Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a Tuesday afternoon when his goggles exploded while he was wearing them. 

It was…less than pleasant. 

There were the black spots in his vision, a ringing in his ears and a slight quake in his hands. All of this was very normal, especially for the size of the explosion that had taken place and even where it took place in relation to him. He’s surprised there wasn’t more damage to his person. Because it exploded when the object of the explosion was on his person. Terrible, he knows. 

Now what was surprising is the headache that lingered hours after despite swallowing more than the recommended dose of ibuprofen. It was…more than a little annoying. Now it could be from many things. Dehydration, exhaustion, his body just hating him as it tended to do. But Donnie was nothing if not good at ignoring his headaches. 

You may be asking why there was an explosion in the first place. Well you see Donnie had gotten his hands on a mystic crystal. From some rudimentary scans and tests taken of it, he could tell it was some kind of amplifier. If he played some quiet music next to it after a second or two it would play the same notes louder, if not a bit distorted, out from the crystal itself. If he ran a current through it, wires attached to the two end points of the gem, the current would come out stronger on the other end. With distinct accents of mystic attached to the electrical charge. So on and so forth. 

Donnie was fascinated. 

There were so many possibilities. He could potentially use it to power the entire lair, only ever needing to provide it with a small amount of energy to keep it going. He could use it as a speaker for his music. He could use it as a way to bring his AI work to the next level. He could use it to make his Tech Bo that much more efficient. There were a near infinite number of things he could use it for but he only had one crystal. He wasn’t exactly sure where they came from and it looked like every other mystic crystal out there. He also didn’t know if it had a limit to it, if and when it would break and if there were any consequences to using it at all. 

So, just for now, he put it into his goggles. He wasn’t sure what it would do and maybe it was a little dangerous to put it so close to his brain but so far nothing was harmful about the crystal. 

He left it in for a few days. It made the music quality better. It made the dampening and noise-canceling effect so perfect that he actually melted in relief when he experienced it for the first time. It even made the visuals and night vision near impeccable. Truly incredible. 

And there wasn’t a reason to tell his brothers. He would tell them when he found an even better use for it. 

So Donnie went about his life, the mystic crystal making his life just a little better, a little quieter and a little more clear. 

Everything was going great. 

Until one day, his goggles exploded while he was doing some wire replacement, the lenses helping him see exactly where everything needed to go, down to the millimeter. 

Donnie buckled into himself, slamming his eyes shut and hands flinching violently. 

Donnie curled into himself, the world spinning and his sight completely dark. He wasn’t even sure if his eyes were open or closed. It took a moment but Donnie reached up with shaking hands and yanked the hot, broken machine off his head. It clattered down onto the ground and Donnie barely cared that he might’ve broken it more. He could always fix it later. But everything else…

Slowly, Donnie opened his eyes. He blinked a couple times, trying to clear the black spots from them. His ears were ringing and he had a monster of a headache. Donnie stood, his legs shook as he stumbled to the nearest reflective surface. His neck, face and scalp stinging like it had a right to cause him pain. A right Donnie really didn’t want it to have. 

His sight was…less then stellar at the moment. 

There were burns along the sides of his face and neck, redness and cuts as well. There was blood. 

His ears were still ringing. Maybe he should start worrying about potential hearing damage. 

His eyes squinted and everything still danced with blind spots while simultaneously being extremely sensitive to any and all light. 

Okay…maybe he should be worrying about his vision as well. Did he have a concussion? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t the medic. He wasn’t Leo. 

Should…should he go to his brothers? 

He…

Donnie shook his head, vertigo spiking when he moved his head. Donnie stilled instantly and as best he could. Okay. No more shaking. 

It probably wasn’t as bad as it looked. He would be fine. Donnie’s dealt with his fair share of explosions and bodily harm from experiments gone wrong. His brothers didn’t even know about 72% of them. He would be fine. Donnie would be fine. He would just take enough painkillers to put a horse into a coma and find where he kept the hydrogen peroxide just for this kind of situation. If only he could remember where….

Donnie found it. Patched himself up, took his drugs and finally got around to picking up what remained of his goggles. (Donnie was just grateful he got off as well as he did. Sure he might have a concussion but it seemed his ears were relatively fine as was his eyesight. He wasn’t too worried about the headache.) 

His goggles were…barely salvageable. Don’t get him wrong he could fix them but it wouldn’t be easy. It might just be simpler to rebuild them entirely. 

Donnie extracted the mystic crystal or what was left of it anyway. 

It was completely shattered. Split into over twenty slivers of dark purple gem. 

Oh. That…

That was probably the worst thing that happened in this situation. The one of a kind—as far as he knew—mystic crystal was broken. 

He…

Donnie put the shards into a small, glass container. Maybe he would find a use for them later. 

Donnie took a moment to orient himself, the dizziness increasing for a second before dying down again. Okay maybe it was worse than a mild concussion. He would be fine. He always would be. He had to be. 

Donnie had a piece of tech to fix. 

It was slow going but he started on the goggles. Taking his time as the headache made it hard to focus on anything. 

Everything was fine. 

Until the first voice spoke into his ear. 

Chapter Text

"I wonder how long its going to take him to fix those goggles?"

Donnie just about jumped out of his skin, who the shell was that? 

His head whipped around, his headache pulsing with a vengeance as he moved his head too quickly. He pressed a hand to his temple and waited for the spots to clear. (It really did seem like the ibuprofen wasn’t going to do anything. Maybe he could deal with liver failure if it meant the pain went away.) 

Donnie took a shaky breath and looked around. Was it one of his brothers? But it didn’t sound like any of his brothers. It sounded…weird. A layered, echoing, stupidly clear voice that sounded like it came from inside his own ears and like it was on the other side of the door simultaneously. It was distant, muffled, crystal clear and inside his own mind all at the same time. Like his own thoughts but on the other side of the room. 

He…

Donnie looked around again, straining his ears. Nothing. 

No. It couldn’t be any of his brothers. Because nobody else was with him. His lab was empty. Donnie listened closely. Still nothing. 

Slowly—Donnie went back to his work. Probably twenty minutes went past when he heard it again. 

"Uhm hi hello Mr turtle dude"

Donnie flinched and whipped around, eyes raking every inch of his lab. Still nobody. Somehow, someway—the voice sounded distinctly…different. Still relatively the same but fundamentally different in way he couldn’t place. 

Okay. Maybe the concussion was worse than he thought if he was hearing voices. But…hearing voices wasn’t a symptom of concussions. That didn’t make any sense. Was it something else? But what else could it be? 

“Umm hello Donnie Donatello turtle man. Can you hear us?” 

…great. 

The…voices knew his name. Well, of course they did. He was hallucinating them. That…

Maybe he’d finally snapped. Maybe he’d finally actually gone crazy.

"Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3! Can you hear us Donnie?"

Donnie’s eyes twitched. That one was very excited. He probably shouldn’t talk back to them. He probably—

A beat started up, peppy and slowly. Even more muffled compared to the rest of the voices. Though it was there. 

What the—

` Robert’s got a quick hand—` 

He didn’t recognize the song. (It sounded like something Raph would like.) Where was it coming from? How could he make it stop? Why was it inside his head? 

“ sup brah how ya doin?” The music continued. 

No. Not sup. He wanted the voices to go away. Hearing voices was not good. Not good at all. Did he have brain damage? He’d—he needed to run some tests. 

The song kept playing. 

There was a panic now. A small, bleeding, rotten thing, that burrowed into his chest and made it a little harder to breathe. This was fine. Everything was fine. Sure he might have permanent brain damage and now he was hearing voices—

The song reached a peak. It sounded like it was going to end soon. 

Donnie swallowed. He experimentally pressed his hands to the sides of head. Creating a seal over his tympanum.  Now usually this would mute all sounds from the outside. Muffle them and provide at least some relief from the noise. Unfortunately—there was no relief to be found. The song continued its amble anyway. 

The song was almost over. 

Donnie didn’t know how long this would last. Okay. Data collection Donatello. You’re good at this. Just run the tests. A blood draw, a mental evaluation, an MRI—

This was fine. Everything was going to be fine. (Maybe if he wasn’t already stressed out of his mind, he might find the situation more fascinating. Mildly curious but something about it was just— not great. His tech exploded while it was on him, which it hadn’t done in years. The crystal was broken. He had a terrible headache and he was hearing voices. 

To say that Donnie was taking it well was….well it would be lying.) 

The song ended. 

Donnie’s eyes flicked around the room , waiting for another voice to pop up in its place. 

You could hear a pin drop. It was so quiet. (Since when was his lab so quiet?) 

Donnie took a shuddering breath and curled into himself. Okay. Okay. 

Step one: Take off his battleshell—the pressure wasn’t doing it for him currently—and get his sensory hoodie. 

Donnie did that. Carefully putting his battleshell away and slipping the hoodie over his head. He sighed, the fabric was heavenly compared to everything else. 

Okay. Step two: Take more ibuprofen. 

Donnie did that too. Even if it didn’t work chemically, hopefully placebo would do him some good. 

Step three: Blood draw. He just needed to see where he was compared to his average. 

Donnie…did that. He hated it, he really did. His hands shook before he forced them still. Euuugh. Organic bits. Usually he’d just have Leo do it for him but…

Then he’d ask why and Donnie couldn’t lie to save his life. Even if he did hide it, then Leo would get suspicious. He would be suspicious about the injuries he had but at least Donnie could say they were from a project exploding. Which was true and he could easily leave out the fact that he was hearing voices. 

Donnie ran his blood. 

"Do you know what ao3 is?"

Donnie stilled, his face scrunching up. What? Okay. So now the voices were talking about something he didn’t know about. Ao3? Some kind of acronyme probably. 

Donnie didn’t have time to think about much further because—

Another song started up. 

Donnie felt his eye twitch. Well…at the…songs he was hallucinating weren’t…bad. Not his favorite and definitely not his taste but…not bad. 

It sounded French. 

Okay. Whatever. This is fine. He let the song run its course. 

—||—

His blood was normal. At least for him. At least he could at rule out it being anything physical—if you ignored the headache and the concussion of course.

Okay, so it was mental or mental adjacent. 

It didn’t take very long to start doing some google searches. Severe sleep deprivation, delirium, hallucinogenic drugs, psychosis, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia…

Hm. 

So far, hearing voices was turning out to be a not good thing. Which honestly Donnie could’ve told you himself. Though now there were scientific papers written by professors and educated men and women telling him that he should probably seek psychiatric help if he was experiencing auditory hallucinations. 

Unfortunately for Donnie—he was a hyper intelligent mutant turtle that lived in the sewers. He couldn’t exactly book a psychiatric appointment. 

This had to be something he solved himself. His brothers couldn’t know. They would  worry an unwarranted amount and be absolutely convinced he must be dying or something. 

He could…Donnie had to solve this himself. He got himself into this mess and he was going to get himself out of it. 

(Donnie ignored the panic that clawed at his chest. He ignored the way everything just felt wrong. He ignored the way the unknown ate away at his very sanity.

Donnie needed to fix this. 

Because what was he, if he couldn’t?) 

—||—

“Hello ourple turtle!!!” 

Donnie froze. To be honest he almost forgot the voices sounded as…unnatural as they did. It was so weird that they knew what he was and his name and…

He wondered what else they knew about him. (Maybe he didn’t want to know. Even if he was hallucinating them, it was still…weird and that was putting it lightly.) 

“ You are about to have a very silly (and possibly traumatizing) time! At least you will probably find it scientifically fascinating regardless!” 

Oh it was still talking. (And yes, of course there was a part of him that found this scientifically fascinating, except for the fact that he was possibly psychotic now.) 

“ I won’t explain things right away, though, as that’s not how this works, I suppose? I’m not an expert.” 

Okay…so even the voices weren’t sure how this works. Wonderful. (There was a part of him that wanted to talk back. Maybe they would actually respond to him but he wasn’t sure if doing that would be a good thing or not. He was banking on not. ) 

“But I wish you luck, especially with how confused you’re about to be! By the way, you should treat your wounds or something — that doesn’t look too good at the moment.” 

Donnie flinched, once again reminded that the ibuprofen wasn’t working. He still had that headache, though everything else had faded into an easily ignorable throb. 

It…okay. So the voices were aware of the state of his body. Which was…also weird. Well—it was just another thing at this point. What else could happen at this point. What other crazy shenanigans could Donatello get into now? 

“I should probably shut up now though, I think you’re getting overwhelmed.”

(There was a trickling, cold weight. A panic and a pressure settled snugly in his chest. An anxiety that prickled and made his fingers twitch. Donnie wanted nothing to curl into a ball and die. The data collection hadn’t helped. If anything it made things worse. 

Maybe he had actually gone crazy. Maybe this was it and he was moments away from snapping. Giving into a psychotic breakdown and killing all of his brothers. Surely this was the point where everything fell away and he lost control. Surely it was—

Donnie really wouldn’t appreciate psychosis right now. He didn’t think he’d ever want it. Who would? Everything just pulled him down. Pushed him in too many directions. Hurt him with fiberglass hands and smoking, burning coals. 

Donnie just wanted the world to stop spinning for one second so he could think.) 

Yeah..

Yeah. Yeah no shit.

Chapter Text

Donnie didn’t know what to do. 

He initially thought that if he wrote down all his symptoms then he could come to a conclusion and then a solution. 

But he couldn’t find a solution. 

He was just at a conclusion. 

Donnie curled into himself, his lungs rattled and his eyes stung. His headache pulsed and his injuries tingled uncomfortably. 

"bread"

Donnie couldn’t help but snort. This was stupid. This was so stupid. 

“Maybe Leo’s right…” Donnie mumbled to himself. “Maybe I am possessed,” 

"please mind the gaps between what is real and what is not uwu"

Donnie buried his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. 

What did that mean? Mind the gap? 

What—what did any of this mean? 

He didn’t even remember when he began to rock, he just knows at some point he started. Maybe he would just stay like this for a little bit. 

Donnie stayed like that for a little bit. 

—||—

Donnie came out of himself. His eyes were tacky and every bone in his body felt a million times heavier. 

A song started. Some simple piano, rhythmic and blunt. 

`I returned a bag of groceries, accidentally taken off the shelf—`

Donnie shuddered. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the fact that the sound was coming from inside himself. Somewhere…somehow. Donnie really hoped he wasn’t crazy.

The song continued. 

“Oof, you’re not having a good time are you buddy? I wouldn’t worry too much about this… well I mean I would,” 

Donnie huffed, he wanted to roll his eyes but that sounded like it take effort and Donnie didn’t really want to do effort at the moment. 

“you’re hearing voices, but like… we don’t mean you any harm. Well… actually I can’t guarantee that, but most of us are okay. Besides, worst we can actually do is scream really, really loudly.”

Well at least that one seemed nice. 

“Bold of you to assume I can’t tell extremely unsettling facts too :3”

What…? 

“Dude…”

Okay. So the voices talk to each other. Good to know. (Was that normal hallucination behavior? He didn’t think so.) It was kind of weird to hear a voice that wasn’t his, rattling around in his skull. The layered, distorted voices pushing up against each other like salt water foam on a beach. It was…a little like white noise. Crashing and falling. Some of them sharper, some of them milder, some of them sounded younger and some even older. If he listened closely, they all sounded like completely different people. 

The song tapered out on a final note and ended. 

This was an awfully complex hallucination that didn’t come with any accompanying anxiety, paranoia, disorganized thinking, erratic behavior, decreased emotional responses or impaired working memory that it should have. That was what the internet had told him. 

(Not to mention it was playing songs he’s never heard of before. He didn’t think that was even possible in schizophrenia cases.) 

“Okay then…think Donatello, what else could it be?” Donnie muttered mostly to himself. Since—technically, nobody was there to answer. 

“Donnie I know you freaking out, trust me it is freaky for me too, but let's make things clear for your sanity, you are not crazy and you don't have schizophrenia or something like that.” 

Donnie paused, it was…nice? To be told he wasn’t crazy that is. Even if the option was still on the table and even if he wasn’t fully considering it anymore. 

“This is more like a typical mystical Saturday morning shenanigans you and your brothers are used to everyday.... Probably.” 

That was…good to know? Even though the possibility of that not being true at all, it was something else for the voice in head to say it. 

“But for the record you need medical treatment for those wounds. Ask your brother Leo and don't even think about hiding from him or lying to him. He'll figure it out immediately. Not to mention you are the second worst liar next to Mikey.” 

Donnie couldn’t help the way he bristled. He wasn’t sure if he was peeved at the accusation of being a bad liar or being told to get help for something. Maybe it was both. 

