Chapter Text
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Donatello POV
Donatello’s ears rang.
His body was on fire.
His blood boiled under his skin.
Golden light seared his eyes.
Leo!
~~~
He felt himself tremble. He didn’t even know how he could tell. His body was just a wall of white noise.
Maybe it was because his twin shook, as he held him in his lap. His brother wouldn’t move on his own anymore.
But that didn’t make sense?
Since, he’s never trembled. He prided himself in the precise circuitry in his inventions, each lovingly done by hand. He, in spite of all Leo’s promise and self-taughtness in the medical field, would be the only one who would be the one to perform surgery. He’d gloat about it to shut his twin up about being a ‘Medical Masta!’.
The heavy breaths echoed throughout the tank, waiting to be covered by the groans of terrible jokes.
No one attempted to fill the silence.
Blood ran down the thing's skin, shaking the child in it’s claws. It screamed and screamed. She was so sick of it. Each new screech echoing through the ground beneath them, digging their way into his head, to never let them forget, never forget the child, who’s return the woman screeched for, while they lay dead in her arms. The weakling with orange circles around her eyes was dead, despite the warm blood still rushing out of the wounds, it was dead. They wanted to run away, hide from whatever hurt the child, but her stomach twisted horribly, he could only feel disgusted. Disgust at the weakness. Disgust at the things failure to protect it’s own. This was a favor for it, taking its miserable life, filled of failure and weakness. They wanted to look away, she slithered forward. A fierce, malevolent joy bubbling inside her. He wanted it to stop. Scream. Cry. Anything.
His breath hitched.
He couldn’t breathe. Fear curled inside his throat, stuffed it shut.
His hands were cold, they were...
Were they wet?
Were they?
He didn’t look.
He couldn’t.
Couldn’t bring himself to look. His hands were wet. There was a wetness on them. His hands were covered in blood.
He’d killed her.
His heart pounded his ears. His ribs refused to move. He couldn’t breathe. His hands were cold. His hands were solid. Where were his fingers? His hands were solid.
They were blades.
He killed her.
NO!
He didn’t.
He couldn’t of.
He didn’t.
He forced out short breaths. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It had to just be his brain piecing together things from today.
That had to be it.
His teeth chattered. He could feel the quick rise and fall of his chest.
From today.
His brothers.
His brothers were going to go through it. He’ll have to think of something for it.
For them.
What could he make to help?
He spread his fingers. Wrapping them around his twin's wrist, a weak beat shudders against his press.
He opened his eyes. When had he closed them?
He looked at his twin, the turtle shaking from his tremors. Tears glided down the slider’s face, when they weren't Leo’s.
His brother wasn’t the little girl. Leo had red stripes. Leo had a pulse.
A weak one.
He lets go of his brother's bare wrist. Hands hovering over his brother’s chest. Twisted shards of metal, deep inside of him.
Too deep to pull out.
Deep enough to need sutures.
Sutures that were in a first aid kit somewhere in a random subway.
He brushed against the makeshift bandages. The black strips of fabric, they, they worked. They help the wounds clot just enough, even if they practically guaranteed some form of infection. But he still had to watch as blood bloomed from fresh cuts, despite using one of Raph’s and both of his for bandages. Only able to cover the worse of it.
He couldn’t do this. He thinks, exhaling a shaky breath/
His twin, the cocky, bigger than life one, the one that had enough emotion-filled passion for the both of them. He wasn’t able to do this without him. He wasn’t supposed to.
He’s not the twin to play doctor, that wasn’t allowed. Only Leo was.
He can’t.
But he has to now.
His hands twitch over the body that he studies. He had lopsided breathing, but both still seem to work, inflating at a steady pace. So, his lungs weren't collapsed, that, that was good. Especially with the deep bruises around his neck, the long white cuts, it meant his throat shouldn’t be severely damaged. But his chest.
The plastron was mangled.
It’d been slashed at, tiny and large alike shards of metal embedded themselves into the wounds. The cracks, if they could be called that hurt to look at. As if it were before a sinkhole caves in, it cracks the bone-like plastron. A deep crevice, growing more and more intricate as the lines reach the center, tiny pieces of it are missing, of his brother.
His twin inhales shakily.
He let out a breath. Tears still sit in his eyes.
He sniffs and wipes his nose. Gross.
Against his thighs, he feels chips in the shell. He tries to not think if his shell weren't so flat. If he wasn’t flush with the ground. Jagged metal and clawed cuts on his chest dig an image into his mind.
He stroked the top of Leo’s shell, small circles among one of the few undamaged parts.
He couldn't tell what internal injuries his stupid brother had gotten himself. He’d need the other goggles, the ones that could do this for him. Could tell him what was wrong and what he was to do to fix it.
He fixes things
He can fix this.
He has to.
He sits in the fact that his twin’s life hangs in the balance.
In the balance of magic.
It makes him itch. His brother is relying on witchery, instead of him.
He can’t do anything to help his brother.
Fucking anything.
He’s fucking useless.
He pressed his face into his palms, his face was wet, he was pretty sure most of it was blood, even if he couldn’t feel the wounds.
FUCKING USELESS!
He hit his wet eyes with the heels of his palms. And again. And again. And again. Why was he like this!
“Hey, Telby.” A soft voice spoke, two hands slipping into his own.
He looked up to see Raph, his mask off, the fabric wrapped around Mikey’s wounds, Mikey’s smaller mask wrapped around the eldest's eye and the wound just above it. The orange fabric stained red with drying blood, still seeming disgustingly wet. To his right was Mikey’s wobbly smile, tucked into Raph’s side, making him seem smaller than he always was. He took off his mask, tying it around Mikey’s bicep. The cracks ran deep into his, no, their skin. Burns scorched all over his scales. Up his arms, only fading out at his neck.
