the edges, “Want some pudding? I think there’s still some chocolate left.”
“Sure…”
“Don’t sound so excited about the pudding, man, you’ll make me jealous,” Leo chuckled, dropping the clipboard on his desk. He hesitated for a minute, fingers fidgeting across his gear, gaze darting around the med bay. Donnie watched him and, when Leo didn’t take initiative, held out an arm as an invitation.
Leo leapt across the room and pulled Donnie into a tight hug, nearly throwing himself into Donnie’s lap as he buried his face in his brother’s shoulder. Donnie draped an arm over Leo’s shell, giving it some gentle rubs and pats, and tried to give a comforting churr. It sounded like static and scratches and it wobbled in a weird way, but the sentiment was there. Leo let out a wet, breathless laugh and pressed himself closer.
“You’re not your tech, Don,” Leo whispered and his voice sounded thick and shaky, “You know you’re more than that, right?” Donnie didn’t answer and Leo made a soft noise of distress, “You’re Donnie and I—dude, you do so much more than mystic powers or even your inventions can do! When you collapsed—and you were—Dee, there was blood and—” Leo choked and Donnie pressed a hand to the back of his head, like Splinter would do when they were little and hiding their face in his fur,
“I thought we were gonna lose you, Donnie. And that was scarier than the Shredder or the—the Krang or anything else. Don’t ever do that shit again!”
“No promises,” Donnie whispered and had the gall to smile when Leo jerked back to give him an appalled look with eyes that were red from almost crying.
“If you ever pull that shit again, I’m locking you in the lair for the rest of your life!”
“You c-could n...never contain me.”
“Watch me, buster, this is a threat!”
“Cannot threaten me in a-any way…that m—matters.”
“Is that a challenge?” Leo grinned, baring his teeth, the humor lighting his eyes up.
Donnie smiled, huffing out a wheezy little laugh and shoving a hand in Leo’s face. Leo gasped and dramatically toppled to the floor, throwing a hand over his eyes.
“Oh! Oh, betrayal! My dearest brother Donatello! How couldst thou do this to me! He could not suffer to be the lesser sibling! Oh! The agony! The misery! Jail! Jail for Donatello! Jail for one thousand years! Oh, the betrayal! Oooohh!”
“Superior sibling.” Donnie said over the side of the bed.
Leo just laughed.