Donnie winced. It seemed like the ibuprofen had worn off. He still had that headache. Though it seemed to be going away. Donnie gingerly felt up the side of his face, brushing against scabs and the odd plaster he’d put on himself. Maybe he’d take some more ibuprofen…? 

Donnie couldn’t remember where he’d put the bottle. 

“Where did I…” 

Donnie continued looking for the bottle. 

Another song started up. 

Another mainly piano song. This was also slow but somewhat richer in the complexity of its notes. 

Donnie paused and listened for a second. It sounded like something he might listen to on a bad sensory day. It was…admittedly nice. 

Donnie let himself breath. He still couldn’t find the bottle. Then again he had taken more than the recommended amount for an adult. So…

 "hoo boy. Y'know, I've heard schizophrenia and psychosis and the like are reeeealy poorly represented by the media and stuff. I don't know that much myself, but you aren't dangerous all of a sudden; you're still you. You just gotta deal with us now lol"

Donnie huffed out a laugh. Again—the voices were telling him he wasn’t crazy. He didn’t feel crazy either. He…well he felt like himself. Albeit tired, aching, in pain and in desperate in of a drink of water. He felt incredibly parched, mouth dry and all that. 

Okay…well maybe he was willing to admit that he might not be crazy. It would certainly be a relief if he wasn’t. 

Okay then Donatello. What was it? 

“Hey, Donnie 😊,” 

Should he…respond? (Why did he get the distinct impression that the voice was smiling?)

 Donnie opened his mouth and paused. Was he really doing this? Was he really going to try talking to the voices inside his head? If he wasn’t crazy then…could it be okay to do it? 

“I know you love information, so I’ll give you some, if you’d like it. If not I’ll be quiet. Block me off, and I’ll go silent. Otherwise, I have some stuff that I think you’d like to know.” 

“I…” In the past it seemed like they responded to him and here one of them was again—addressing him directly. 

Donnie made his choice. (He hoped he wasn’t going to regret this.) 

“Yes….I…some information would be appreciated,” 

“Here’s the basics. We’re here for now, and I don’t know how long. We being me and the other voices. We can’t hurt you, but we can start up music and talk. We cannot hurt your brothers either. We have no influence, none at all except in your mind.” 

That…seemed to line up with everything so far. Should he write this down? Yes. Yes he should. Donnie fumbled for some sticky notes and a stray pen. Every time he finished a page, he would rip it off and slap it down onto the desk he was leaning against. Each note basically on top of each other with how close each one was.

 He waited for the voice to pipe up again. 

“Leo cannot hear us. Neither can anybody else. But we are quite real. I can assure you of that much. You’re not crazy- far from it. It’s just like talking on the telephone; you can talk to us and we can talk to you. If you have any questions, please, fire away. You can ask for names, though you may not like mine, and for any other thing your heart desires.” 

Donnie hummed as his fingers moved. Bullet points hit hard and fast and the notes quick and summarized. Donnie waited for more. 

“Be warned though: I will likely not be the only voice to respond, and not all the answers presented may be trustworthy. Stay safe, Donnie, and know this: I and many of the other voices care about you. We want you to be happy and healthy. We will do all that is in our power to help you however we can.”

Donnie froze. Some key words playing back in his mind. 

I and many of the other voices care about you. We want you to be happy and healthy. 

Donnie took a shuddering breath. Why did that…

Donnie blinked. Then blinked again and again. He swallowed and took a deep breath. He pressed his hand to his chest. He could feel his heartbeat steady and a little fast even with the fabric of hoodie playing a role. 

Donnie took a minute to himself. 

—||—

He decided to leave the sticky notes where they were. He would move them if necessary. 

“do you like cowboys :33” 

“Yes,” Donnie said, without even really thinking about it. 

…

Hm.

Donnie still didn’t think much more about it. 

—||—

Donnie sat himself back down at the workstation and looked down at his goggles. Still broken. 

He wanted to do some more work. He felt marginally better. He was still thirsty, he still had a headache but he wasn’t choking on stress anymore. He still felt terrible but he’d worked under worse conditions before.

Donnie started. 

Not five minutes later another voice washed around inside his mind in a static wave. 

"Still wondering how long its going to take you to fix those goggles."

Donnie paused for a minute. He…he was…okay with answering them now right? 

It…it was probably fine. He could just pretend he was talking to himself, then it wouldn’t feel so weird. 

He still felt weird about it anyway. 

“...most likely around 17 hours. Though I’m not sure if I want to repair it or build a new set entirely. Considering the materials on hand and the damage to the outer casing…hm..” Donnie trailed off, looking at the broken piece of tech. 

Each idea had merit but…

The door to his lab opened. 

Wait—was it time for his brothers to come check on him? How long had it been? What time was it? What—

“Heeeey Donnie…um…you’ve been in here a long time,” 

It was Raph. 

“Ah Raph—I was just—” 

Raph’s face melted into absolute horror when he saw Donnie injuries and poorly done up bandages. 

“Donnie! What happened!” 

Donnie froze. “I uh—” Donnie fumbled for an answer. “What—what are you talking about Raphael? I’m completely fine and uninjured. He said, with absolutely certainty and no panic whatsoever,” Again. With no panic whatsoever. 

Raph made an anguished face. “Donnie!” He rushed over and hovered anxiously. “You’re—you’re all cut up and—and are those burns??” 

Donnie sunk into his shell.

“...nooooo…?” 

Raph’s face hardened. “I’m taking you to Leo,” 

“Wait—!” 

Raph scooped him up and rushed out the lab door, leaving it wide open. 

“do you even weigh anything to him?”

Donnie’s mouth twitched. Raph didn’t even notice, being too busy convinced Donnie was going to die and all that. 

“it’s probably like holding a couple of grapes”

The two voices snickered to each other. 

Donnie could not feel any more betrayed then he did at that moment. 

“DONNIE’S GONNA DIE!!” 

“WHAT???” 

Great. 

—||—

It took way too long to calm Mikey down. 

“You—you’re sure Dee’s gonna be fine?” Mikey sniffed. 

Leo rolled his eyes and slathered more Neosporin on a cut near the crook of his neck. Donnie hissed and leaned away. 

“Yes he’ll be fine—stop moving Donnie,” 

“I would if you stopped—” 

"Hey, Donnie. Seriously make sure you're okay. You wouldn't want your eyes to be permanently damaged or anything, right? Like, how hard would it be to work on your tech if you can't even see???” 

It would be very hard to work if he couldn’t see. Good thing his eyes seemed mostly fine. (It didn’t matter that the edges of his vision were blurry, that would go away. It had to.) 

“Again let Leo look at your injuries and after the treatment get a rest. And don't you dare pull a nighter. Don't think I don't know about those.” 

(It seems the voices were ganging up on him.) 

Donnie’s mouth snapped shut and he turned away. Leo shot him a weird look that Donnie didn’t particularly care about and continued to apply antibiotic ointment. 

A few minutes passed. 

Mikey left to go make sure dinner wasn’t burning and Raph left because his constitution always suddenly leaves him whenever any blood was involved. 

Leo finished bandaging all the cuts and motioned for Donnie to turn his head. 

Donnie did without much complaint. 

Leo took out a well used rag out of a bowl of cool water and began to gently clean the burns. 

Besides the occasional wince and half-hearted glare Donnie didn’t do much else.

“So…” Leo said slowly. “How’d all this happen again?” 

Donnie twitched. “An explosion,” 

Leo made a dramatic show of rolling his eyes. “Right sure—just on your face,” 

“Well maybe it was on my face, Nardo,” Donnie said, putting his nose up. 

Leo paused and gave him the same weird look he gave him earlier. “Why would—” Leo shook his head. “Nevermind I don’t wanna know,” 

Donnie scoffed and winced right after. 

Leo mumbled an apology and Donnie hummed, not accepting it but at the same time not rejecting it. 

“Anything… else I should know about Donald?” Leo had finished with the rag and picked up a bottle of scentless aloe vera. 

No, Donnie would not be telling anyone about the voices. He may be socially dense at times but he wasn’t stupid. You don’t go around telling people you hear voices. That just wasn’t something you did. They really didn’t have know. It was none of their business.

“...no,” 

Leo narrowed his eyes and popped the cap of the bottle. 

“You sure?” 

Donnie leaned away, avoiding eye contact. 

“Yes I am sure, there is nothing else—” 

“Hello Donatello. Ignore me if you wish, but know that in 2 minutes your brothers will be killed. Can you save them?”

Donnie stilled, his breath hitched and tensed. 

What? They were—

No—no that wasn’t possible—that previous voice had said the voices couldn’t interact with the world. But maybe—or—what if the voices were omniscient? What if they knew about things that he didn’t know about? 

Were his brothers actually going to die? Or was this voice lying? Was that even possible? Could the voices lie? Did they have any set rules or—

“Donnie?” 

That did make sense. Most things have rules. Possibly omniscient voices probably had rules too. Everything has rules. Parameters and guidelines they have to follow. But still—

It had to be lying it was the only thing that made sense. Because his brothers weren’t going to die. He wouldn’t let them. 

And two minutes? That—that wasn’t a lot of time. Mikey and Raph weren’t even in the room with them. How could Donnie stop something if he had to get to them first? How much time has passed? Even if it was lying how would Donnie know—

Donnie didn’t—

“Donnie,” 

Hypothetically if it was true—then he would have less then a minute to save them. If it wasn’t true then Donnie was being stupid for no reason and—

“Donnie,” 

Leo grabbed his shoulders and Donnie couldn’t stop the whine that crept up his throat. 

Less than a minute. Less than thirty seconds—what—how—he couldn’t—

He—

“Donnie, talk to me, what’s wrong, should I get Raph or—” 

“HAHAHAHAG lmaoooo I was joking, did I get you •._.•? Hope your not like- freaking out rn, anywayyy I’ll be here with your for this entire thing so get used to me.”

Donnie froze. He didn’t even know if he was breathing. 

“...Donnie?” Leo was looking at him, definitely concerned. 

“ Son of bitch,” Donnie slurred under his breath. He—the voice was joking? Great joke. 

Something flickered across Leo's face. “Donnie? Do you need me to go get Raph or—” 

“No,” Donnie said heavily. He shook his head and Donnie was once again reminded that he had a headache that wouldn’t go away. “Don’t get Raph, I’m fine,” 

“I…” Leo pursed his mouth into a thin line, his eyes searching. He apparently found whatever he was looking for because he nodded slowly. “Okay. No Raph then,” 

Donnie had the urge to curl into a ball and die. 

How could he be so stupid? He was supposed to be the smart one. How could he fall for something so obviously untrue—

“Oh dear, you’re looking quite pale… Donatello, do you have anything you can do to calm yourself down, such as a grounding exercise? The body effects the mind, and vise versa, as I’m sure you know. I don’t want you to end up falling ill from stress or something.”

Donnie shuddered, something broken building in his throat. 

He began counting quietly to himself. 

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11…” Donnie kept counting. 

Again, something flickered across Leo's face. “Do—do you want me to tap or…” 

Donnie shrugged and kept counting. 

“Got it, coolio, coolie-mundo, cool—uh—kool aid…” Leo trailed off, watching Donnie closely. 

They sat there for a bit. 

Mikey called them for dinner twenty minutes later. (Donnie was all patched up by then anyway.) 

—||—

“I mean, I don't think we're, physically threatening? If that helps at all.” 

…

It…it was nice to know they couldn’t touch him. 

—||—

Dinner was lobster thermidor. 

Donnie had no idea where Mikey had gotten the lobster from but he had a few ideas. He ate without much enthusiasm, conversation flowing around him. Donnie would have to thank Mikey later for putting his white sauce on the side instead of on the lobster itself. 

Donnie liked lobster. 

“Why—this is remarkable! I've never seen such a thing. This one has pierced a tiny, needle-thick hole in the Fourth Wall! Directly into his brain! Do you know what the Fourth Wall is, young one?” 

Donnie paused, thought about it briefly before shoving more shellfish into his mouth. 

It wasn’t like he—what—drove a hole in the fourth wall on purpose and fourth wall? The literary term for the veil that separates the audience from the consumed media? Is that what he did? 

Was Donnie a TV character—

“I’m here to cause proooblems! And nothing you do wil stooop em! You’re forever stuck with us! So I’m gonna cause prooooblems! Hey!”

Donnie twitched and squeezed his fork so hard it snapped in half. 

He forgot some of them could be…loud. 

Great…just…great.

Maybe it was time to visit the mystic library. Maybe that’s what this whole thing was.

Maybe…maybe he could figure out a way to get them to shut up. 

Chapter Text

Raph was looking at him like he’d grown a second head. But the head was relatively small and easily ignored. 

“Is uh…somethin bugging you Don?” Raph was on his 3rd lobster. He must’ve not been very hungry. 

Donnie stared down at his hand. One half of the fork was in his hand and the other half had clattered loudly against his plate when he snapped it. It brought all attention to him. 

The attention made his skin crawl. 

It just…. surprised him. That’s all. 

The voices in his head had surprised him. He really thought he was getting used to them. But…

Donnie didn’t look up. He shook his head robotically. (It probably didn’t look very convincing.) 

“No,” Donnie said flatly. Even though something was. Something was wrong. 

"There may be a piece of crystal stuck in your ear or something. If you remove it you maybe you can shut us up."

Donnie paused, the gazes of his family immediately forgotten. Because well. There very well could be. 

Maybe not a piece but a fragment, tiny slivers smaller than lines on his palms. Since they didn’t have ears in the typical sense. Their tympanic membrane located on the side of their heads like humans’ outer constructs. Instead of near their eyes as regular turtles would. 

The crystal was an amplifier. Maybe some…dust had gotten in his ear canal? So…it was amplifying his hearing? Assuming it was doing that in the first place. He—

“I hope you’re not advocating for him performing surgery on himself… That would be dangerous on SO many levels! Besides, he can live with us! …as long as the others don’t get TOO weird, I suppose? Um, anyways! No surgery!!!”

It…it wouldn’t be surgery per say just a power wash or a vacuum or—

“I second that” 

Even if it was a kind of surgery it wouldn’t be that bad. It would be a simple extraction process. There might not even be anything in there in the first place. He didn’t feel any debris. 

If there was, would he feel it? It made sense that he would. Because well—the ear canal was a very sensitive place in the body and—

“Uh…are…you sure nothing’s bothering you buddy?” 

Donnie opened his mouth to wave the concern away but—

"Nonononono, NO SURGERY. Bad idea all around.” 

Donnie huffed. It was rather hard to think with all of the layered, static building in his skull and leaking out through his ears. He could hear everybody else just fine but the voices were so…

There. It was like he wasn’t even—

“If it's about the uh…lying? About the explosion thing? I—I’m not mad,” Raph stumbled through his words, trying to be reassuring. 

“Yeah!” Mikey pipped up. “We know how you get sometimes, we just want you to be safe is all,” 

Leo cracked a smile. “Besides aren’t you—” 

Leo’s voice was drowned out by white noise and Donnie’s attention was stolen again. 

“I third that! We can’t have our toy hurting themselves already after all~~! Let’s leave this one on the back burner hm?”

Donnie dropped the rest of his fork without even noticing. 

Toy? 

“...do you…need a new fork Donnie? I can get you a smaller one or—well, you don’t need to…um..break…them..” Mikey trailed off, his expression getting more and more worried. 

Everybody was looking at him. Why was everybody looking at him? 

Why was—

"So... yeah I agree that he shouldn't hurt himself cause that would be awful but nooooo he is NOT a toy. No way, no how."

He didn’t. His hands were fluttering, his heart was beating in his ears, his blood was hot and he could feel it under his skin. 

Donnie gave a full body shudder. 

“I’m—I’m going to the bathroom,” Donnie stuttered out and almost tripped on his own feet. 

His brothers probably said something after him but Donnie was too busy drowning in static. 

—||—

The bathroom tiles were cold. 

The lights were off and Donnie pressed his forehead to his knees. 

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“ Oh, you liked the piano one? Ever heard The Merry-Go-Round of Life?” 

Donnie swallowed and curled up tighter. 

A beautiful string of notes started playing. Calm and light. With slight jazzy undertones. 

Donnie melted into himself, letting himself drift into a sea of calming static and piano keys. 

The bathroom tiles were cold. The lights were off and Donnie had his forehead pressed into his knees. 

His hands had stopped shaking. 

—||—

(Donnie waited an hour before he left the bathroom. Mikey had come, he was understandably worried. Donnie hadn’t finished dinner. Donnie had made all manner of concerning expressions. Donnie was more spaced out than usual. Donnie was ignoring their questions. 