Raph’s went up to his biceps, his to his shoulders.
The masks and makeshift bandages only covered the wounds on Mikey’s arms. They seemed worse than wounds.
“H-he’s going to be okay, right Dee?” He looked up from his brother’s uncovered arms.
He didn't know.
He brushed away his brother’s tears with the back of his hand, “Of course, I can fix this, Mikey. He-he looked fine back in Staten with all the adrenaline running through him. He’s just a little tired now, but I mean if he- he was fine then… there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be fine now.” They all could tell. Could tell from the waver in his voice and the shake of his hands. Given his current situation right now, he decided it was reasonable, to not be able to lie.
He looked away from his brothers, muttering to the youngest to grab his goggles and a hoodie from his lab when they got back to the lair.
With nothing to say, no comfort able to be given, the tank fell silent once again. They sat in their seats, watching Leo. He missed the physical contact, begging, wishing for reassurance that he was still him; not whatever unholy monster filled his memories.
He didn’t dare let his fingers leave Leo’s pulse point for the rest of tank ride, fearing a moment alone was enough time for the slider to…
Just leave.
It was for him.
~~~
His legs were numb, they stung as he clumsily ran with Raph to the medbay. Watching his brother be carefully cradled in the eldest's arms. Everyone was grabbing whatever medical supplies they’d had around the lair while Mikey ran for his lab. He let out a sigh as his brother’s breaths got ever so slightly steadier as he was gently laid down in the cot.
Then Leo whimpers.
His heart stops.
The air felt electric. Like he’d get zapped with the wrong move.
It might as well have been a bloodcurdling scream, the eldest first, leaning down, churring softly to Leo, pain evident in his face. He was frozen, watching his brothers. His twin, covered in bloody makeshift bandages because he couldn’t think to add two first-aid kits to the tank.
His brother felt the injuries he could barely stomach to look at.
His brother was alive.
He has to think of it as that. And nothing more.
“Raphael, get an IV and the blood” his brother glances between him and Leo, with teary eyes he moves, “they’re in the fridge then I'm going to need help.” He found everyone had returned, his eyes locking on the boy. He knew the look of self-closed wounds, “Casey, you seem to have enough medical knowledge to help me do whatever I’ll have to do. Pops, can help everyone else’s immediate wounds, after I’m done with... with him. I’ll check Mikey and Raph.” He mumbles a thank you to Mikey when he was given the goggles and jacket. Only to spin around, “Son, Purple, can I assist you, please?” his father reached up to him, he took a step back.
“Dad.” He wouldn’t be able to do this with his father, he couldn’t let his father do this, “He’ll be fine. I can do this. But I need you to help the others. Help them and get Draxum here now.” He guides the rat out of the area, shutting the curtains.
He shoved on his hoodie over his metal shell, pain blooming in the numbness as he did. It’ll be okay. He’s fine.
His family is going to be safe.
Unless he fucks up.
He put on his goggles, wincing as he read down the far too long list of injuries his dum-dum twin obtained. Pausing as he saw a warning.
The lights flickered.
~~Immediate Surgery Required~~
His body was numb.
He knew this was going to happen. He didn’t believe it.
He’s going to have to…
He going to perform surgery on him.
“Donnie? What do we need to do?” Casey's voice faded in.
“Surgery. Punctured lung. Left one.” he signed. He saw Casey eyes widen with understanding.
He moved through the purple haze his goggles tint.
He was at the sink. His hands protesting against the scorching hot water of the faucet, scrubbing his hands raw. They’d be inside him. The lights buzzed with electricity and the vent seemed to screech. Jones injected the unconscious turtle with their stolen anesthetic and antibiotics. Some part of him wonders why he knew where it was.
But his body was on autopilot as his mind screamed at everything going on.
He remembers watching his hands cut through the soft flesh at his brother’s side. Blood dripping into his gloves as the metal claws of his battle shell dig into his arm, paralyzing the nerves. Forcing his hand steady. The orange glow of the cracks pulsing with the heartbeat in his ears. He’d peeled back the thick flap of flesh, laying his own brother's skin onto itself. There was some figurative language in there, something Mikey would like. A metaphor, irony, something to do with symbolism.
He should stop. Thinking about it, that is.
His brother’s blood covered flesh made bile rise in his throat, burning his throat, tears sting his eyes. He chokes it down, as the blood gets on his gloves. He only had to cut through muscle to get to the lungs he reminded himself. Going through the area the dumb ribs his dumb, dumb twin had shattered. The same ones that cut through his lung.
All he had to do was cut through muscle.
While his arms begged and burned to move on their own.
To tremble, and to stop doing this.
He would watch the lung move now. The pink flesh breathing shakily, more and more air leaking with each breath. He was handed the plier-like scissors as he took out the dissolvable sutures, following the directions and the little white lines his goggles gave him.
He remembers suturing the hole shut. Poking through the living meat, curving the hook only to stab at it again. Pulling the string through, and through. Each with a metal pull of his arm, each piercing and repiercing his back over, and over.
He doesn’t stop. He forces the metal arms to follow the mystic white lines in front of his eyes.
He didn’t like the lights. He hated them. The painful buzzing never quiet, only growing louder, mocking his irritation. He’d wished he never made the stupid things.
He’d made the dissolvable stitches.
Leo had asked for them, he asked why, Leo told him to be prepared.
He wanted to cry with relief as he tied the final stitch into the lung.
He'd close the muscle and skin now, pulling them back together, praying his brother wouldn’t join gram-gram.