Donnie was…

Mikey had left after Donnie croaked out that he just wanted to be in the dark. Mikey had seemed hesitant about it. 

Raph talked to him. Straight up telling Donnie that he would break the door down if Donnie didn’t tell him what was wrong. 

Donnie managed to pull himself together to dissuade Raph from pulling the door from its hinges. Raph said something Donnie couldn’t catch and ambled away. 

Leo didn’t come to talk to him. 

He couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad thing.) 

—||—

Donnie grabbed a messenger bag, some note taking equipment and double checked to make sure his phone was charged. 

It was late and all his brothers (should) be sleeping. Donnie had triple checked the cameras around the lair to make sure. Leo wasn’t sleeping but he was doom scrolling. So. 

So as long Donnie was careful, he would be fine. He was a ninja. Ninjas were quiet. 

“Alright—just a quick trip. They won’t even notice,” Donnie muttered under his breath. 

"if you're going to the library, maybe you should wear a disguise? You guys didn't exactly leave on great terms..."

It was a testament to Donnie’s adaptably that he didn’t jump. Because—as weird as it made him feel, he was getting used to static waves that uttered and mumbled themselves into existence. Talking and turning around, poking fun at each other and poking thoughtfully at Donnie. 

It was definitely a surreal experience. 

Donnie looked down at himself. Hm. Maybe he should find a disguise. 

Donnie walked to the nearest thing that was serviceable as a mirror. 

Donnie looked at himself. Taking in his goggle-less head, tired expression and white bandages wrapped around his neck and dipping below the collar line of his hoodie. 

Donnie flipped up his hood. 

There. 

His mouth twitched into a smile. 

Look at him. Perfectly disguised. 

He was so good at this. 

Donnie left, feeling oddly warm about the whole thing. 

—||—

(He didn’t check the lair cameras before he left. It was 1am. Nobody moved at 1am.) 

—||—

“ You know, I'm kinda jealous you can visit places that are like from fantasy or science fiction books. One of my wishes is to visit the legendary lost empire Atlantis.” 

Donnie paused his sneaking for a bit. 

Atlantis sure would be something. Imagine the kind of tech they would’ve had…

“However the closest I could get to my wish is that hotel in Dubai that shares the name and even the architecture of that lost city. Unfortunately that place is just unreachable as the real deal with how expensive it is,” 

Ah…that…

Donnie…didn’t know what the voice was talking about? That seemed to be one of the staples. Not knowing what the voices were talking about. 

To be honest it was a little annoying.

Donnie continued sneaking. 

—||—

The library was exactly as he remembered it.

Tall, wisened wood. Filled with soft yellowed paper and old, worn edges. Packed tightly with bright covers and gold leaf lettering. All dense and cluttered, smelling like dust and ancient words.

Donnie loved it here. 

“ You know, for a library obsessed with keeping quiet they are quite hypocritical. I mean why is there a waterfall in the first place? Not just that's the opposite of quiet, but don't they know damage the humidity can cause to the books, and most of those look pretty old, probably last issues, to get defamed.” 

Donnie’s hands stopped flapping at a comically slow rate, the smile turning into a confused frown.

 Oh.

Yes. That did raise a good point. In terms of degradation kinetics, prolonged exposure to elevated humidity levels could accelerate the oxidative degradation of plant matter and all things from it, precipitating a cascade of deterioration that may culminate in yellowing, embrittlement, or structural fracture of the paper and—

 Wait…there was a waterfall? Donnie doesn’t think he was ever in that section. While yes he had been in here countless times after the first incident, he doesn’t think he’s ever actually seen it or…heard it for that matter. What a…puzzling situation. 

“Ohmigoodness you are so right!! I never thought about that!!” 

Donnie had to cover a snort into his sleeve because…well. The surprised response was almost funny. 

“Oh man, this place is so cool. Do you know what I’d do if I had access to a magic library like this?! I’d never leave! I’d set up a tent in one of the isles and camp out, only leaving for supply runs. I’d get a job there so I was getting paid to be there. I’d be that crazy person that appears out of nowhere and knows exactly what book you’re looking for. Goals, dude! Goals!”

Well…at least the voices? Were happy? 

Donnie shook his head lightly, at least the headache was fading. Albeit slowly. 

Donnie quickly found the book catalog, he wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for but he had a few ideas…

"Ah! Books! There's so many, I wonder how many years it'd take you to read them all!"

A long time voice. A long time and what a wonderful long time that would be. 

He shook the catalog, envisioning his ‘problem’ in his mind. 

Mythos and the Mind: The Interplay of Reality and the Arcane. 

Tempting but no. (Donnie wrote the directions just in case.) 

Donnie searched again. 

Dreams & Delusions VII

…

Donnie shook the catalog again. 

Sensing the Invisible, A Seeker’s Guide 

…maybe. Donnie wrote down the directions. 

The Veil Between Worlds

…erm..

Maybe he should try just looking for the section in general, or whatever was section adjacent?

“Yay! It’s library time! I wonder what kinds of mystical books they have!!!”

“Lots,” Donnie minded his volume. Donnie looked up at the towering shelves and the ceiling that seemed to reach up forever. “More than I could ever read in a lifetime…” 

The catalog gave him directions and Donnie took a moment to reorient himself mentally, then he was off. 

"Woohoo! Librarby time! Can we get aaaa directions rap?"

Donnie stumbled, actually caught off guard for once. (He thought he’d finally gotten used to their comments but it seemed like he wasn’t as well adjusted as he thought.) 

He could feel his face heat up with embarrassment. He’s sure his face was beet red, or whatever color it looked like through his scales. 

“You…you know about that?” Of course they knew about it dum-dum —they’re all knowing or at least all knowing adjacent. 

"Please, we love the librarby rap! I'll be the backing track.” Some rudimentary beat boxing plays through his head. 

Donnie swallowed, thoroughly put out. It was one thing to be with his brothers, with Leo at his side and Raph hovering behind them. 

But this was a little different. Donnie was always more subdued when alone. The energy in his brothers brought out that same energy in himself. So by himself in a public location…

Another voice starts whistling along with the beat boxing. 

Euggggggggghh boy. Peer pressure. The worst kind of pressure. 

“Room sixteen, take corridor B, down the stairs past the ibis tapestry…” 

—||—

He didn’t get caught but there were a couple of close calls anyway. 

—||—

“Is that a book on astronomy? Ooo that’s one on Biology! There’s the fantasy books! Look over there! And there!”

Donnie looked and yes. There they were. 

At least the voices seemed to like literature as much as he did. 

Donnie had found the section. 

He started looking, voices lapping at the edges of his mind. 

—||—

"Donnie, I have a word of advice for you to help figure us out. You have a conspiracy board with pictures of what look like weird, alternate versions of you and your brothers. That's because they ARE. There is a photo with you and your bros eating pizza with the caption 'pizza time.' Directly above it and a little to the right is a photo of some cartoony, roundish looking versions of you four.”

“Those roundish turtles are the key to figuring us out. If you can find a way to contact them, they can tell you more about me and the other voices, and maybe they can even fix it. Good luck, kiddo. You're gonna need it."

…Donnie…wasn’t sure what to do with that information just yet. Something about it was muddled and strange. Murky. Different then the other information he kept safely stored inside his brain. 

(He put it in the back of his mind for now, because something told him it wasn’t the right time yet.) 

—||—

Donnie flipped through a couple more pages of Theoretical Foundations of Enchantment and Perception before deciding it wasn’t what he needed and put it back in its proper place. 

He ran his hands along the row, looking for anything else that might be of interest.

Sometimes the voices talk about things that happened in the past. Apology for things that Donnie tried not to think about too hard. 

Now was one of those times.

"Donnie I'm so sorry about the scare you got with the whole 'two minutes until your brothers die' thing. To be fair, I did warn you that we have no physical influence and that some of the voices may be untrustworthy. Regardless, I am still very sorry."

He…

Donnie still honestly had no idea what to do about the situation. 

He pulled out another book, this one was green with obsidian flora patterns and what looked like Latin on the front, when he opened it up a slip of paper was sitting just inside. 

Liminal Realities: 2nd Edition. 

Donnie didn’t know a lot of Latin. So it seemed he was taking this particular book home with him. This is why he brought the messenger bag. 

—||—

“I absolutely adore books! My favorites are biology and most fiction genres — I really love reading about them! But even ones about things I don’t like or can’t comprehend usually have at least some tidbits of lovely insight! Even fictional stories can teach you things — intentionally or not!” The voice sighs. It sounds happy. 

 “Learning is so much fun, isn’t it?” The voice laughs softly, amused at itself. ”I think I might be preaching to the choir! But regardless, I love seeing people appreciate knowledge and having a want to learn more about the universe. There’s a beauty to it, in my opinion.”

Yes, well. Books were one of the many great wonders of the world. All that knowledge, all that thought and process. The pyramids of Giza had nothing on books. 

“Wait weren't you and your bros banned from that place or is there another Mystic Library in Hidden I don't know?” 

…not as far as he knew. While yes he was banned, he wasn’t announcing his presence like he did the first time. He would just lay low and stay quiet. As long as he didn’t exist to the Hush Bats, he didn’t exist to the Librarian. 

That was his logic anyway. 

"No, no, we aren't that far into the season yet. This will be his and his brothers' first time going."

…he…

What? 

“What are you talking about? They visited library in a previous season when Mayhem got mirror-trapped, remember?” 

What on Newton’s gravity-addled apple were the voices talking about?

"Heeeeey, you're right! The ą̴̳̼̗̤̹̺͋̊̍̔̈́̌̍̌͊̉̈́͝ȕ̵̡̢̨̖̱͇̘̥̹̘̼̻̘̠̥̔̚͜t̵̢̛̹̺̥̬͓̭̳͚͂͑͝ḩ̶̨̦̩͖̟̜̠̺̩̋͜͜ͅǒ̶̧̝̖̗̺̀͂͆͝ͅṙ̶̛͈̮̣̜͎͓̭̒̇̅͋̎̏͒͂̅̅̓͗͆͘'̶̨̛̥̹̺̘̘̘͍͆́̋̄͆̅̽̿̐͂̕̚s̴̢̫͚̜͎͖̖̺̪̻̻̈́̒̂͝ͅ ̴̨̧̮͇̫̖͓̜̼̲͔͎̝̮̤̪̤̃̏͗̓͗̈̉̔̂͑͝n̴̢̨̹͇̮͈̟͚̹͉͇͍̺̹̫̑͆͑̃́̀̏́̕͘͠o̶̢̡̹̻͕̳̻͓̝͈͎͕͕͋̍͑̿̅͒̐͜͝t̷̞̑͂͊͆͑͜ĕ̷̹̮̱͚̩̬̹̓͒͒̄̒̑̈́͑̈͝ said that we're in the beginning of season 2, and yet here is the mystic library. Sorry, I was thinking that Mystic Library was up in season 2 for some reason. Thanks for setting me straight! Yeah, then this won't be their first time going.” 

He— what?

"Guys stooop, he hasn't come to terms with the fourth wall thing yet."

There it was again. The mentioning of the fourth wall. 

Seasons and the fourth wall. That—there had to be some kind of connection here. There had to be—

“Sorry, believe me I'm trying to be discreet as best I can.” 

What was the connection here? What was the connection between Donatello, seasons(not like winter at all, if Donnie was to make a hazarded guess) and the fourth wall? The thing that only existed in movies and books and entertainment media so the audience could suspend their disbelief and immerse themselves in the story— wait—

“Sorry, sorry, slip of the tongue"

A crunch was heard, like somebody was eating popcorn. 

There was some….shuffling? Like somebody was handing something to someone else. 

There was the sound of a soda can opening. 

Was Donnie really—? 

—||—

(For some reason, Donnie felt like an abrupt change had just taken place. But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what it was or why. 

…

Donnie picked through some more books.) 

—||—

The Phenomenological Studies of the Liminal Sense. 

Hm. Sounded promising. 

Donnie sat himself right on the floor and began to flip through it. 

In the twilight of consciousness, where the boundary between the real and the imagined begins to blur, the liminal sense awakens. It is not sight, nor sound, nor touch in the conventional sense, but rather a heightened awareness that defies categorization—an acute perception of the unseen and the unheard.

Those who have crossed this threshold often describe it as a subtle hum, a soft vibration beneath the skin, as if the universe itself is breathing in sync with their heartbeat. They hear voices not in the air, but in the space between their thoughts, fleeting and fragmented, like distant whispers caught in a net of invisible threads. At times, they speak to entities unseen—neither ghosts nor gods—but something more ancient, more interstitial.

Donnie's breath caught in his throat, eyes catching on every word because that was exactly what he was going through. At least it sounded basically the same. It—had he really found something to help? 

These encounters are not hallucinations, but rather revelations from a plane of existence that has always been there, lying dormant at the periphery of the mind. And though many seek to understand it, to map the contours of this intangible realm, they find themselves only closer to the edge, where the known dissolves into the unknowable.

Was it ominous? Yes. But was it also promising? Also yes. 

The liminal sense is both a gift and a curse, for it allows one to glimpse the unseen threads that weave through the fabric of reality, yet it offers no clear guide on how to interpret them. 

Those who experience it often find their perceptions stretched to their limits, as if the walls of their consciousness have expanded, allowing in too much of the world at once. A sensation, a premonition, a fleeting moment of clarity—that is all it takes for the veil to lift. In that moment, time bends, and the observer feels as if they are both inside and outside of their own body. 

Donnie’s eyes could barely keep with how fast his mind was spinning. Everything was tunnled and honed in on every single word. Every single print of ink and text.

Donnie had to know more. He had to keep reading. 

They hear thoughts not their own, smell fragrances that have no source, and see flashes of visions that vanish before they can be fully grasped. 

It is as though the mind has temporarily slipped through a crack in the continuum, navigating between dimensions where the laws of physics and perception lose their grip. In the place between worlds, the senses no longer obey the simple dictates of the physical; instead, they engage in a dance with the intangible, moving across the thresholds of possibility and impossibility in a perpetual state of unknowing.

Did…did that mean the voices were going to get worse? More intense, more vivid, more…real? 

Donnie gnawed on his cheek. No need to freak out Donatello. 

This was fine. Everything was fine. This book was…was more than promising. It might even have the answers. But it was thick and it was—Donnie checked his phone—oh dear, 5am. 

Nobody would be up but…

Donnie shuffled the thick book next to all the other ones in his messenger bag. One more hour, then he would go home. 

(His eyelids were dropping, he felt so heavy. Everything was moving through molasses and it was not pleasant.) 

—||—

“Hi~ It’s me again, can you recognize my voice yet??? Hey unrelated question but like- why are you so fragile?? I mean I was just telling a joke~~”

Donnie twitched. He…somewhat recognized the way the voice jumbled and twisted together. 

Why was he so fragile? He…he wasn’t? 

Donnie’s mouth curled distastefully, flipping the books with more force than necessary. 

“Another reason to get rid of you,” Donnie muttered to himself. “Then you can’t insult me,” 

 “Awwww are you trying to get rid of us? That’s honestly so adorable. You should give up sweetheart~”

Donnie gripped the book to keep his hands from shaking. It…

Donnie didn’t want to deal with this. He didn’t—

“Hey! Back off you villain wannabe voice. Leave Donnie alone.” 

Donnie’s eyes itched. 

“No~” 

Donnie should loosen his grip on the book. He didn’t want to break it. 

“Yes,”

Donnie took a deep breath, trying to loosen the tightness in his chest. 

“Everyone’s sooo nice here! I gotta be more vicious to balance this out!” 

And if that didn’t set off the rest of the voices, Donnie didn’t know what would. 

Donnie tried to ignore them and the fact that it only made the headache pulse harder then it ever had in the past hour. 

Donnie wanted a nap. 

(But he also wanted them gone. So.

You can guess which one he went with.) 

—||—

Donnie found himself whisper arguing with one voice in particular. 

It wouldn’t stop bothering him about his sleeping schedule and ‘taking proper care of himself’. Donnie just wanted it to leave him alone and let him make bad decisions in peace. 

But it wouldn’t. 

“And don't get mad at me for telling you to get treated. You were bleeding, you have burns and you are suffering a headache. I won't apologize for wanting you to be okay.” 

“Yes well—” Donnie tried to argue back but it was pretty moot at this point. 

“However I want to apologize on behalf of that voice for pulling that cruel prank at you and the other for the 'want to messing with you' thing. If I could I would tell them to back off. Unfortunately I don't have the power to do that.” 