Not because of him, not alone like this.
He releases a breath through the agonizingly thin paper mask. For a split second, everything fades as he looked at his mangled brother, no buzzing lights, no throbbing pain in his spine, no exhaustion, for a split second, he isn’t here, he doesn’t exist. For a split second, his brother looked just like the same insomniac who would crash in a cot after practicing his stiches. Too exhausted for his caffeinated tea to keep him up.
He waits for his brother to stand up and laugh at him, for his twin to get up and say this was one of his cruel jokes. To say the stuttering lung and bloody flesh were just a mere illusion made true by nothing but styrofoam, ketchup, and a few well-placed feathers.
He should stop.
He can’t mistake the nauseating stink of copper clinging onto the air for anything other than blood.
His stomach twisted at the smell. Growing more pungent, the more he thought about it.
It was wrong.
The buzzing of the lights stung.
He clamped his hands over his ears.
They yelled.
He clawed at his ears.
It was wrong.
The lights screeched. He ran to the trash, and feel to his knees. And vomited. The cold metal of the trashcan stings his burning arms. He feels the brush of a hand on his shell.
He flinches away.
He heard screeching.
He looked at the wet contents of the garbage.
It doesn’t sound like the light.
There was way too much blood in it.
Something was wrong.
The lights were screeching.
He hears the screech of the flatline.
His body froze, like electricity running through his body, burning and chilling him to the bone at once.
He heard cries of panic.
He wanted to scream in panic. Run to him.
He couldn’t.
He sat there. Staring at the candy-apple red in the trash. He shook. The feeling of flowing water stilling in his chest.
He heard the shake of a bed. The thud of a body falling three times. The lights flashed. His lungs hurt. Did he breathe?
Then he heard a voice.
It hurts his ears. But he doesn't mind the warmth at his shoulder that accompanies it.
When was that there?
Why couldn’t he look at anything other than the vomit in the trash?
Then something was on his eyes, and it was dark, he couldn’t see the blood anymore. The fabric wasn’t soft, but it doesn’t hurt, the warmth soaked into it helps. He keeps his eyes closed, they sting, in a good way, cleaner. The rag runs across his mouth. He started to taste the bile on his teeth. his eyes move to his side. And find his father. Shaking. His fur was wet. Clinging onto his face making him look plastic, fake. His father stares at the rag, devoid of all emotion and yet full of it.
He looked past him, the monitor moved steady.
Catching Casey’s eyes, “He’s fine.” the boy mouths, trembling where he stood, before looking back at Leo. His brother.
He let out a shaky breath. He doesn’t look at his father, he doesn’t want to see the blank face stare at him. He walks to the sink. His back screaming at him as he leaned down, curling his spine, and drinking the hot water from his cupped hands, spitting out the vile taste of vomit from his mouth.
He washes his hands again, his right-hand stings under the water. He watches the skin break off the tops of the tunneling into his arms, swirling the drain. Opening the cabinet above, finding a roll of bandages. He quickly wrapped it around his arms, not bothering to go over areas he missed, or are too tight. His face felt freezing cold and burning hot as he walked to the bed. He ignores his family, as his eyes reached his twin. Leo looked dead pale, he pressed his fingers into his brother neck. He listened in a daze, feeling as the thump at his fingers was followed by a short beep.
He looked at clock, calculating it in his head.
153 minutes since they’d got home. Less than 3 hours.
He finally saw his family beside him. Mikey whispered to Leo, stroking his face, April gently pressing circles into his hand, Raph stood, tears stream from his good eye, he opened his mouth and closed it, like a fish gasping for water. He couldn’t tell what was noise anymore.
He looked at the metal in his brother.
He spun around, only to be trapped by his father
“Donatello?” his father's voice shook. He refused to look down.
“Dad, don’t. I have to.” He scratched at the fabric; it felt odd on his arm. They stood there silently. He tried to speak, his voice caught in his throat.
“I will help.” his father stated in a steely tone, not meeting his eyes.
“N-”
His father held his hand. He froze, his will draining from him. He should be the one to do this.
He has to do this.
His father will just be beside him. That’s it. He shouldn’t need a cheerleader. He shouldn’t have his father do this, just because he can’t.
He leaves.
He gathers the supplies.
Occasionally tapping thing as his hearing filtered in and out. He hears something from his sister, but it jumbles if he tries to recall so, he lets himself fade away into his head.
He returned to find everyone gone, except his father. And Leo. He didn’t say anything. Neither does his father. He put on gloves as his shell dug into his shaking arms. The sharp points feel blunt in the fabric. It just hurt. He had the metal arm dig and dig into his elbow and wrist. His nerves sung as his arm stopped. He pauses and took a deep breath. He smelled the antiseptic next to him. He cleaned the area around the wound and pulled out the metal. The flesh goes from white to an angry, fleshy red before filling up with blood. His father flushes the wound with saline, running over it with a magnet.
He struggles to put the thread through the needle before his father clasped his gloved hands with his own. Gently unraveling his hands and taking the suture needle with a simple, “Let me.”
They did that for a while.
And he wanted to cry from exhaustion.
God he was exhausted.
He could feel the adrenaline finally leaving his body as he did the delicate work. Finally becoming aware that his spine was apparently on fire, as well as how it grinded against itself. He was weighed by the heaviness of his shell, metal shards dig into his backs as he moved. The heaviness of his legs forces him to shuffle. He needs to scream, but he wasn't sure if he had it in him to whisper anymore.
He needs to fix that.
He’d put it on his to-do list.
He cleans the area, placing gauze over the clean stitches. Putting plastic closers on wounds that required the needle his father had. There was another next Splinter.