Donnie was immediately uncomfortable. 

Why did they all keep apologizing for that? It was…nice? Or something of the sort. But still weird. It's not like he could stop the voices and it sounded like the other voices couldn’t either. 

So why was it apologizing if apologizing wouldn’t fix anything? 

“Also sorry for calling you second worst liar, you might be probably the third worst liar. Maybe. It's hard to tell between you and Raph. But I guess I can't get over how you didn't question Raph's odd behaviour that time when he was hiding Buddy the Origami Ninja. Then again you were preoccupied with your 'victory' over Raph.” 

“I did win though…” Donnie muttered darkly, glaring at some undefined point above his head. He shoved another book in his bag, barely even looking at the title. 

“Oh please we all know Raph took a dive. The only way you could defeat him would be if you went semi-lethal on him with your tech-weaponry.” 

Well….er…no? 

Donnie could totally win. He could. The voice was just wrong and Donnie was right. 

“Honestly the only person who was suspicious of your big bro's behaviour was Leo.” 

…Donnie wasn’t sure if he remembered that part. 

“And speaking of suspicious twin, he's following right now.”

Donnie froze.

"yo donnatellooo u good there? is this gona becaome some sorta crisis arc cuz im here for it-"

Donnie ignored the voice and looked around, trying to be subtle about it. (He wasn’t sure if it was actually all that subtle.) 

He couldn’t see him but…

 "Heyyy uh do you think theres a possibility of ,u know, you being followed? cause you are being followed, u welcome by da way pffff very sneaky :'3” 

(Donnie could hear the bad grammar. It was… unpleasant.) 

He called out anyway. 

“...Leo?” 

Donnie waited a second. 

“Ahh you got me bro,” Leo slid out from a stack of books that Donnie quite literally didn’t see two seconds ago. 

Leo was smiling, like he hadn’t been following Donine for the past 4 hours. 

“Leo,” Donnie folded his arms, glaring appropriately. 

“Hey fam—how’s it hanging? Interesting that we ran into each other in this place of learning and other nerdy stuff nerds like you like to do,” Leo said, fruitlessly trying to come across as uncaring and aloof. 

“You were following me,” 

Leo laughed nervously, waving a hand as if to dispel the accusation. “Whaaa—no? I—psh why would I do that? I just uh…like books?”

“You were following me for 4 hours!” Donnie whisper yelled. 

“Has it really been that long?” Leo muttered, looking genuinely confused. He whipped out his phone and winced at the time. “Yeesh, you weren’t kidding,” 

Donnie threw his hands up and froze, watching as a couple Hush Bats narrowed their eyes at the pair. 

Donnie lowered his arms and tried to glare quieter. 

“Why then, my dear brother, are you following me?” 

“Welllllllll….” Leo’s eyes looked everywhere but him. He messed with one of the stacked books and it tipped. Leo fumbled pathetically for about ten seconds to keep it upright. 

Leo looked over at Donnie. Donnie lifted a single perfectly real eyebrow. 

Leo looked away, face falling a smidge. “I…” He paused and straightened. He took a deep breath and looked back. Donnie immediately fell back a little, that was a ‘serious feelings face’. Ehhhhhh….

“Donnie look, you trust me right?” 

Donnie fought to keep his composure. “Marginally,” 

Leo nodded. “Good enough—um, well…you’ve been…weird lately, you’re not—” 

Static white noise filled Donnie’s ears. 

"I think Leo's onto you~"

“Right there!” Leo pointed a dramatic finger at Donnie. (At least he was still managing his volume.) 

Donnie startled. “What?” 

“You did it again!” 

Donnie was absolutely perplexed (And maybe just a little panicked.)

“Did…what?” 

Leo rolled his eyes. “You visibly pause and tilt your head like you’re listening to something and then you make conversation faces,” 

“C-conversation faces?” Oh no, was Leo actually on to him? 

“You know. Faces you make when you’re talking to someone or following other people talking,” 

“Ah well then that just means that I’m—” 

"Shhh, there's no way! He's got no clue!"

“You did it again,” Leo pointed out. 

“...I well—” 

"Oi! Leo is a pretty smart cookie! He probably doesn't know exactly what's up with Don, but you can bet he's really concerned about him. By hiding the truth from his twin, all Donnie's gonna do is make Leo really worried about him."

Leo raised his own not eyebrow. 

How was Donnie going to explain this? He—he knew he wasn’t the best at lying but—

"Donnie, you're a bad liar. I know you got a little frustrated at the last person who told you that, but it's true. Leo can tell that you're lying, and all you're doing by dodging his concerns is making him really, really worried. You need to be honest with him.” 

“...shut up…” Donnie couldn’t think properly when his own thoughts got squashed by waves of buzzing white and salt foam. He wouldn’t be telling anyone. He wouldn’t—

“Yes, there are voices in your head. But that's just the reality of the situation for right now. Not telling Leo isn't going to make us go away. He loves you. It's time to trust him with the truth."

“I…no…” 

“Seriously Donnie, who are you talking to??” Leo looked on the verge of…something unpleasant. Donnie could barely focus on it. 

“Agree. He may not be as smart as Donnie, but he's smart enough to outsmart Big Mama AND him. I mean, remember the last Lair Games?” 

What did the Lair Games have anything to do with it? 

“ Speaking of Lair Games there is something I was wondering. Color me curious but how were you able to (well partially at least) hide yourself inside your shell? As far as I know, softshells along with snapping turtles can't do that, unlike box turtles and sliders.” 

It—well Donnie didn’t actually know but—

Leo grabbed Donnie by the shoulders, forcing Donnie to look at him. 

Donnie swallowed. 

“Who are you talking to?” Leo said firmly, eyes worried, serious and narrow. 

“You should tell him! They’ll find out eventually anyways. What will be their reaction then? That’s right: you don’t know!” 

“I’m…I’m not talking to anyone,” 

“Bullshit,” Leo hissed, “I know exactly what you look like when you’re talking to someone and you look like that now. Who? Are you talking to?” 

“I…you?” Donnie tried. 

Something flashed behind Leo’s eyes and he let go of Donnie’s shoulders. 

“Fine,” Leo said flatly. Donnie was immediately suspicious. Leo crossed his arms and deliberately looked away. “If you won’t tell me I’ll be forced to either think you’re crazy or possessed. Pick your poison Don,” 

“I’m—I’m not crazy,” Donnie wasn’t. They said he wasn’t. 

Leo made a vaguely thoughtful ‘oh well’ expression. “Possessed then,” 

“It’s not…its not that either…at least I don’t think it is,” 

Leo finally turned back to him. “What is it then?” 

Donnie looked down and away, playing with the wraps on his hands. This was usually the part where a voice would chim in unhelpfully. But none did. 

Donnie opened his mouth and hesitated. He glanced at Leo and looked away just as quickly.

“....promise you won’t tell anyone?” Donnie hated how small he sounded. 

Leo rolled his eyes, the flatness melting away as he smirked sardonically and threw an arm around him. Donnie let him. 

Confidence oozed from every pore Leo had. Donnie almost wanted to roll his eyes too.

“Please ‘Tello, I am the king of secrets, I kept your Christmas tree secret, this can’t be worse than that,” 

(Raph never had to know about that one. Ever . Donnie was taking that one to the grave.) 

“...alright then,” 

Donnie paused for a minute longer. 

“So…my goggles exploded yesterday while I was—” 

“Wearing them yeah,” Leo butt in. 

Donnie blinked. “You…knew?” 

Leo rolled his eyes. “Please it was fairly obvious,” 

“It…was??” 

“Burns and lacerations on you face and neck, particularly around your ears, scalp and eyeridge areas,” 

Donnie felt a little stupid. “...oh,” 

Leo smiled widely. “Yeah— oh . Anyway, your dark secret?” 

“Oh right…right…” Donnie hoped Leo forgot. It wasn’t very realistic but a turtle could dream. 

“I…well…after the explosion I…started to hear…” 

Donnie felt so weird saying it. It felt wrong because what if he really was crazy. 

“...hear?” Leo asked encouragingly. 

Donnie took a deep breath, one that went all the way from the roof of his nose to the very bottom of his chest. 

Here we go. 

“Voices,” 

—||—

The silence was a little more then awkward and whole lot more tense. Donnie almost wished a voice would say something. Anything. 

None of them did though. 

—||—

“I—I’m sorry,” Leo laughed a little hysterically. “It almost sounded like you said that you’re hearing voices,” 

Donnie pressed his arms closer to himself. “I am,” 

“Okay, so you’re crazy,” 

Donnie twitched. “I’m not, they said—” 

“The voice said you weren’t crazy?” Leo smiled darkly. “Well that sounds perfectly sane to me,” 

“I don’t have any of the other symptoms that come from a disorder that has auditory hallucinations as one of the symptoms—I— I feel the same. I’m just—” 

“Hearing voices?” 

Donnie’s mouth curled. “...you don’t believe me,” 

“Wellllllll—” 

“You don’t believe me!” 

“It's not that I don’t believe you, it's just that it—” 

Donnie nearly growled. “They know things about me and you that don’t make sense for auditory hallucinations to know,” 

“Oh really? Like what?” Leo asked, distinctly unimpressed.

“Well…” Donnie trailed off. Waiting. 

Leo raised an eye ridge. 

Donnie flushed. “I—”

“ I was expecting he might not believe, so to convince him I will tell you something only Leo knows and didn't tell you. Something that happened that time when he and Splinter visited Big Mama while you guys fought the Shredder. But first we should head out of the library as I don't want Hush Bats to catch you two.

Just trust me on this.”

“Dee?” 

“The…voice wants us to leave the library, before it’ll tell me one of your secrets,” 

Leo glanced up, still—unimpressed. He didn’t even look away as he swung his Odachi in a smooth motion.

Donnie and Leo slipped through time and space and ended up on a rooftop on the surface. It was raining. 

“Well, Mr. Voice in Donnie’s head—” Leo gestured dramatically, his face still frustratingly unperturbed. “The floor is yours,” He seriously believed that Donnie had nothing. 

The voice started up again. 

“ Okay I'm sure he told you how he and Splinter fought in Battle Nexus thanks to Big Mama's trickery, but won because he outsmarted her.

“Well then that leaves only one thing. The thing your brother was a victim who witnessed Splinter flirting with...Big Mama. And that's because she is... kinda... his ex…” 

Donnie could feel his face contorting into the expression equivalent of bad milk. 

“It…during your encounter with Big Mama you learned that…Splinter and Big Mama…” Donnie shivered just thinking about it. “D…dated,” 

Leo blinked, thoroughly surprised. “I…” His expression steeled again. “Not enough, you could’ve learned that from Dad, easy,” 

“Believe Leo and me were just as shocked as you.

Apparently they met on the set of Crouching Shrimp, Hidden Tiger Prawn. Back then when he was Lou Jitsu and she was his driver of his trailer. 

They dated, hit all the disco techs: the exercise techs, the philly cheesesteak techs, panty suit techs yada yada. Flashforward Splinter proposed her she revealed her spider form, kidnapped him to the hidden city, and forced him to fight in the Battle Nexus. Guess it's true what they say, love can be blind.

But that's the gist.” 

Donnie hesitantly relayed the whole thing. 

Leo balked. Opening and closing his mouth like a salmon about to be cooked. 

“I…” Leo recovered remarkably quickly. “Okay…maybe you aren’t lying about…this whole situation. Is that why you were there? In a nerdy mystic book place?” 

Donnie almost melted with relief and nodded. “Yes, I wanted to understand it and possibly a way to get rid of them,” 

Donnie watched Leo for a moment. “...You…you won’t tell Raph or Papa?” 

Leo thought about it for a second and shook his head slowly. “No—I think Pops might actually have a heart attack and die and Raph would probably just wrap you up in bubble wrap until you’re both 97. And that’s something neither of us want,” 

Donnie smiled faintly.

“So yeah. I’ll keep your secret for now,” Leo looked at him. “...are they saying anything now?” 

Donnie opened his mouth—

“Do you guys think we should WARN him about...THOSE things.... that will happen or wait till the waters calm down a lil?....hummm... wait it is! it's still far from happening anyways, will take some time until then, so i vote we wait until is a lil closer to each of the VARIOUS major plot relevant thingies so to not get him anxious or confused about WHEN an INCIDENT will occour, wich will, it always does... wait he is listening to it all no? ahammm! heeey buddy” It sounded like somebody laughed very nervously. “don't worry about it! hehe! :3"

“...um…Dontron?” 

Donnie blinked hard. “...huh,” 

Well that was unexpected.

Chapter Text

The rain came down in light, pattering sheets. 

Soft and sweet tasting. Petrichor accented everything else. The bitter smell of car exhaust, the dirty mineral smell of asphalt, the lush, rich smell of coffee and street vendors. 

The people. 

The sound was relaxing, calming in a way only rain sounds could be. 

Donnie wished he could enjoy it more. 

“Alright, so now Leo knows. That’s great! And I’m not being sarcastic. I feel like we should do something to celebrate. What do you think about ice cream? Do they even sell ice cream this early? What time is it? Didn’t you say you were in the library for like four hours?”

It…it was raining. 

"Aw, I don't have my watch on me but I think it's like 5:30? 6:00? Pretty early, but it's literally NYC. There's probably somewhere that's open"

Donnie blinked slowly, everything processing at the speed of a water logged IBM PC.

(“I suggest first to get out of the rain before you guys catch the cold. How about Hueso's? That should be a good place to start.”

“Wait, but what if people think Donnie’s acting weird in public? That would be sooo awkward omg”

“Leo is covering for him. They got this.”

“He probably can come up with something, yeah!”) 

“Donnie?” 

Donnie looked up. 

Leo’s expression was somewhere between worried and interested, thoroughly muddled by the casual humor Leo so often wore like a badge of honor. 

“They’re saying stuff aren’t they?” 

“Yes,” Donnie sighed, wishing his hoodie was a little more insulated, wishing his brain would move like it normally did. “They are,”

Leo’s head tipped to the side in interest. “What are they saying?” 

“Oh yeah that’s true. City That Never Sleeps and all that. Forget about that, but in my defense, last time I was in New York I was five, so it’s not like I was doing much late night shopping,”

That was strange. Somewhere, were the voices people? People with lives, family, friends, dogs, cats, ferrets or even pet mice? Did they go to school or Mass or…

Hm. 

“I suggested Run in the Mill. That place is sure opened and they can't stay in rain,” 

“They…” Donnie played with the hoodie tassels. “They want to…go somewhere to celebrate,” It felt weird to talk about the voices to someone. Sure it was Leo and he already implied that he was fine with it or…he might not be but so far he seemed…

(Why did he feel so tired?) 

Leo cracked a smile. “Is that normal—them wanting you to do stuff?”

Donnie shifted uncomfortably. “Yes,” It still felt weird. When was it going to stop feeling weird? (When was his mind going to go back to normal? When was he going to stop feeling like sludge?) 

Leo huffed out a laugh. “Hilarious—where do they wanna go?” 

“Señor Hueso sells ice cream? Hang on- I’m too focused on the ice cream. Run of the Mill’s a good idea.”

“...Run of the Mill,” 

Something strained and wary flickered across Leo’s face, too fast for Donnie to really catch.

“They know about Run of the Mill?” Leo said, his tone carefully neutral and purposefully light. 

“Oooo, yeah! You should totally get some food together, since it might ease the blow of ‘hey, I’m hearing voices in my head that know everything about us, including future events.’ Maybe mention the veil of reality and twilight consciousness thing from the book while you’re out?”

“...er…” Donnie didn’t know what to say. They….while it was implied that they ‘knew everything’ but…did Donnie just have the key to the future sitting in his palm? (Metaphorically of course.) 

Thoughtfulness flashed behind Leo’s eyes and smiled unassumingly. “Run of the Mill sounds good—I could go for some pizza. It’ll give us a chance to talk about…” Leo made a wide gesture to all of Donnie’s being. “This whole situation,” 

“Mayyyyyybe we should leave the veil of reality and twilight to a later date? Also, Run of the Mill sells ice cream? I mean… it’s not an implausible hypothesis, but I haven’t seen any canon evidence of the idea. Unless one of you guys saw something in the background that I missed?”

Donnie nodded placidly, mind buzzing with static and waves of sea foam. 

They went, voices lapping at the edge of his mind and Leo looking at him nearly the whole time. 

(He was so tired.) 

—||— 

“If they can serve a cake here, they can serve ice cream.” 

“Do they ever stop talking?” 

Donnie shook his head, bringing his hoodie close. It didn’t help, the rain had soaked it through. 

“No,” 

“Sounds terrible, I do not envy you,” 

Donnie huffed. That was one way to describe it. 

—||—

Leo made the hand motion for the Glamor and the wall rippled open. 

Donnie followed closely behind Leo. 

“I’d say he definitely deserves a treat, especially after the day he’s had! Icecream — or maybe frozen yogurt instead, as I heard those are getting popular — would be delicious…” The voice hummed thoughtfully. 

“Hey, Donatello — what flavor would you prefer? Vanilla is an easy favorite for most people, but I’ve heard of much more exotic flavors as well.” 

“..vanilla or sweet cream..” Donnie mumbled under his breath. 

“You good Donnie?” Leo glanced back at him. 

“I think some places even have seafood flavors? Maybe you’ll like that, since you’re a turtle?” The voice mumbled the next part. “Is that speciesist of me??? I hope not.” 

Donnie took a little too long to answer. “I’m fine,” 

Leo made a doubtful noise and turned back to looking for a table. It took a minute but he found one and slid in, Donnie following suit. 

“I think they're found mostly in Japan, though, alongside ones like matcha green tea, so I’m not sure if you’d come across it here. Then again, it IS New York… and New York has almost everything, doesn’t it? Ooh, and Leo could always portal you somewhere that DOES have it! Man, now I’m hungry…”

A waiter came by (a cat adjacent yokai with large, watery eyes and a pair of feathered antennae between their ears) and made small talk with Leo as they handed the two brothers their menus. Leo made a joke, the cat yokai rolled their eyes in good fun. 

Donnie’s head felt muddled. 

“Frozen yogurt is so gooood man I’d forgotten about it when I was in California it felt like there was a fro-yo joint around every corner lol! Probably has something to do with fro-yo being California’s state dessert. Matcha green tea though? That sounds amazing!”

Leo flipped it open. “Alright I’m thinking…a kraken’s hoard and a creepy supreme, maybe some garlic knots,” Leo glanced up, something gauging in his expression. 

Donnie fiddled with the tassels of his hoodie, pulling, twisting, wrapping them around his fingers until the circulation cut off.

Donnie shrugged. It was very hard to have a concrete line of thought when another voice, entirely separate from your own, stole your attention away. 

“ I'm sure Run in the Mill has ice cream as a dessert. Oooh maybe and ice cream pizza? What? That is a thing.” 

…like that. 

“Donnie?” 

Donnie’s head snapped up. 

Leo was looking at him, the menu carefully propped up with two fingers. There was a soft line between his eyes and gentle frown to the corners of his mouth. Well, not quite a frown, but the impression was there. 

“...want anything in particular?” 

Donnie fumbled to open the menu. His eyes raked his eyes over the options but it was hard to read when his vision wasn’t up to snuff and—

“Ice cream pizza? I’m not doubting you, just sounds odd. Is it like ice cream cake but flat, or what?”

An image of a squat, circular cut of pure ice cream popped into his mind entirely uninvited. That probably wasn’t what they were talking about. 

Oh. Right, he was reading the menu. Donnie got back to that. 

A Phoenix Drop, Menagerie Dreams,  Glazed Herb, Circe’s wonder—

Wait. He was looking at the alcohol selection wasn’t he? 

“I imagine it depends on the creators interpretation of what “icecream pizza” entails! Is it ice cream in the shape of pizza? Pizza flavored icecream? Both? Something else entirely? Who knows!”

This was embarrassing. Really it was. Donnie tried to find where he would usually order from but—

“Oh god—pizza flavored ice cream sounds like something 2012 Mikey would create… I’m having pizza shake flashbacks.”

“...2012 Mikey…?” Donnie muttered hysterically. 

Leo was still looking at him 

“Ah shit. I Should Not have said that. Uhm. I mean. I don’t know what you’re talking about? I don’t think I can answer your question.”

Donnie fought to keep his voice down. “No…wait—what are you talking about—” 

“Donnie?” Leo was still looking at him. 

“Jeez, we probably shouldn’t dump the multiverse on him this early. Multiverse AND mystics? Double-whammy.”

This was horrible. Every time a thought entered his head a voice got up, all nice and personal with that thought—effectively shoving it out of the way. Making that thought essentially null. 

(And the multiverse? Seriously?) 

“I'd enjoy an ice cream pizza. Think of the different ways you could make it.” A short rift of ethereal trumpets and vocals started, it ended almost as soon as it started. 

Donnie shoved the menu away from him. It didn’t really matter what he wanted if whenever he thought of an opinion a voice drained it of all meaning. 

“I—I’m not really hungry,” Donnie managed. 

Leo stared at him for a long time. Donnie squirmed under the attention. What could Leo be thinking? What did he want from Donnie? What could Donnie do to make him stop staring—

Leo blinked and glanced down at his own menu. He looked up again, a smile unfolded on his face. 

“So,” Leo started playfully. “What’s it like being a conduit for something outside of space-time?” 

Donnie wasn’t sure how to feel about how Leo said that but he definitely knew what to say in response. He opened his mouth to respond but—

“YASSSS I ALMOST FORGOT ABOUT FRO-YO!!!”

Donnie jerked at the volume, froze like a dumb prey animal and then slowly sunk into his hoodie. Embarrassment and shame dragging filthy hands down his face and all the way down into lungs. Donnie wanted to die. That would be better than this. Anything would be better than this. 

Leo hummed, his brow furrowing a tad. He looked like he wanted to say something but the waiter came back. 

Leo started conversation with them. 

Donnie sunk further into his hoodie. 

"Ice cream!! Ah, I love Ice cream so much, it's been too long since i had it. Yes, yes, go get Ice cream!"

…Donnie didn’t really want ice cream, he didn’t want much of anything at the moment. The only thing he really wanted was for the voices to kindly leave him alone. 

(At this point Donnie wasn’t sure if they could leave him alone, just like he couldn’t block them out. Were they stuck with him as much as he was stuck with them?) 

The waiter glanced at Donnie and asked a question. Leo smiled wide and relaxed, making some gestures with his right hand. 

Donnie sunk lower into his hoodie, pulling his hood over his head and resting his forehead on the table. 

There were noises. People, plates, scrapping, scraping, talking. Voices that weren’t the ones in his head. The ones that were in his head. Feet against the ground. Clothes and chairs and gulps and ahh’s of chugging a glass of water. Breathing, talking, walking, fingers tapping, talking, tapping, feathers being rustled, scales slinking across the ceramic floor. Eyes blinking, a tongue lapping a drink from a copper dish, scraps of talons against wood. Talking, talking, talking talking—

A light hand touched his side. 

Donnie was embarrassed to say he flailed around at the contact. Eventually just tensing to stare at whoever touched him. 

It was Leo. 

Leo was looking at him, face extremely worried. 

“...its okay if you don’t want to be here,” 

Donnie swallowed thickly. 

“I…” 

“Hey, kiddo, I’m curious: can you tell us apart by our voices? I feel like a lot of us are pretty distinct, and you’ve mentioned being able to tell that the voices sound different in a previous c̴̱̱̼̈͒͜ḫ̵͚̗̝̓̈́͗̒a̷̤̖̞͆̓̅—ah, you mentioned it earlier, hence my wondering.”

(Yes he could tell them apart. There were different fluctuations, ways words were spoken, sometimes there were even accents if Donnie were to call them that. Each voice sounded unique. All different versions of lapping static, shifting seafoam and drowning rain. Horribly delectable white noise at its finest.) 

Donnie couldn’t help the whine that crept up his throat. 

“hey, don-don, im kiiiinda starting to regret this whole "ratting us out to leo" thing. Sure, he's not gonna tell raph or splinter, but you guys didn't even discuss him snitching to april! or mikey! just saying!” 

His chest was tight. 

Breathing. Talking. Scraping, buzzing, chiming, slinking, whistling, snapping, eating, rustling, sizzling, hissing, gurgling, screeching, talking talking talkingtalkingtalkingtalkingtalkingtalking—

“mikey might be my favorite, but we all know hes not exactly good at shutting his trap! think of the piebald incident!!!”

Somebody was talking to him. Of course it was different from everything else but Donnie couldn’t focus on anything—

“Speaking of Piebald, where is she now? Last time I heard from her was after the lesson/prank she and Splinter pulled on you guys.” 

There was too much. 

Donnie couldn’t focus and there was too much. 

Donnie—

— !!?

Donnie fell on something soft and tumbled off it almost immediately. 

Too much, too much, too much, too much, too much, too much too much too much too much too much too much too much too muchtoomuch—

“Ah shit—Donnie I didn’t—” 

Donnie curled up as tight as he could, tears were thick in his throat and he could taste them on his lips. Everything was touching him and nothing would shut up and everything was—

“Shit, shit, shit—hold on—I’ll be right back—” 

Donnie couldn’t even focus on anything. He couldn’t even—

Something heavy was thrown on top of him and something else was shoved over his ears. Everything went quiet. 

Donnie shuddered. (Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew the world wasn’t actually quiet. His world would never truly be quiet. Never again. Donnie would never be left alone again.) 

Donnie curled tighter under the weighted blanket. Crying and shaking. 

(He didn’t want Leo to leave just yet.) 

—||—

“ My music seems to bring you a respite from the other voices. Unfortunately my music taste is usually either old-timey, not in English, or vaguely sad. Sometimes all three. Not something you'd listen to.” 

Donnie curled tighter, trying to keep himself from thinking about the fact that he could hear his own breathing despite the headphones. (Despicable.) 

“Anyway…” A beautiful ballad of strings and drums and winds bloomed in the place of thoughts. 

Growing and twisting and dancing with an elegance that had Donnie shivering. Donnie swallowed, pressing his hands against the muffs of the noise canceling. He couldn’t hear anything but the song. He hated it. He hated that part of him liked it. He hated that he couldn’t hear anything else. He hated that a piece of him, no matter how small, was extremely grateful for the music. 

While yes—it wasn’t something he would listen to or even think to touch but the fact that it was so different is what made it distracting. A glorious, calming sort of distraction that Donnie doesn’t think he’d ever be able to come up with himself. Maybe not even something his brothers could come up with because Donnie knew his brothers’ tastes and they didn't really approach this kind of symphony.

None of them listened to this sort of classical masterpiece. Raph maybe. But…

Donnie brought the weighted blanket closer around himself, wallowing in his own, messy way. 

“ I listen to that when I'm languishing.” 

Donnie breathed. It certainly was a languishing song. 

“Actually, can I queue them up?” 

After the song had ended—just like the word queued implied—another song started. 

The soft strum of an acoustic guitar and slow, slightly whimsical sounding lyrics played out in Donnie’s mind. 

It sounded like French. 

Donnie melted. 

—||—

"Some say that sad songs can help you empathize better and lift some weight of your feelings! plus we can still feel the vibes of multilingual songs, so recommending it on trying times can actually help, depends on the mood really but can be beneficial, so no need to be shy about sharing it” 

Donnie was half asleep, so the words barely registered to him. 

“Say, what do you think about: "Mitski playlist songs" or "Rises the Moon" or even better "Reflections of my Life?” 

Donnie hummed, turning over. 

He was so tired. 

“....I feel so old,” The voice sounded sad. 

Donnie went back to half sleeping. 

—||—

…

…

…

…

…

Donnie was somewhere. 

Somewhere dark gray and reflective. The ground was wet but it wasn’t really. Not actually. 

Just Donnie was breathing but technically he wasn’t. 

Donnie was somewhere. 

There were stars above him. Millions upon millions of stars. Deep, rich purples and blues spread across the expanse, twinkling with star dust and glittering with Nothing. Everything stretched with such a vastness that Donnie could keep looking forever and always find more. 

Somewhere was filled with stars. 

Donnie looked around, a great sea of dark gray in every direction he looked. If Donnie looked down he could see eyes. Tiny little slits of white embedded in a vaguely head shaped shadow. Maybe there were around…twenty of them? Ten? Five? Fifty? A hundred? Multiple hundreds? It was hard to tell where the vague humanoid shapes started and where the dark gray expanse ended. They were one and the same. 

The shadows loomed over him, leaning over to whisper into his ear. 

Somewhere was filled with shadows. 

Somewhere was filled with stars. 

Somewhere filled Donnie. 

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

Donnie woke up. 

—||—

Donnie stared at the ceiling for a long time, trying to remember what his dream was about.

He had a hard time remembering it. 

—||—

Donnie stumbled into the kitchen, headphones still clamped around his ears and blanket firmly tucked around him. 

Did he look stupid? Probably. Did he care? Not particular.

He felt pretty terrible and that was saying something.

(It wasn’t due to his sleep surprisingly. Considering how he fell asleep you’d think he would be a lot more miserable but no. He felt startlingly rested despite the circumstances. The sleep was deep and he didn’t wake up once. It was nice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well. 

The reason he felt so terrible is because of the dregs of whatever meltdown remained from yesterday. It was draining and horrible and embarrassing. He hoped nobody else at Run of the Mill had seen it. Knowing his luck though—somebody might’ve filmed it. 

And if that didn’t cause Donnie anxiety, Donnie didn’t know what would.) 

Donnie wasn’t hungry but he did want coffee. 

Donnie walked with the blanket dragging behind him, nothing but silence surrounding him. Any moment a voice would pipe up and ruin it. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ but a matter of ‘when’. 

Donnie should relish the silence while he still had it.

Donnie looked at the pot, it was about 2/3rd’s empty. Donnie blinked slowly at the pot, wondering when his hand would move to pick it up.

“SO!"

Donnie jerked, his heart leapt into his throat, shoulder hiking up to hit the headphones. 

…great. 

Donnie breathed and forced himself to untense. It was just another voice. He wasn’t going to die. 

"feelings am i right?" 

Donnie grunted, words didn’t seem very appetizing at the moment. 

"u ok? feeling functional at lest i mean?" 

Donnie continued to stare at the coffee machine, the stare morphing into a narrow eyed glare. Maybe if he glared hard enough the caffeine would shoot directly into his bloodstream and the voices leave him alone. 

He really wanted them gone. 

 "Uhm…” The voice sounded worried. "Its quite ok if you’re ABSOLUTELY not, all emotions should be felt, wouldn't want to be happy in a stressful situation anyways, just feels.. wrong" 

Donnie’s brows furrowed. What did that mean? 

"just take some time to process i guess, you still have time, as long as you adress it and pin the problem you can find the solution! for now you just have to adjust to all the changes, like the voices, one way or another THIS, we the voices i mean, won't cause THE end of the world, take care of yourself and those you love, those are some of the most precious things we have, CAN have"

…this was too emotion based for this early. Late? How long did Donnie sleep? Where did he put his phone? 

…

Donnie glared at the coffee machine, he got his hands working. 

"so one problem at time"

Coffee. In mouth. Now. 

"I believe u will find what u need and you guys will be just fine in the end, perseverance is key in face of it all," 

Donnie drank directly from the pot. It was cold and bitter and Donnie didn’t particularly care for it. He just needed it to wake up. 

Sure he felt good from sleeping but what animal would he be if he didn’t start the day with coffee? It was a staple of his mornings at this point. Whether or not he needed it was null and void. It was routine. 

(Donnie, in spite of being as groggy as he was, could see the weight and merit of the words the voice was spouting but Donnie was busy drinking coffee and trying to figure out where he put his phone. Because it wasn’t on him. He hoped he didn’t leave it at Run of the Mill. That would just be another level of embarrassing.) 

"problems can arrive and knock you down, but as long as you keep trying to get up, theres still a chance, an another day, a future"

“..here here,” Donnie mumbled flatly, voice in a complete deadpan. He put the pot down. Okay, coffee was in his system now. What now? 

Donnie turned around and almost leaped out of his skin.  

It was Mikey. Directly behind him. 

Donnie took a shaky breath and resisted the urge to run a hand down his face. It was just Mikey. It was just Mikey. 

Mikey smiled and began to sign. 

‘Good morning,’ 

Donnie managed a smile and signed back. ‘ What time?’ 

Mikey pulled out his phone and showed Donnie the time. 

2:37pm. 

Donnie blinked slowly. Okay. So not late and not quite early. 

‘Hungry?’ Mikey signed, looking at Donnie with open curiosity. 

Donnie shrugged. (He knew that if he said no Mikey would pester him anyway. So a shrug was the best he was going to get away with.)

Mikey beamed and rushed to the fridge, yanking out ingredients with so much force Donnie was surprised that nothing was breaking. 