His brother looked like the corners of April’s couch before she trained Mayhem.
Disheartened laugh.
His father’s tail brushed his ankles, he almost jumped out his skin.
People? Large scorpions file through, being shoved into holes, large masses of metal exiting the building, robots. Sweet screams curdled all around him, he looked over the edge to see swaths of people looking up at him, “you should see this as an opportunity to not be so weak.” he said? The crowd screamed at him, staring into his eyes, his soul, him. A large grin broke out against his face. He wanted to grab the large arachnids and run with them. But he watched with wild glee as the foot of the robot lowered above the creatures–
He was snapped back to reality with crunch of bone. Blood drips onto his hand; sticky and wet. The warm liquid, chilling his hand through the glove.
The bone was set in place. He looked down to see the newly set leg in his arms, scanning the body. He couldn’t see enough of his brother’s green, just dried up blood covering small cuts. Nothing close to the comforting candy-apple red his brother bore on his face.
Inside the haze he’d found himself in, words appeared in front of his eyes, little lavender dots decided where stitches needed to be placed. His blood ran cold.
He was just doing this.
Blindly.
Blinding following mystic, mystic that hadn't protected anyone.
The sound of Raph’s shield shattering in his ears. The cracking of pavement. The wind’s howl in his ears, his own voice joining the choir.
His spine ached.
He didn’t know what to do, the mystic goggles did, he’d spent so many days, weeks, months loading data both human and yokai alike into it.
He couldn’t fix this.
He disinfects the cuts, there’s a lot, but only a few need sutures, he snatches one of the disposable kits. Hiding it in his hands as he struggled to get the thread through.
He can do this.
Fix this.
He pushed through the skin, shiny from disinfectant, pulling the thread taunt, the wound closed in an almost satisfying way. He pauses at the thought, his stomach twisting in his throat.
He wraps the limb in gauze.
Turning to his father, he presses his lip tight, stopping them from wobbling. He watched as Splinter methodically releases the plastic clips, pinching the wound closed, as he'd grab for the needle, and with the grace of someone actually trained, closed it and placed gauze over it. He watched him.
And watched.
And watched him fix it.
He hated it.
Then someone was touching him. And he would look down, as his father rubbed circles into his hand, it stung, with the bandages, looking up at him expectantly. He’d squat down to his father’s height. Hearing his knees pop, his father would laugh, it sounded sad. His father reached out and hugged him, his arms reaching around the top of his shell covered by his hoodie. His back hurt. His face was pushed into his father’s shoulder, his fur smelling of dust and blood. He was warm, he wanted to lean into it.
He couldn’t.
His father pulled away, he looked sad, his eyebrows furrowed, there were tears in his eyes. Long clawed hands tugged him to walk, he doesn’t move to push away the curtains, the metal hooks ring out into the room with their screech. Four set of eyes fell on him, then shifted to his twin.
Somewhere he wonders why he hadn’t heard them.
His father took a deep breath, “He’ll be alright children, Leo’s~~” his voice cracks, “Leo’s more hurt on his left side. And on his right leg.”
He doesn’t look up at their faces. He feels disgusting.
He walks straight to the trash, stripping himself of the bloody gloves.
His hands clammy.
Trapped in the stuffy latex.
He’d walk somewhere.
And he’d turn on the faucet, the freezing cold water slowly transitioning to hot, his hands slowly burning under the faucet.
He still felt cold.
Maybe that one guy was right, he was a frog.
Then the water stopped. He froze.
His brother was right next to him. His hands were still held in the sink.
“Was waitin’ for you to notice me.” his brother’s voice trembled, he didn’t look at him. His eyes trained on the bloody skin that was detached yet still connect to him.
His brother sighed at his lack of response by, “Casey said you uhm.” His brother rubbed at his eye, his bad one.
“Yeah.” He spoke quietly, “Yeah, I did.” He repeated. He heard the gasp Raph tried to quiet; he felt eyes on him.
“But your-?”
“It was simple, at least because of my tech it was–” he paus He could hear his breath, why was it so loud? He heard the quick drip of the pipes.
es, twisting his hands in the sink, they were getting cold without the water.
“Dee, don’t you faint at the sight of blood?” Mikey starts. He looked over at his brother, deep bags under his eyes. He looked small, curled up next to Leo.
“Yes, well, I’m over it now, so I guess I am coming for Leo’s job as medic.” –there was a silent pause, no one laughed. Raph shuffled, uncomfortable, “That was sarcastic” he stated, “He can keep it when he wakes up, which he will, like pops said. I-”, his voice caught in his throat. He could tell he might tear up. He didn’t want to do that. His face already felt gross. He feels a hand grab on to his own. It intertwines with his fingers, that are wet. They were wet.
They were wet.
They were wet.
They were wet.
“Telby?”
He looked up.
Where was he? Why wasn’t he in the medbay. Where was Leo if he was here?
When had Raph gotten so close to him? Arms opened for a hug.
He panics, stumbling back, “Raph. No.” Putting as much distance between him and his brother. He didn’t need a hug, much less his sad excuse of a shell.
Raph looks hurt. And fuck.
“What do you need Don?”
“I’m fine.”, he said, sounding angrier than he felt. He felt terrified. He wanted his big brother.
The lights flickered. Or was it his eyes?
“Don’t tell me that Dee.” His brother played with his hands, his voice too calm for him, too quiet under the sounds of rushing vents, “Don’t lie, you’re terrible at it.”
Then he feels it again, the panic creeping in, the thumping of his heart he feels in his back, the soothing of cold sticky blood rolls down going in and out of the holes that were carved into his shell, he could feel the mushy vine crawling through the skin once again. The shift of the broken metal with every breath. “I'm fine.” he repeated, shifting in his spot.