Donnie sat down at the table and watched Mikey throw something together with truly frightening furiosity. 

"and you know, the ones who stay down, don't go fowards, we can only learn acknowleging our failures"

…as nice as this inspirational speech was, it was still terrible to have a pipeline of voices and personalities being shoved and then directly shoveled into your brain. Donnie would very much like it to not be happening.

Okay so. The voices. Were a thing, were a thing since yesterday. He needed to get rid of them. He needed to get rid of them as soon as possible. He had the books. (where did those go? He didn’t see the bag when he woke up. He would have to ask Leo.) He had theories, so now he just needed time with both. 

He needed the voices gone. 

“There's a lot of us now, huh? Sorry about all the noise. But hey, here's an idea – since that book was found in the mystic library, maybe someone in the Hidden City will know how to help you out. Or US out, if you want to get rid of us, haha."

..maybe. The rest of the Hidden City wasn’t a bad idea. Of course Donnie could always just ask random Yokai but that didn’t seem like the best course of action. Maybe he could ask Draxum about it. Hm. 

"shhhh don't give him ideas! it’s just beginning to get FUN! you will not get rid of us so easely >:3"

How…how could even hear that emoticon? Was that something he could always do or was this a new development? Donnie made a mental note of it just in case. 

“As much as I'd love to stick around, it matters what Donnie wants. Personally, I can't imagine this being anything less than overwhelming. I mean, did you see how many of us were arguing over food? I wouldn't want all that clogging up my mind."

That was awfully thoughtful of that voice. And aware. It seemed some of the voices were just more knowledgeable about their impact then others or they simply cared more. 

"Fair…” The voice sounded like an immature child whining about something their mother wouldn’t give them for good reason. “buuut stiiiill—well, guess we all can make do with the time all have then. Just because it has to end doesn't imply it has to be meaningless!"

Donnie rolled his eyes, huffing. 

A dish slid under him. 

Rice pudding with a side of scrambled eggs and apple slices. 

Donnie looked at the food for a little bit, wondering what he did to deserve such a spectacularly aware, wonderful and adorable little brother. 

He glanced up at Mikey, who was watching him with a small smile and mild curiosity. He probably wanted to ask some questions but ultimately wasn’t going to push it. 

Donnie started eating. Only then realizing how hungry he was in the process. 

“...I don't like your tone..." The voice sighs. "Don't traumatise him at least!"

Donnie paused for a second before continuing eating. It was still weird to hear them talk about him like he couldn’t hear them. Which he could. That something that didn’t seem to be changing anytime soon—much to his disappointment. 

"It's not traumatizing, i'm uhhh…Giving him SPICY memories! you know, so he will have stories to tell some day! :3” 

Again with hearing the emoticon. It was honestly something he could do without. 

“ You and the demonic voice are seriously messed up…” 

(Mikey was still watching him, glancing around, tapping a beat on the table, probably tapping his feet too. 

He definitely wanted to ask something but Donnie wasn’t sure if he could say something without sounding too suspicious. He knew he was bad at lying; he just…didn’t like it when somebody pointed it out. Like it was a personal failure on his part for not being better.) 

"I call it charming~” The voice sounded playful. “pffff :'3—some of us feel the calling of chaos more potently, INTENSELY, than others, it's in our blood. can't do much about it. But I can assure you that i don't mean any serious harm! Just chaos hehe.”

Right. Sure chaos. Something Donnie definitely needed in his life. 

“To make the most of the situation until it inevitably solves itself or at least as much as it can be solved anyways :3” 

That voice was really fond of emoticons wasn’t it? 

"I have HIGH EXPECTATIONS for the future! so many possibilities,” The voice said in a dreamy tone. “everything will be okay in the end anyways, so we can just enjoy the ride! and help when it is needs too i guess,” 

Again with the voices and their…omniscience. 

How much did they know? What were they allowed to tell him? Were they allowed to tell him anything? Where did their standards and rules of practice come from? Where did—

Mikey made an attention grabbing gesture on the edge of Donnie’s vision. Donnie looked up at him. 

‘You okay?’ 

Donnie nodded, eating slowly. 

Mikey's expression turned doubtful but hesitantly accepting, he lifted up his hands to sign again. 

‘Headphones. Why?’  

‘Too many noises. Hurt.’ Or at least that’s the closest Donnie could get with their limited fingers.

Mikey nodded solemnly, accepting Donnie’s answer at face value. 

‘Leo said not to bother you, was worried,’ 

Oh. Well from Mikey’s limited questioning, it seemed Leo hadn’t told anyone. Donnie felt oddly touched by this. 

Donnie shrugged. 

‘I’m okay, slept well,’ 

Mikey beamed. 

‘Good,’ 

The conversation tapered out and Mikey went back tapping his fingers and toes to something Donnie couldn’t hear. 

"Do you think u could get some gooood money prettending being a seer with all this knoledge we provide? I think it would be great! A fun lil harmless adventure actually! exceeeept it could go bad really fast huh... spiraling out of your control...but no matter! i'm sure you can deal with it!"

(Hearing misspelled words was something Donnie didn’t know he could experience until this moment. 

Suffice to say—he hated it.)

Donnie clenched his utensil tighter. Well so far he wasn’t dealing with it very well and it wouldn’t be very smart to rely on scattered information that could very well be false for all he knows. 

And what did that mean? ‘Go really bad, really fast’? Some kind of euphemism? Or…

"not like it could go wrong or something. like the voices guessing wrong, or lying. or becoming a target, a wanted man, turtle? or people getting revenge for not liking their future and blaming you for it or thinking you are cursing them...."

Donnie twitched. Oh. 

“yeah!!!, sounds like some aweasome stuff, pretty worth it! let's try it some time plz? :3” 

(Mikey gave him one last glance, before signing a quick goodbye—Donnie giving him one in return—before scampering off somewhere, a weird expression on his face. Donnie shrugged it off and ate his food instead of thinking about it too hard.) 

“I think that would be gambling with luck… I’d much rather Donnie plays it cautious! …Then again, I suppose it IS Donatello we’re talking about. A-ah, no offense intended, Donatello! I just want you to stay safe!”

Why did…he feel like he should be offended? 

"now that i think about it, the danger can apply if bad people SUSPECT you are one without you necessarily saying, not that you are one!.... you just have a rare ability that many would want to UNDERSTAND better, to know things you shouldn't from time to time in a not so special order! something that would STILL draw attention, the wrong kind...so be careful with what you do from now on ok? actions speak louder and there's always someone listening…” 

…what…what was he supposed to do about that? Okay sure, he won’t tell anyone he doesn’t trust about this…ability he was stuck with. That was a given. (Maybe it wasn’t obvious to him but someone directly telling him made it so obvious. Should he have thought about that immediately? Was there something wrong with him?) 

What would people do if they found out about it? Demand answers he couldn’t give? Torture him until he eventually gave them? Torture his brothers?

He…

“ you would know about that, wouldn't you now?" The voice said in a dark, chilling tone. 

K–know about what?

"EYES CAN SEE, CAMERAS TOO.... BUT THE VOICES..... THEY SEE IT ALL.....FUTURE PAST PRESENT HAPPEN HAPPENED WILL HAPPEN CAN'T OR......COULD" 

Donnie swallowed thickly. Something about that was…different. (The voice played a different cord. Strung a different frequency. Sure it buzzed and foamed like every other one but the words…the words were filled with a depth that had Donnie thinking of stars and black pools of water that had no end. Wells that sunk deep into the dirt and held gold keys buried under the mud. Places and things that science couldn’t understand no matter how many technological advancements were made.

It made Donnie shiver and it made his mind quake. 

Something…somewhere. 

Donnie was Somewhere.

Somewhere. 

Was Donnie.) 

…

Donnie swallowed again, his mouth suddenly dry. What…what was he thinking about again? It was hard to remember. 

"apologies! Donatello, i would advise you go to rest now, maybe take it ease on the caffeine?"

Why? Why should he rest? Just because it felt like something lapped at his energy and something made of ice crawled up his back didn’t mean he couldn’t do what he normally did. (The words didn’t make him shiver. The words didn’t make him quake. He was just…tired. Yes. Donatello was just tired.) 

“…Geeze.”

…yes. Geeze would be an adequate description of this whole thing. 

And. No. He wouldn’t go rest. Donnie had work to do. Books to read, goggles to repair. Reality to grapple with. 

Donnie glanced down.

And a dish to clean. 

Donnie picked up his dish and made his way over to the sink. 

“Alright, are we sure we aren’t just schizophrenic hallucinations? Cuz this is starting to get pretty conspiratorial.”

Donnie fought to keep himself from breaking the dish. 

“I’m not crazy…” Donnie mumbled under his breath. “I’m not,” Because he couldn’t be. He just couldn’t. He wasn’t—

“Woah woah, wait a second! I was just kidding, my bad. Dang, I should’ve used t̵o̴n̴e̸ ̴t̴a̶g̶s̴ or something. Wait, would the slash even be heard or would it just be silent?”

Donnie thought about it for a second. (Something about the words ‘tone tags’ buzzed a little louder than everything else. If the buzzing was more intense he wouldn’t even have heard it at all.) 

Considering he could hear the inflections and emphasis words had as if a regular person was speaking them—tone tags would be useless. Why would somebody use tone tags in the first place? It wasn’t like somebody was wr—

                                                                                                                                                          wri̵̬̹̞̤̠̠͈̹̟̯̩̘̱̐̈́̇͛͒̈́̓̕ͅt̸̨̡̢̢̙̖͖̖͖̦̼̜̩̱͖͓̮͚̲̮͖̪̠̰̻̘̱͙̼̲̩̦͍̼̻̹̥̻̺̠̯̗̙̬̮̖̱̱̹͍̰̺̲̳͓̯́́́͑̉̉͐́̔͌͌͜͜ͅͅ—̸̢̨̧̛̛̛̦̺̰̺͔͚̥̣̲͔͍̗͖͇͉̲̹͇̦̺̬̼̝͇̖̰̜̥͎̮̙̬̯̜͕̥̣̻͕̞̠̬̼̮͙̪̣͔͎͊̅̀̈́͒̈̈͋̿̐̑͒̿̀̌̆̅̄̎̈́̅̓̀͊̒̇̈́̈́͊̈́̒͒̓̽̂͆̋͆͑͊͂̂̀̂́̓̉̑̀̐̏́̇̌͌̆̒̌͗̿̆̈̕͝͝͠ͅ-̸̢̨̧̡̢̢̧̧̪̖̗͇̬͕̪̣̮͉̬͖̮̻̫̤͚̪̲̥̞͔͎̰̜͈̭͎̯̻̞͎̜̺̯̞̲̬̮̜̩̩̭̳̻̫̻̼͕̪̞̜͚̝͍̪̽̏̄̋̈́̓̈́̾̾͆̈́̃͐̍̉̽̑͒͐͊̋͆̈́̏̔̽̀̉́͋͒̍͐̾͗̿͆̓́͛̋̅͒̉̏̀͐͑́̕̚͝͝͝͠͝ͅ-̶̧̛̛̛̠͕̞͔̘̦̳̙͍̩̺̤͉̥͚̺̫̝̻̰͕͖̫̥̙̙̰͚̞̟̟̰͙͇͎̘̘̭̫̼̳͖̰̑̓͒̾͊̎̂̂̎͋̋̇̆́̈́̀̃̾̓̓̓̌͒̌̈́̈́̂̇͑͌̎̌̿͗̆̋͋̿̌̋́̈̈́̏̇́̈́͊̀̔̋̎̈́̈́̌͆͑͋͆̕͘̕͘̚͜͜͝͠͝͝-̸̨͈͎̩̬̣̗̠͇̜̤̱̋̄̋̃̏̽̑̂͊̀̈̌̚͝-̸̢̢̡̨̡͓̭͔̦̦͕̬̞͉̱̹̮̬̞̗̲͎̼̗͙̜̜̣͖̻̣̞͙͉͈͚̗̝̘͇͈̹̱̘̐̾̌ͅͅ-̷̨̢̛̝̟̹̻̺̟̯̤̺̻͕͔̯̟͉͚̬̤̠̲̱͕̦̬̜͚̮̪̦̠̖͖̰͙̣̰̹̆̊̀̓̇̅̆͛̂̈̿̂̒͌́͐̑̓̿́̾̎͒͆̍͂̽̃̂͛̑̓̏͊̑̂̑̎̽̒̊̿̊͘͘͠͝͠ͅͅͅͅ-̴̢̧̡̨̢̨̧͇̰͙͚̣̳̝̯̮͙̮̠͚͎̖͖̭̬̭̰̤̘͍̙̭̮̞̳͎̝̠͈̟̥͚͖̮̰̺̰̤̭̰͖̰̘̮̺̖͇͋̀̍͆͐̂͜-̸̙̮̬̗̋̑́͌̓̎͋̓̄͐̀͒̈́̽̽̆́̀͆͂̐͆́̍́̄̀̊͘͘͘͜͜͝-̷̧̡̛͓̙̘̹͍̘͓̈̓̀͂̋̈́̐̐͆̎̈́͛̐̌̽̏̂̃̃̎̈́̌̎͊͊͊̅́͒͂̈̆̏̿̈́̍̐͐̅̆͐̂̏̏͆̐͒̽͐̀͐̊̽͂̐̔̿͘͘̕͜͝-̵̢̨̡̛̛̛͔͎̟̰̜̱̣̰̜͈̘̻̪̦͋̑͆̒̀͂͆̏͛͌̓̽̆̐̆͊̀̾͊̈̇̈́͑̆͌̋͒́́̕͘͜͠-̷̡̧̡̨̡̢̡̧̨̛̥̺̤͙̻͇̩̹̣͎̙͕̠̭̹̖̮͙̝̬̗̭͇͓͎̞̗̬̠̱̜͓͉͙̙̟̗͓͙͔̪̜̙̙̪̯̥͓̖̤͎̮͈̭̰͆̂̏͒͒̑̌̀̐̋̃̒̃̀̈͒́̏͛̌̈́̆͌͆́̀̔́͗̽̾̂̇̿͒͂͘͘͘͘͘͘͜͜-̷̡̨̨̨̨̛͖̦̯̤͇̣͔̱͈̞̦̯͉̣̩͉̟̞̯͙̙͚̪͚̗̺̗̩͙̬̪̩̲̜͎̥̝̼̰̻̻̱͍̣̙̺̗͎̦̮͉̠͓͚̠͙͖̣̣̬̼̞̿̆͛͊̅͂̒̿͐͌̓̾̇̓̈́̃̓̇̅̇̀̐͌̃̉͋̏͐̈́̓̓̏̂̎̔̓̎̓̏͑̿̊̊̉̑͋͆̒͐̑̅̈̂̔̎̕͘͘̕̚̕̚̕͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅ-̵̨̢̛̣̤̞̥́͂̔̉̈́̒̔̓͗́̇̕͠-̵̛̛͈̱͕̜̝͓͚̥̻̞̺̤̻̓̀͑̉̅͆̉͂̀̈́́͑͗͒̄̂̒̉̎̇̈́̂̐̄̏̓̓̇͊̄̈́̐̊͂̒̈́́͒̀͐̒̉̌́͋͒̔͂̋̈́̈́̉̐̀̌́̍̕̕̕͘͘͘͜͝͝͝-̶̡̨̧̡̝͚̭̝͎͔͚͙̠̹̩͙̲̼̗̬̗͇̜͕̹̮͉̭̬̞̫̥͓̘̻̬̮͎̭͇̞̺̲̖͎̫͓̺͕̥͓̲͔̻̘̥̻̱͖̜̠̗͚̒̍́͂̾̄̈́̒̚͜͜͜͜ͅ-̵̨̜̱̥̤͚̜͈̥̺͓͓̈̏̃͌̇̀̓͊̇̽͛̄́͗̇̇̓̆̉͘͘͝͝-̶̡̢̡̡̡̡̨̨̛̛̛̘̘̤̝̰̰̗͙̥̣̯͙̭͉͖̥̪̲̠̤̜͕̦̤̯̲̲̣̺͖͈͕͔̥͚̼̟̩̥̭̜̯̦̻̣͙͍̩̪͇̰̲̂̏̏̐̾̏̔̈́̋͊̋̅̍͋̅̏̌͑̃͊̅̾̓̑̔̆́̄̂̔̿̂̇̈̍̀̋̀̏͂̑̂͑͐̄̓̇̀̔͗̄̀̽̄͌̓̍̌̿̀͂̾́̀̉͊̃̔́̋̚͘͘͜͜͝͠ͅ-̶̢̡̨̡̧͍̥̮̪͕͉̰̘̖̥̱̦̼̤̠̩͔̺̻̫̣̬͈̖̞̥̥͚̯̭͕͉̮̺͕̫̲̱͕͐̿͛̽̿̑̌̈́̓͌̂͘͜͠͠ͅ-̶̛̛̜̳̩͓̲͎̲̠̮͚͈̠̟̪̻͎̳͚̮̣̱̻̗͎͍͑̍̈̍̈́̊̌̐́̐͒̓̿͒͋͛̔͐̆̋͆̓̆̎̋͗̐̌̿͂̽̀͐̇́̃̔̀̍̉̓͑̽̾͜͠͝͝ͅ-̶̧̡̛͇̪͕̼͉̯̙̫̬̦̻͚͎̗̘̤͚̫̳͉͖͎̝̭͍͉̱̺͙̎̽̄͑͑̅̾̀̓̅̈̋̒̃̓̓̋͛͌͆̽̽͒͂̓͑̑̆̒͛̓͆̂̆̀͊̀͐̽̂̿̚͜͝͝͠͠͝͠͠͠

…

..

..

Donnie blinked. What was he doing again? Donnie looked down, his hands covered in the yellow chemical gloves he used when doing dishes of any kind. 

Oh yeah. He was washing his dish. 

Donnie got back to that. 

"pfff nah, crazy people don't know they are crazy!” The voice said with the utmost confidence. “they are certain they are not! sane people question it all the time though! so you are good Donnie! u question all the time! i don't, i would KNOW if i was an hallucination!” 

Donnie’s mouth twitched at the corners. 

“...... wait"

Donnie almost wanted to smile. It seemed even the voices in his head could question their own sanity. Good to know. 

(Why did it feel like he was forgetting something?) 

A voice sighed. “Don’t think about it too hard…”

Donnie finished washing his dish, rinsing it off with water when he was done. He did the same with his utensil. 

(What was he forgetting—) 

“Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. And rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. And rats make me crazy. Crazy? Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. And rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. And rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. And rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. And rats make me crazy. Crazy? Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. And rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. And rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. And rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. And rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. And rats make me crazy….

“…Crazy?” 

The voice began to laugh hysterically. 

Donnie almost dropped his silverware. He fumbled with it for an embarrassingly long second. (The voice said it so fast, faster and faster each time, that Donnie had a hard time telling that actual words were spoken.) 

…the laughter was starting to freak him out. 

“STOP IT, YOU’LL MAKE ME START DOING IT, AND WE’RE ALREADY TORMENTING DONNIE!”

Yes, please do stop. Donnie was already miserable enough as it is. With the…voices in his head and what not. 

"heeeey—theres at least ONE rat in his house....” The voice gasps dramatically. “you guys do-don't think—Donnie! i think you ARE well a LIL crazy! uh who hould have guessed! not the unspeakable madscience that happens to have a lab no sir! neighter the 'Evil scientist laughter™' that no SOUL must speak of! oh well i'm sure its fine"

Er…alright? Well Donnie wasn’t sure how rats in a rubber room related to craziness but it didn’t seem very scientific. 

If it was a joke he didn’t get it. 

(What was he—) 

 "just a LIL madness never hurt anyone am i right? Oh who am i kidding!” The voice said despairingly. “The boy is too far gone! we must do the right thing and guide him with our sane ways clearly! Can't send the crazy genius to the loonyhouse! he will govern and thrive there! then come after us for revenge!” The voice laughs in good fun, if a bit nervous. 

Donnie blinked. Then blinked again. 

If this was compliment wrapped in a joke then Donnie definitely didn’t get it. 

“I wassss craaszzzy ooonnnccceeeeee…..I love that meme so much!!”

Donnie frowned, it was…a meme? (Donnie knew a lot of memes and that one he didn’t recognize. Had he been falling behind? Would Leo bring it up one day and Donnie wouldn’t understand? Why did that mess with him as much as it did? Why did…)

Donnie stared at the sink for a long time. Soap clung to sides, water swirling down the drain, his bowl clean and free of suds. 

Donnie pried himself from the position and put his bowl away. He had work to do. 

(Donnie was still wrapped in his blanket and free from outside noise when he left the kitchen. Fed but severely disturbed. His day could only get worse.) 

(...

…

....Donnie felt crazy once.)

Chapter Text

“Soooo I might have an idea.” 

Donnie paused for a moment before he continued the glass replacement on his goggles. (He decided to just rebuild them entirely. Better audio, more comfort, enhanced recording software. All in all just better. It…would be better suited if he built around his…aliment. Even if the idea of altering his tech to accommodate something he vehemently hated made him sick. He still did it. He would be useless otherwise.) 

“And I feel stupid for not thinking about it earlier. Why don't you try mind meld? I know it's risky, you're already dealing with us and having your brother in your head is the last thing you want, but we need to figure out what is going on with... this whole situation.” 

That…wasn’t the worst idea out there. While yes—having Leo in his head was strange but the voices themselves…well the two experiences were very different from each other. Mind Meld felt like his own senses had expanded, becoming more entwined with his brothers’. Not so much that it felt overwhelming or that he lost himself but more of a surface level kind of connection. Their voices carefully poked inside his consciousness before fluttering away. 

The voices were… stable. A solid, undeniable personality that wasn’t organic to him in any way.  A separate entity speaking to him that nobody else could see or hear. 

And most of the time very unpleasant. 

He didn’t see why should subjugate Leo to Donnie’s own personal purgatory. 

He had goggles to fix. 

(He still thought about it though.) 

—||—

“So I am very logical. Therefore it only makes sense that I test this theory.” 

Donnie paused, confused before: 

The sound of a lid being popped off and the sound of grabbing a bundle of bark adjacent things. Then the whole bundle snapped. 

Donnie blinked rapidly, his snout scrunching up. Cinnamon. Sharp, pungent and unmistakable. He rubbed his nose, wanting the smell to leave. His eyes stung a little. It was an annoyingly powerful smell. 

“Cinnamon!” 

Yes, Donnie could tell. 

“I love the smell of cinnamon!” There was a smile in voice’s words. “If this works, I hope it doesn’t come on too strong and freak you out. If so, I apologize. If you like it, I’ll try a different smell another time. Any specific smells you hate, btw, so I know not to test those?”

The smell of cinnamon got fainter. 

Donnie huffed through his nose, the rest of the cinnamon smell fading. 

Well. If the voice was asking…

—||—

("...can i swat someone too? so we are even?” 

“You know what, sure! Let me think of something swat worthy. Say, Donnie, do you think you’re ready to face the Shre-“

“NOPE!”) 

…lavender, bergamot, cucumber, honey…

( “Oh? Are we trying to protect the fragile little thing? Hm~ Well! Donnie there’s this suuuper fun thing called the Kra—“

“NOPETITY NOPE!”) 

He didn’t mind rosemary at times. 

(“Don't even think about it!” 

“HAHAHAHA THAT’S NOTHING THAT’S NOTHING SHUT UP OTHER VOICE IT’S NOTHING HAHAHAHA-“ The voice whispers viciously. “Dude, you can’t tell him that, he’ll freak the freak out. Plus, imagine what would happen to the timeline? Aren’t you NOT supposed to tell people about what’s to come?!”

"Time is a lie, an illusion if you will, but still…”) 

You could never go wrong with scentless. But he supposed that wasn’t the point of asking what his favorite scents were. 

(...all this power to change EVERYTHING, with just some weeeell chosen words, it is... can be intoxicating..... just very responsible and deserving people should be allowed to meddle with such things and so many (manymanymanymany-) lives..... one wrong choice and it's over, both for the teller and the doer if such unbearable responsibility.....") 

Donnie sighed, rubbing between his eyes with a knuckle. It really did seem like he wouldn’t be able to work in silence. He couldn’t let the voices bother him. He couldn’t let them impede his progress. He finished the goggles but there was something obviously missing from them…

(Donnie let the voices wash over him. He was tired and it was easier to let them flow over top of him then try and fight against the current. He needed a way to redirect his thoughts, he needed a way to still be able to think with the voices clambering for attention. 

He was getting better at focusing with them. Like he was slowly adjusting to their presence. Whether that was neural plasticity or something mystic, he honestly wasn’t sure.) 

Maybe a function that would make it easier to still hear his brothers even if his attention was captured. Not just recording but something that took in and then relayed information the moment he was besides himself. 

("IT MUST MEAN SOMETHING THEN, it's, after all, not everyday something like that can happen hehe we should mess with the time line~" It sounded like voice was smiling. “i mean, more like YOU should Donatello. :) ask away, we MIGHT just answer if you ask~"

Donnie was listening. Of course he was, how could he not? 

But…he…

“Can’t we just let him enjoy the time he has left?!”) 

…Donnie needed more coffee.

—||—

The coffee didn’t help. 

The voices were having some kind of pillow fight it seemed. 

“WE HAVE NOW MOVED BEYOND SWATS!” A pillow was being brandished on an ethereal plane. 

"Finally, a worthy opponent, our battle will be legendary!” 

Screaming, pillows being thrown. General chaos. 

Donnie drank his coffee and decided he was too old for this. 

“Mmm yes. Chaos. How I love it” A voice sipped a beverage obnoxiously. 

Donnie could tell it was coffee. On top of the smell of his own coffee, there was another smell of coffee. Slightly different but unmistakable. Phantom in a way. 

Donnie’s eyebrows scrunched up, his mouth pulling into a frown. He…put his coffee down. 

It didn’t seem very appetizing anymore. 

“Dost thou wish do fight?” That particular voice addressed the one that was drinking coffee. 

Donnie didn’t know how he could tell, but he could. 

The voice sipped the coffee again, the noise thoroughly grating. “Hm. Well as much as I would love to—” A pillow was thrown with an incredible amount of violence. “HAH—who am I kidding I love violence <3” 

“ EAT PILLOWS, STRUGGLE!!!!!!!” 

What sounded like a hailstorm of pillows hit with the force of adrenaline shot. 

"challenge accepted!!” 

The pillow fight raged on. 

Donnie ended up dumping his coffee. It was making his hands shake and he had more work to do anyway.

—||—

Donnie kept circling back to the comment that one voice had mentioned earlier. 

At first the thought of utilizing Ninja Mind Meld didn’t exactly make the most sense but the more he thought about it…

The more it made sense. The more questions piled up and more Donnie found himself thinking about it more and more. Would the voices carry over? What would that entail? Would the two parties hear the voices at the same time or would there be any lag? How would it affect both parties? Would the connection even be stable? 

So many questions. They clattered around in his mind and Donnie found himself always coming back to it in the past couple of hours. 

It didn’t take long for him to cave to his own curiosities. 

—||—

“Alrighty-o Donald, this better be good—I was having some quality me time,” Leo simpered, eyes roaming around the lab. “Hey—where’s SHELLDON by the way?” 

Donnie paused for a moment. “Oh he…” Donnie shrugged. “Well I suppose he’s still out…he should be back by now,” Donnie had sent him out the day of the explosion to find a very specific kind of metal that Donnie wouldn’t be able to retrieve without Raph blowing a coronary artery and dying at the ripe old age of 15. 

It seemed he wasn’t back yet. Hm. Maybe he should start getting concerned. 

“Huh,” Leo said mildly. 

“Hm,” Donnie finished what he was doing and set the new goggles aside. They were finished but it still seemed like there was something missing from it. There was something else to be added, Donnie just wasn’t sure what it was yet.

“Anyway Leo the reason I brought you here, is to test something,” 

Leo raised a not eyebrow. “You said you weren’t going to experiment on us without drafting up an ROE first,” 

(“Chocolate is weird if you think about it. It tastes good with most things. I once had cheese fudge while in Wisconsin and it was fucking phenomenal!”

"chocolate is literally something someone thought to uh like 'what if i let it rot then dry then smack it into dust then maybe eat it!' with some other steps like putting milk and sugar.... ew... but good.... we are monsters... still won't stop me from eating it though…”) 

Donnie waved Leo off. “Its nothing complicated—we won’t need one,” 

Leo narrowed his eyes skeptically, not quite believing Donnie. 

Donnie rolled his eyes. “Really Leo, nothing harmful will happen to you…well probably,” Donnie said noncommittally. 

Leo made a face at the comment. 

( “Cheese is almost the same story. There was one GOOD chocolate someone brought from paris one time, can't remember the name uhmmmm there was a purple dressed fairy in it too, some good chocolate it was oh yes i remember..."

“So many foods are just the result of someone going ‘huh, I wonder if I can still eat this even though it’s gone sour?’ Like yogurt and wine. And cheese. And any alcohol really. BUT! Not only is chocolate like that, it’s also EXTREMELY BITTER without milk and sugar. If you’ve ever eaten baking cocoa straight, you know what I mean.”

"Well, chocolate IS related to coffe so even though i never ate sugarless cocoa (just bitter chocolate, wich, must say, still PRETTY good) it must be very bitter, wonder if you can switch coffe for it as it too has caffeine...uhmmm is a thing to think, hey donnie do you like chocolate? if so which is better? as king as a lover of both,”) 

(Donnie resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. The voices were talking about cheese and chocolate. It wasn’t…a bad topic but it was a little confusing. A tad overwhelming and very underwhelming at the same time. 

Not a great combination.

…

He liked both. But he had a preference for coffee for obvious reasons.) 

“You good Dee?” 

Donnie looked up. Leo was looking at him with the ‘I’m worried but I’m going to pretend I’m not’. Either that or one of its many cousins. Donnie wasn’t the best at reading expressions, especially Leo’s. Who tended to either over commit or plaster a cheeky smile and a joke on everything. It was rather obnoxious. 

Donnie looked away. “Fine—Mind Meld with me will you? I have notes to take,” Donnie fished out something to transcribe with and turned back to his brother. 

“You want to Mind Meld?” Leo asked, dubious of Donnie’s intentions. 

Donnie blinked slowly. “Yes—I want to see if you can hear the voices under those circumstances,” 

Leo continued to look dubious. “I dunno Dee-man, being in your head is weird enough,” 

(“I think I knew someone who had cocoa beans that could be put in their espresso machine actually…”

"I think it would taste pretty good. Had one with cinnamon one time, its great but, I can't believe i will say this, it's TOO SWEET, perfect for some sips or only a lil of it but gets too much very fast! and i'm a sweet tooth :'3 very good still") 

Donnie rubbed his temple in a circular motion—the head that was fading coming back just the bit. Not enough to warrant a try on liver failure like it had the last couple times but still unpleasant. 

Leo glanced over him, eyes bright and clever. 

“...voices bugging you?” 

Donnie rolled his eyes. “Always—now. Indulge me, will you? It doesn’t even have to be very long,” Donnie fiddles with his note taking instrument. 

Leo thought it over—Donnie could tell that much. There was a curious glint in his eyes and Donnie could see the second he came around. 

Leo found a chair to slip into. “Fine—but only for ten minutes— max,” 

Donnie hummed. “A perfectly adequate amount of time for testing,” 

Leo nodded. “Alrighty then, just let me—” 

They connected. 

“Donald, can you hear me? You better be able to,” 

“Yes Leo I—” 

“Hello? Testing, testing, one! two! three! Can ya hear us Leo?” The voice whispered the next part. “I really hope this works, that’d be so cool.”

Physically Leo froze, his misty red eyes going bolt wide. Something undefinable creeping into his expression. 

"omg nooo this is a bad idea i hope it doesnt work leo if you can hear us youre gay also PLEASE DONT BE ABLE TO HEAR US"

“Leo? Leo, is something wrong?” 

Donnie was unnerved with the lack of response from Leo. It didn’t look like he was breathing. He was just sitting, his eyes impossibly wide. 

“Can…can you hear them?” Donnie asked tentatively through their connection. 

“ IM SHAMING YOU FOR BEING HOMOPHOBIC TO THIS POOR TURTLE! LeaVE BRITNEY ALONE!!!”

“I mean, it takes one to know one, amiright? Ha HA!”

“Donnie wha—” Leo’s voice trembled. 

"ok but what if the mind meld also gives leo his own version of us? or what if we end up talking to leo because of it?! i dont think tello would like that very much..."

Leo was beginning to tense, something panicked crawling and tugging on his face and body language. (Something fearful.) 

“Like I said, we use it as a last resort if everything else fails.” 

“yea ik but the idea should still be put out there lol :v” 

Leo—

—yanked himself free from the Mind Meld. 

Donnie gasped, something tugged and nearly snapped and Donnie doubled over. Pain leeching and bleeding somewhere deep in his chest. 