“You’re still hurt.”
“I still should help you guys.”
“Raph and them are fin-”
Leo isn’t.
His anger spikes, “No, you’re not!”
“We’ll be fine then, you won’t.” Raph placated.
“I'm fine.”
Raph grabs his hand, “Donnie, just let Raph wrap your arms up, properly, check your shell.” He watches him move to brush against his bandages.
He snatches his arms to his chest, “I handled it.” He gritted out.
“Why are you being so stubborn! Why can’t you--” Raph yells.
“I'm fine Raph! Get th—” He yells back.
“Please let me help you, Donnie! R-raph can't just sit there an-and watch him. Watch him.” He trails off.
He blanches.
“Let me check you Mikey over and I'll let you check me over.”
His brother paused, staring at his hands, before looking at him with sad eyes, “Al-alright.”
He leaves Raph, not waiting to see if he’ll follow. Flinching at the cold air hitting his shell, flowing through his hoodie and the broken skeleton of his battle shell.
He didn’t plan on letting any person touch him. So, he had to check Mikey's wounds then Raph’s, then his own. He knew April was fine in Splinter’s hands, but he itched to put her on his list.
“Hey Mikey” He leaned down. “Come with me.” he whispered.
The turtle’s eyes stayed trained to the bed. Slowly unraveling from his curled-up position, his face shiny with tears. Finally looking away as he gently pushed Mikey to a cot. He didn’t look at his twin. He let Mikey.
He went over to wash his hands. Loose skin goes down the drain.
“You’re hunching a lot.” The water burned as his shell buzzed.
“I'm the only one who can.” He retorted back quickly.
He put on gloves and moved to his brother. Running his fingers down the arms, after removing his bandages. The wounds looked like the ones on himself, only deeper and glowy-er, more glowy? But less blood, and that was probably good? Some places had been stitched closed, but the majority of the cracks were left open, not technically bleeding, but leaking blood. Glistening in the wounds like sweat.
“Is your shell alright, aft--” He flinched.
“Yes.” He bit at his brother, “It’s fine.” Hoping his brother takes the hint from his tone and drop it.
He feels Mikey watch him, his eyes digging into every one of his mechanical movements.
His shell pulsed with warm pain. Was it obvious? He couldn’t make it obvious.
Before looking past him, at his twin.
He examines the cracks further.
And he started to see a pattern, the yellow glowing beneath the unnaturally warm skin. The cracks, the burn, the whatever, branched out in places, but mainly curved around and go up his arms, filtering out at his neck. Not Lichtenberg.
But veins.
Veins warm and glowing with mystic.
Skin melted from below, not above.
He didn’t know who’s arms trembled worse, he turns them over.
There was a speck of purple paint.
It felt surreal.
It felt too normal to be here.
Wrong. To be here.
He scratches it off.
He felt his brother’s eyes watch him. He didn’t look up.
He searched for his core; brushing against the others as he tugged on his own. The calming feeling crashed into him; he shook. The familiar smell of oil and rain, the loud thrum of machinery and the crackle of electricity. He focused, imagining what he needed, the metal, the motherboard, the oil. This one won’t run on his ninpō, like his goggles.
He lets go.
He groaned as the numb buzz of his shell returning, the energy sapped out of him. Barely opening his eyes against the bright lights. A weight now rested in his hands, he was left with a small scanner, a rod no longer than the length of his arm. He let it power on; it beginning to float around his brother. Gripping onto the bed as he let it work. He grimaced as he felt the metal shift, it almost felt blunt as it slid in the flesh it’d carved out, then he felt the sharp edge at the curl of his back.
He shifted onto the bed to relieve his body, “Donnie?” Holding his head in his hands he turned to his brother, “Will I need more stitches?” He looked at the cracks again, the way the skin was carved around the blood. It’d be impossible to stich all of it closed. The wounds too long and too many. If they tried, it’d take hours.
His brother knew that.
He turned his head into his palms, the darkness not doing much to ease the pounding in his skull. His voice comes out as more of a groan, “No.” he takes a deep breath, “the skin got... compressed, I-we can treat it like they’re burns, but my systems inly have yokai remedy, not mystic, and to be fair I doubt they have knowledge of this type of thing, so I’ll have to talk to Draxum.” He should’ve called him already.
If he wasn’t such a stubborn idiot, his brothers wouldn’t be in this position.
He feels a small vibration at his wrist, he looked at his gauntlet.
Cracked Carapace
7 hairline fractures on L arm
5 hairline fractures on R arm
1 break on R arm
Laceration on Upper Back
——— burns from hands to neck {ERROR}
He looked at the youngest, scratching at his knees.
His brother looked up at him, a smile struggling on the teary face.
Trying to make him feel better.
Mikey scrubbed as his face, the squelching of wet skin mixing with heavy breaths.
That's supposed to be his job.
He’s the big brother.
He put his hands on his shoulder, he doesn’t look up.
“I am going to work on your shell first.” His brother nodded into his hands, a small whine coming out.
His stomach twists at the sound, but he doesn’t do more than a rub to the shoulder. His body ached as he forced it to get up. He grabbed the Shell’it™, he’d practice with this twice with Leo but his hands still shook. Realistically he knows the break could be worse, he ran his fingers down the shell. The shell had broken but not the spine. But he still cringed in sympathy.
He found the horrid crack, right where his shell was the thinnest and most flexible, right before it flared at the bottom, the place his brother probably got used to bending the worst to allow for his razzmatazz, which now seemed included throwing skyscrapers.
He was too exhausted to truly grasp it.
He lets the metal arms dig into the bruises they’d left in his arm.
He soaks the thin patches with the putrid-smelling resin, placing it on the shell. Before a small hiss froze him in place.
“Sorry jus’ cold”
“Inside doesn't burn?” He doesn’t specify inside what.
His brother shook his head, not daring to twist behind himself and look at him to talk. He made sure his back was straight and the crack was aligned before repeating the process against the once smooth shell, giving a short request to sit up when he started to slouched. Until he finally finished the cast-like cover, it was strong, but his brother would break it. Break it in a day probably, he was far too used to relying on it, hell it’s why it got broken. He sighed. Rubbing his eyes. He didn’t have the energy to improvise right now.
Then he remembered the scarves. He moved to look through the rag cabinet, the different colors of cleaned towels hid the wide but thin long scarves Leo’d found. He took two.
“Hold your breath and sit up” he said before tightly wrapping the scarves around his midsection. Tying a knot to the side to not get in the way, “Okay, let go.” he asks as Mikey let out an exaggerated exhale, “How does it feel?”
“Tight.” Mikey responds.
“Can you move, try to bend over?”
His brother groaned as he leaned over, looking uncomfortably straight and confused, “No. Can you loosen it?”
“The whole point is for it to be tight.”
“Kay?”
“Doesn’t hurt?”
“Can’t breathe that easily. But I guess?”
“Breathe through your lungs not your diaphragm.”
He looked up from the bandages he was putting away, studying the light-yellow freckles on his snout, the way his damp snout almost took the light, to hide the rest in shadows making him look hauntingly gaunt.
His brother stared past him, at Leo.
He should say something, he wanted to. He needed to. But he couldn’t.
So, he didn’t.
He looked around his brother's neck, looking for the wound. He brushes his finger down his neck and his brother flinched.
“Mikey?”
“It’s nothing.” he said quickly
It wouldn’t have shown up if it was, “Where is it?” he pushed his brother head forward to get a better look at his back.
“It’s fin-”
Then he saw it. He brushed against the bandages, soaked in blood.
“Mikey” he breathed out. The air vents roared in his ears.
The bandages were obviously just shoved into the top of his shell. Despite not even covering large parts of the wound, they were soaked with blood. His brother shifted to get out of his tight grasp on his shoulder.
“I’m fine, Donnie.” Mikey protested as he started pulling out the long bandage that had been carelessly shove in, feeling his brother wince underneath him.
No. No, he wasn't. He expected something, something bleeding, but not something so deep. Not one where he could see with his own eyes the torn muscles. Burnt flesh, stiff as his brother breathed, dried and fresh blood alike coating the wound in a slimy mess.
He fumbles for the gauze and other needed supplies. He comes back to a freakishly still Mikey, but he got to work on it immediately; cleaning the gaping gash, Mikey cried quietly through that, taping, numbing, stitching what he even could, and finally bandaging.
He needed to address this.
He stuck on the last of the bandages. Looking at his family gathered around-- around the bed.
“Mikey” he spoke quietly. His brother looked up at him with sad eyes. “How did this happen.”
“Threw that skyscraper, and my chain caught in my shell, during the start.”
“You tell someone next time. You tell me next time” he spoke seriously.
“It was fine.”
“No.” He forces his face to look at him.
“Don, it would’ve healed.”
“You tell someone next time and you get your bandages changed. Or I tell.” Mikey made a small ‘hrmpph' noise, crossing his arms looking away from him.
“Alright.”
He let his brother pout as he put away what he didn't need. Rubbing his brother’s head as he left.
Opening the cabinet door.
He watched from a hiding place, siblings crying and holding each other. He waited, a tug in his stomach to him to just attack. Another to not. So, he waited. Waited as he felt the steps as a sibling returned to the dome they hid in. Lock the door, closing out the ugly blood red horizon and fog, they pushed out the inevitable really. Trying to survive this long. They should’ve known they were too weak to be allowed to continue. Truly it was their own fault. So, he leapt. The feeling of wood breaking from underneath them.
He gripping onto the handle for dear life. He gasped for air, desperate for air. He felt the wind rushing up his arms, splinters prickling his skin. The cabinet whined dangerously. He held his breath, desperately trying to stop. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.
He looked at his brother, still looking down at his shaking hands. He put away the supplies, supporting his weight as he put each item into the cabinet.
He tried to not breathe. He winced as a shard dig into his back, his metal arms stabilizing him with the table as he moved over to his brother.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to die. He just wanted to go back to not being able to feel anything. He looked down at the turtle’s bleeding arms.
His brother stared at him.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re not.” His brother staring directly at the arms that were holding him up.
“No, I'm fine, Michael.” He brushed off.
His brother just angrily muttered something he couldn’t hear.
He sat down, stars floating in his eyes, the metal arms curling around his arm.
He grabbing the bottle of saline, he squeezed it into the wound trying to be as gentle as he could. His brother hissed sharply as the liquid hit the burns. His eyes squeezed shut as he whined.
He pushed more down the wounds, “Fuck!” his brother yelped.
He stopped, pushing down on his brother's arm trying to counteract the pain.
“Mikey!?” his oldest brother cried. This was the first time Raph heard Mikey swear. It was so surreal he paused for a moment. He looked at his brother, sitting in the farthest chair from the bed, staring at them, bewildered. Where was Splinter? And April?
He brought himself back to Mikey. It shouldn’t have hurt that bad?
Fucking mystic.
He didn’t want to look at his brother's face.
He looked up, tears were streaming all the way down his chin, eyes scrunched tightly shut. Grumbling through gritted teeth,
“Language.” He muttered quietly to his brother.
His eyes flashed “Are you serious.” he spits, “Le-leo is in a coma! Why does it even fucking matter!” Tears running down his face as he moved to cover his mouth.
Donnie felt his throat burn, begging for oxygen, as he avoided eye contact with his brother. His arms hung at his sides, limp.
“Mikey.” Raph spoke quietly. “Mikey, don’t.”
He felt tears blur his vision. He quickly wiped his eyes on his sleeve.
Lots of tears today, he guessed.
“It always works for you Raph. Ignoring everyone.” He grumbles.
“Mikey.”
“Mikey what.”
“Mikey just stop!”
“Oohhhh Mikey stop what!” Mikey mockes.
“Mikey. ”
“Stop acknowledging Leo is dying? That Donnie did surgery on our brother? That you two will barley even look at him!” His brother yelles. He felt numb.
“What do you want from me! Do you just want me to fall apart! Weep at his bedside for hours when I can’t do anything!”
They fought.
He couldn’t really hear the words anymore.
He couldn’t stand to look at their unconscious brother on the plastic bed that he and his chipped shell were too small for. He grabbed the other, running saline on the wound. His brother still yelled at his brother.
He wondered if he should give his brother a smile, but he seemed preoccupied every time he looks at him. He kept forgetting that he was yelling at Raph for some reason.
He slathered burn cream on the wounds. And wrap his arms. Handing him a sling for the arm with the more fractures. Mikey glares at him for some reason.
He unwrapped his bandages, washing his hands under the faucet. He feels Mikey eyes on him, they dig into his neck, then his shell, then he felt.
He felt like he was back in there. Inside the drone.
The slimy things curled around his spine, he felt the little gaps and pockets of air that led straight into him. The coldness crawling up his neck as it traveled to up spine and into his brain.
His shoulder hurt. He turned.
“Raph?”
“Yeah, you okay?” His voice gentle, Why would he be suprised again? Where was Mikey?
He was tired of that question. “I’m tired of that question.” He was tired.
His brother turned the faucet off. Again.
He looked at his hands, white from the heat, steam rising off them.
The missing chunks of his flesh were bright pink.
His brother frowned next to him, “They hurt. Don’t they.”
His shell throbbed with heavy pain, “Jus’ a lil’.”
“How about I get these wrapped again for you, those bandages weren’t done properly.”
It broke him out of his trance, staring at the bandages hanging off his arms. “What? No.”
“Donnie, you’re gon’ get an in-” Raph placated.
“No, but you-- you said.”
His brother paused, staring at him. He tried to put on his best ‘I'm doing this whether you like it or not’ face. But Leo was always better at it.
“I let you bandage me up, you let me bandage you up. That was the deal” Raph stated, what should’ve been a question. He rolled his eyes, “And Raph’s checking your shell.” he froze.
He has to agree, otherwise he’ll be hiding something, “Yeah-yeah, whatever.”
He looked away from his brother, “We need to flush your eye out to make sure nothings. You know.” He trails off.
He felt static in the room. His brother didn’t say anything, doesn’t look at him.
“J-just lay on that bed over there on your side. And give me a sec.”
He paused, scared as to what his brother would do.
Then Raph walked over to the bed.
He let out a breath. Moving to grab a towel, bowl, and more saline.
He pushed the bowl underneath his head. The oldest looked terrified, he stared. He stared in the same way his father had looked at him.
He tries to remember a time.
He thinks of a time, when he and Raph were so young.
When he, Mikey, and Leo had snuck out. Far too young to go anywhere near the surface. They’d poked their heads out a gutter and not much more. But when they returned...
He shivered, gripping the saline.
He knew there was pieces of the sister still inside.
His brother ripped it out of himself. He knew where it went. Inside.
His bandages itch.
But there didn’t seem to be enough to cause any control him. Enough to make his brother rip his eye out. Enough to make his brother think things that weren't true.
It was all dead in his brother. And him. Right?
His stomach roiled.
“Raph?” His brother looked up at him with scared eyes, that was wrong, “This is going to feel cold. You’ll feel stuff. But it’s mucus and calcium build up. Nothing else.” He held out his pinky, “Promise.” He thinks they both knew he was lying.
“You gotta tell me if it hurts. None of that tough guy crap. Okay?”
His brother gives him a weak hum.
In a more forceful tone, “Okay Raph?”
“Raph understands ca-can we get this over with. We still need to bandage you up.”
He frowned. But started anyway. He pulls back his brother’s eyelid as far open as possible and inserted the sterile tip of the bottle in, watching as his brother tensed at his touch, he watched as the clear liquid ran over the eye, then he saw it.
A small string, he knew better than to call it build-up.
He watched as muck and more and more…
Of it came out.
He was frozen in place, he couldn’t breathe, he could move, he wondered if his heart still beat. It went on for years and yet seconds, he felt as he counted to 180 before he stopped. Asking his brother to flip to his other side, as he flushed out the other eye, grabbing a rag and pressed into his brother’s eyes, bringing his hand to the wet fabric, silently telling him to hold the rag.
He had to crush it, before it could go into the sewer.
To be safe.
He ran the water, using the empty saline bottle and mashed it. He watched as the pink turning gray as he stood there, as he killed the tentacles, it was live inside of him, he felt the shards dig into his back.
Then he could feel the vines invade him, dig into his spine, finding the valleys of his lumpy shell, pushing into it with brute force. He could feel as his blood mixed with the slime. With the technodrone itself.
“You okay bro?”
He was punched back to reality, pain still ever-present in his shell, “Wha-what was that, Raph?” Staring at the half full bowl of water and grey slush.
“You just started breathing real loud?” he turned around to see his brother with the rag still on his eyes. He washed out the smashed…
Debris.
“Yeah, water is hot. How about we get those cracks wrapped?” He congratulates himself on the subtle diversion. He stuffs the bottle and bowl in the trash.
He grabs the burn supplies. Ignoring the burning ache of his back as he moves, pulling his brother’s hands down to look at his eyes, watching them move studying his own face. The remnants of the neon yellow and pink disappeared, pale beige sclera staring back at him. The ripped out third eye sutured shut.
“Raph? It feel alright?” His brother doesn’t say anything, staring distantly, “Raph?” He asked urgently.
“Donnie…” he arms pulsed with pain, “Don whatsa… whatsa Raph’s vision suppose’ to a-be like?”
He let out a sigh, “I promise it’ll be fine. It should be adjusting, and your eyes are probably irritated, maybe a bit blurry, dim even… if it's anything like that it'll be okay. It’s just something like that, ri--”
“Donnie, there's black spots.” he states. Too calm.
His heart dropped.
“W–what.” he stuttered, that doesn’t make sense.
FUCK!
He stood up straight, digging his shell into the shrapnel. He tried to register anything. Tears blur his vision; he couldn’t breathe.
Air wouldn’t go down his throat
His lungs, only filled with carbon dioxide.
“I-I--”
His brother pulls him to his chest, flush with his plastron, his brother’s heart a usual steady thump, hammering next to his ear. His back screamed in protest as the broken shards dug deeper into his muscle.
“Telby” He chokes at the name. The one he was called when he was brave through his injuries, the name that got kisses to make them better. “Raph’ll be fine, so don’t worry.” His brother stared into the distance. Could he see what he looks at? Tears ran down their faces.
He did this.
His brother brings him into a cradle, “Ar-are you sure? It’s not just dim?”
He watched as his brother closes an eye then the other, “It’s like black spots, not a lot on my left, but pretty hard with my right.”
"I-I don't understand”
“R-Raph thinks they were there before--” he chokes, “But now it’s more there.”
He did this.
“But I don’t– I don’t—I-I.” He couldn’t breathe!
His brother hushed him, “It’ll be okay.” It won’t, “Telby look at me” He can’t ruined those eyes, could he even see him, “I'm going to be okay” He blinded his brother, “If it gets worse, Raph can- Raph can rock an eye patch” His brother chuckles dryly. Tears streaming down those eyes.
“No. I’ll fix this.” Tears carve their way down his cheeks.
“Telby, Raph’ll be okay if you don’t, it's not that bad, Raph’s not completely blind.”
“That’s not.” He got angry, he hated himself, why doesn’t he! He tried shoving himself out of the hug, “Why aren't you mad! C’mon Raph be mad at me!”
“I’m not.” he said quietly, still holding onto him tightly.
He felt downright hysterical, pushing against his chest, “I fucking blinded you Raph! I'm a fucking monster!
“I'm scared Donnie!” Raph yelled, squeezing him so tightly he practically screamed in pain, but he bites on his hoodie.
“I'm fucking terrified, so please just stop saying that!”
They tremble as he stops fighting the hug. Tears ran down both of their cheeks.
And stare at each other.
He wipes his tears, only to see Raph’s look, the pitying look, like looking at an injured puppy.
He squeezed him, “Tel–”
He lets go of his hoodie, “No. I-I–I’m the reason you're blind, but it’s okay, I will fix it.” He sprawled, trying to get out of his brother's trembling but strong grasp.
“Telby i-it’s not you–” He was set down gently after enough of his lessened struggle.
“Raph! You should be mad at me!”
“Telby I’m not mad, this wasn’t yo- you didn’t mean--”
“I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it. I swear I will.” He promised to his brother.
This time it would be true. This time he would keep it.
His brother stared at him sadly.
They didn’t say anymore.
The scanner flies in, and scans his brother as he began cleaning his brother's burns, they reached up to his brother's bicep, instead of filtering out at his shoulder like his, though they both technically covered similar surface area.
He checked his gauntlet, he winced at the breaks in his arms, hating the hug more. He spread the cream over the burns, his brother letting out a small breath of relief. He didn’t look up.
He started to wrap the wounds.
“Telby.” his brother said.
He didn’t respond.
“Raph’s gonna need to see your injuries” He can’t see. Because of him.
“No.”
“Why not.”
“Because I'm fine.” He’s blind. Because of him.
“I don’t believe that because you suck at lying.”
“I’m not lying, I’m tired, and I just want to sleep” Not a lie, just not going to happen
“But--”
“Raph. C-c-can we please not right now” “When?”
“Later. Soon. Just let me sleep first.” Future Donatello’s problem. He wished he were the Donatello that didn’t exist in this timeline anymore, where this conversation never had to happen. What a lucky guy.
———
Raphael POV
They sit in an awkward silence, and he watches his brother work, studying him, trying to see the hurt his brother seemed to be feeling. The hurt he seemed to be able to hide easier than ever.
———
Donatello POV
They sat in a silence as he finished wrapping the arm. Handing a sling to his brother once again.
“You're done. Careful with your arms. I’ll check on your eyes every few days.” He felt so numb.
He moved away, taking the vitals of his twin. He felt as the eldest eyes watched him as the brother left. But he tried to give his full attention to Leo. He took his vitals, checked every single cut, placing band aids on the smaller ones. He wiped the red blood off green skin. He checked the time. It’d only been a couple hours since the Krang, since they got home. And still his twin didn’t seem to want to put his ears through the torture of dumb one-liners. He wished he would.
He wished his twin would.
Would ust wake up.
°｡★✮★｡°