Leo was in a similar state. 

“Sorry, sorry I—” Leo choked on something. 

“Now now darling~ I hope telling Leo wasn’t a bad choice, I mean he has to deal with so much~” The voice sighed, delicate and condescending. “And here I thought you cared about your brothers~”

Despite the pain in his chest and strange feeling of being snapped in half—Donnie felt ashamed. Cold and prickling, thick as mucus and just as sick. 

He…he hurt Leo somehow? (He just wanted to know. He just wanted—) 

“Is—is that what you hear ?” Leo was curled up in his chair, his eyes a million miles away. A bead of sweat caught the light and Leo gave a full bodied shudder. “All the—the screaming? And the static and—and the eyes? How are you not—” Leo swallowed heavily. 

“...I…” Donnie opened his mouth but he didn’t know what to say. 

"I'm boooored, someone help me create a random music play list? theres so many good one! just can't choose!" The voice sounded like it was throwing itself a little personal piss party. "uhmmmm...do you guys want an annoying one, peaceful or LOUD?>:3" "we can play then in the most inconvenient times!"

Leo took a deep breath, clamping down on another shudder. 

“You…” Donnie picked through his words carefully. “You heard them though, right? You heard what they said?” Donnie had dropped his things at some point. He didn’t even notice. 

“I—” Leo stumbled through his words, eyes sharp. “Fuc— yes I heard them! Holy sh—Donnie how do you—” 

Donnie didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think. It wasn’t…that bad? Was it? It shouldn’t be? Donnie remembered vividly when he first heard the voices. He didn’t react this strongly, did he? Did—did Leo hear them differently or was it—

“Yo, don’t be mean, brah! Just wait til he’s like working on something or whatever, dude.” “Hmmmmm…how about no?”

Donnie struggled to stay within his own thoughts. “I—Leo didn’t know that it would—” Didn’t know that it would what? Hurt Leo? Cause him pain and panic that Donnie had never seen from his brother before? 

This was Donnie fault, it was—

"b-but how about YES :3?" "we can play california girls all nigh long~ :D"

(Sometimes the voices lost themselves in the situation. They obviously in some way were disconnected to Donnie’s direct reality. Sometimes knowing what was going on exactly and sometimes being completely oblivious to it. 

Sometimes it was alright, hearing them babble on about one thing or another to him. And sometimes it wasn’t the…. greatest. Donnie would lose himself and voices didn’t even notice.

Now was one the times when Donnie really wished they knew what was happening.) 

“Okay, if we’re going to play a song all night, it has to be Never Gonna Give You Up.”

Donnie felt small. He felt small and childish and useless. 

He had hurt Leo.

And he didn’t even know how to fix it. 

"Deal,” 

Leo looked at him and Donnie couldn’t hold the eye contact. 

“I…” Leo’s voice trembled. He paused and took a deep breath. “I…I mean it—it could be worse,” 

How Leo? How could it be worse. 

Leo smiled shakily. “At—at least it doesn’t sound like an alpha male podcast in there…” Leo's eyes glinted manically. “Just—just like the entire universe is screaming and demanding you listen to it,” Leo took another deep, shuddering breath. He muttered something about eyes and stars before shooting unexpectedly to his feet. 

“I—this has be—uh—informative but—I really have to go do uh—a–a thing and—” 

Donnie felt himself go cold. How badly had he freaked Leo out? 

“ SorryIloveyoubye–” 

Leo slipped and stumbled out of there so fast Donnie could barely squeak out a word before Leo was gone again. 

…Donnie blinked slowly. Then again. Then again. 

“... oh..” Donnie felt miserable. 

“ No no no no no no no! Play THIS!” A song started up. A fast paced, bop of song. 

One that Donnie usually would love but—

‘I wanna go home, allergic people, I wanna go home, allergic—’ 

Donnie curled into himself. Synth and punching electronic beats, pounding into his skull. 

Donnie screwed up. He screwed up so badly. 

"THAT one is a good one,” 

“Yassss I love it soooo much!!! It’s one of my top three favorite music compilations!” 

“Well of course we should play something loud! Our little toy can’t be too comfortable right~?”

“wait but then he would hate music… hm. Well. As hilarious as it would be…art should be appreciated..whatever. it’s your choice…”

Donnie curled himself tighter and let the voices drown him. 

He deserved it. 

—||—

…

…

…

Somewhere was dark.

Somewhere was dark, reflective and maybe a little cold. 

The ground dripped with black water, made from crystal mirror, reflecting shadows Donnie shouldn’t see. Eyes. White, stark and whispering. 

The shadows talked to Donnie. The stars watched over the shadows, casting an interested glance toward the one they whispered to. Donnie craned his neck upwards, the stars twinkling above him. 

Infinite. Knowing. Watching. 

The stars watched Donnie. Donnie found it hard to watch the stars. It made his eyes bleed and his breath catch. 

The stars moved his head back down. Caring, loving, knowing. His eyes stopped bleeding and lungs filled with air. 

Donnie wasn’t supposed to watch. That’s what the shadows were for. Donnie was supposed to listen. That’s all his body could handle at the moment. 

Somewhere was a little cold.

Somewhere was filled with stars. 

Somewhere the shadows whispered and giggled and spread rumors amongst themselves. 

Donnie was Somewhere. 

He wasn’t sure if he could be anywhere else. 

…

…

…

—||—

Donnie blinked awake.

What…what was he doing again? Why did he fall asleep? That didn’t…

"piano music seems to calm him down :3 play 'CALM PIANO SONGS TO STUDY™'"

Donnie groaned to himself, he couldn’t even have a moment of silence, could he? 

A slow, rhythmic series of notes started playing. Succinct, deliberate and slightly melancholy. 

Donnie had to blink even harder. The sudden urge to conk out again rushing to the tips of his fingers and pushing against brain. He blinked again, standing abruptly, shaking out his hands. 

Why was he so tired? Why did he fall asleep? What was he doing before he fell asleep—

Oh.

Donnie froze, the memory spilling back into his consciousness. 

Leo. 

Holy Guttenburg— Leo. He—he somehow hurt him. Hurt Leo. He’s not entirely sure what he did but somehow he did and—

“Struggle. Dude. He’s not a toy. Donnie is a wonderful, brainy turtle to be treasured. NOT A TOY.”

Donnie had to blink harder than ever. 

Wonderful, brainy turtle—

What? He wasn’t—

“Debatable ♥︎”

Donnie swallowed thickly. He…he’s pretty sure he remembered that voice. 

The piano marched onwards. 

Wasn’t it the voice that kept making snide, hurtful comments? Did…did the voices have names? 

Donnie was hit with the urge to pass out again, he staggered, baffled at how his knees wobbled and his eyes grew twice as heavy. 

He couldn’t fall asleep again. That wasn’t—it didn’t even make any sense. He shouldn’t be tired. He shouldn’t be so tired. Why was he so tired, why—

Coffee. Caffeine should solve this. 

Caffeine solved everything. 

(His headache was coming back. That stupid, headache was coming back.) 

"Let's relax guys :3 I'm sure people are only TOYING with him,” The voice snickered to themselves. 

Donnie shuddered. He didn’t know why he wasn’t over it. Why wasn’t he over it yet? 

—||—

Donnie fumbled with the coffee machine. Pouring in the beans, setting the dial to his preference. His hands were shaking the whole time. 

Donnie breathed. Okay. Okay. Okay—

This was fine. He—he somehow hurt Leo. Freaked him out so badly that he—well—Donnie didn’t even know—

“Wow~ your so lucky he still loves you! I mean, you gave him a shock collar because you found his coping mechanism bothersome! I’m surprised he doesn’t despise you! At least you think he doesn’t. He’s good at being the face man isn’t he?”

Air was sharp and cold in Donnie’s nose, his chest was tight and his ribs felt like were made of glass. Broken, fractured, cutting into his flesh, bleeding into his lungs and any cavity they could. 

Donnie choked. He pressed a hand to his beak and screwed his eyes shut. His foot bouncing sporadically. Nervously, tensely. 

He doesn’t—he doesn’t think Leo’s jokes were bothersome. He just—sometimes it seemed like Leo would overcommit to the bit and the joke would become barbed wire cutting and digging into Leo’s ankles rather than something that let him make light of the situation. Sometimes Donnie worried that Leo would get hurt. Donnie didn’t like it when his brothers got hurt. 

(Especially Leo. There was something about when it was Leo that particularly hurt. Something about it made Donnie flinch in empathy and cause an emotional wound, raw and old, to flare up again. 

It wasn’t— Donnie didn’t like it. Donnie could handle his own injuries just fine. Bleeding, headaches, aches and burns? All fine but if it was Leo? It was a special kind of hurt Donnie couldn’t explain away. There was no ‘rate your pain on a scale from 1 to 10’. Just…

Hurt and remorse. 

Donnie had hurt Leo. Why had he hurt Leo? 

How could he fix it—) 

Donnie forced himself to blink and center his focus back on the coffee machine.

It vibrated slightly as it did its job, whirring away as it made the bitter liquid Donnie would consume until his heart gave out. 

Donnie was fine. He—he would be. He had to be. 

Donnie just needed to figure out how to make Leo okay again, he just needed—

“Hey Donnie, it’s okay. Don’t listen to the weird intrusive-thought-like one. I’m sure your brothers love you and vice versa. Though, do you think you could elaborate more on why you made a shock collar? Honest mistake, sure, but it was still pretty mean.”

Donnie’s sour mood, soured further. It…it was mean, wasn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to hurt . It wasn’t even supposed to feel all that much like a shock. Barely what you would get from a static shock. More of an uncomfortable buzzing but…somehow it had gotten out of hand. Again. Like it always seemed to.

“It think it was just a “brain blank” moment where Donnie didn’t fully think about all the potential outcomes of making and using it — he only thought about the desirable parts, which overshadowed everything else. It’s happened to me before, to be honest. But anyways… Don’t listen to that voice Donnie! They’re just trying to get in your head! …ah, pun unintended. Anyways! Your family loves you!!!”

It felt empty. The words were seafoam and warm, weirdly caring—especially coming from a voice in his head. But the words didn’t register. They felt empty to Donnie. He understood each word individually and he even understood what the words meant all together in a sentence like that but…

They didn’t mean anything to him. They held no weight, no emotion, no thought. The words were meaningless. 

Donnie felt meaningless. 

“Oh of course~! We can put it in the box of ‘never think about again’ juuust~ like everything else! Y’know~? Like the intelligence changing, almost getting his brothers killed multiple times~ that stuff!”

Donnie felt weirdly empty. The voice registered in his mind but the words again—were meaningless. Dipped in black intent and glittering jest. There was a pit in Donnie where his heart was. A deep, dark thing that was cold and held the things Donnie would rather not think about. 

None of those things were supposed to hurt his brothers. He never meant to almost kill him. He…didn’t know the intelligence enhancer would change their personalities like that. He never claimed to be good at psychology or neuroscience. But…

Donnie had a feeling no reason would be good enough for that voice. Maybe it wasn’t worth it getting worked up over it in the first place. 

Donnie felt empty. 

Donnie felt meaningless. 

Donnie didn’t know what to do anymore. 

…the coffee machine finished. 

“ I wasn't talking to you demon,” 

Donnie fished out a suitable mug and poured himself a generous amount. No sugar, maybe if it was bitter enough it would fill the hole inside him. 

“Yeah you creep, leave him alone. Dang, you’re like a trauma-terrorizer, aren’t you?”

Donnie drank and closed his eyes. 

“Aww~ but it’s sooo easy~ he’s so fragile. It’s almost cute you all try to avoid the inevitable~”

“Don't listen to them, Donnie. That voice is just messing with you as they have nothing better to do than bullying out of boredom.” 

Donnie sighed, hot air coming out in a cloud. 

Donnie felt empty. 

He let himself feel empty for a bit. 

—||—

How long was he going to feel this way? 

How long was he going to feel empty? 

How long was this phantom pain, this twinge at the memory of Leo’s panicked face going to last? 

Maybe Donnie should say something to Leo? That…that was important, yes? Communication? 

…Donnie didn’t know what to do. 

He knew he had to do something. 

He just…

Donnie refilled his mug three times. His belly warm and the hole where his heart was, still just as cold. 

—||—

“Oh! Hey Donnie, didn’t expect to see you out here!” 

It was Raph. 

Donnie could barely muster the energy to blink. He was so tired. The coffee was gone and all it did was make him shake and his eyes water. The pot was empty, just like him. 

“So I was gathering everyone else for a training session! It’ll be great! There will be uh—poles and uh—fighting stuff!” Raph said, a smile on his face. 

Donnie hummed, a low sound, barely audible. His grip on the mug was air tight, he was surprised there wasn’t broken ceramic on the floor.

Raph’s smile faltered and he finally took a good look at Donnie. Whatever he saw made his smile falter further. 

“Uh…but—um…you look…tired…have you been sleeping?” Raph glanced at the empty pot, eyes blinking wide. “Did you drink the whole thing?” 

Donnie tried to open his mouth but it didn’t work very well, so he just shrugged limply instead. 

Raph’s mouth drew into a fine line. “...right..okay, uh—are—are you alright? It’s totally cool if you’re not and um…” Raph fiddled with his words. “Look Dee, if you’re having a bad day just tell us, we’re your bros! Through thick and skin and all that!” 

It was thick and thin. But…

Donnie didn’t even think he could nod or shake his head. He settled for another shrug. 

Raph looked at him for a long time, Donnie could see the worry. But that's all he could do, see it. He couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t register it or what it meant. Again—the words, the feelings, the thoughts were empty.

He was empty. 

Raph’s eyes flicked around the kitchen, glanced at the empty coffee pot and then back to Donnie. 

He put on a worried, reassuring smile. Donnie couldn’t understand it. 

“Why don’t you just go take a shower or something? Then get some sleep or something, or at least lay down. It’ll be good to rest that big brain of your’s,” 

(Donnie’s brain was only as big as his skull would allow it. It was average for his size and height. He may have a big forehead but that didn’t change the size of the organ.)

Donnie managed a slow blink. He was tired. He was empty. He didn’t think he could sleep if he tried. 

But he could shower. He could do that. He knew all the steps. There weren’t any emotions or words involved. Just actions. He could muster up the energy for a few actions. 

Donnie hummed and Raph took that as a yes. Raph said something else but Donnie didn’t really hear it. Raph left, Donnie left. 

The pot remained empty. 

—||—

Donnie showered. The water was hot but he still felt cold. The soap scentless but lathered sufficiently. He could feel the texture of it but he couldn’t care about it. 

He still felt empty. 

Donnie stepped out of the shower, water dripping onto the stone mat. He felt no cleaner than before. 

He idly wondered if the voices watched him. They hadn’t made any comment yet and Donnie didn’t know how to feel about it. 

He dried himself off and slipped into something comfortable. He knew the fabric was there. He couldn’t really feel it though. 

The voices talked but he couldn’t really hear it. 

Donnie was tired but he couldn’t sleep. His hands were shaking and his heart beat with hot, caffeinated blood. 

Donnie laid down on his bed, plush surrounding him, everything soft and nice. 

Donnie couldn’t feel any of it. Not really. 

Donnie closed his eyes knowing he wouldn’t sleep. Donnie let his body relax even though the coffee made it impossible to do so. 

Donnie breathed and let himself feel nothing. 

Chapter Text

Donnie faded in and out of himself. Coming and going. 

There were brief moments of clarity. Him working on the Lair’s security, a small tittering anxiety from the voices comments on future enemies driving his fingers. Him getting more coffee. Him standing. Sitting. Relieving himself. Walking from one place to another, the details vague and fuzzy. 

Brief conversations with the voices. His mouth moving, but no sound coming out. 

(I’m sorry Donatello. I didn’t intend to contribute to you having a meltdown the other day… I know how hard those can be… It’s just a bit too easy for us voices to get… carried away? There’s a level of disconnect between us, but that doesn’t mean it’s not upsetting to see you, well, upset. We’re worried about you… though I suppose that doesn’t mean much when we’re causing you such headaches…”) 

Donnie floated from one place to another. 

Him fixing a broken light, the wire burnt out and confused. Him working on security. Him taking scans of his brain, analyzing the brain waves and setting them aside for a time when he could focus a little better on them. Him eating a plate of plain yogurt with a couple blueberries thrown on top. Him walking with parts in hand. Him welding one thing to another, sparks flying, eyes glassy as he worked. 

(“ If we can get sensations across I'd relay the feeling of a warm hug. Leo just got a glimpse of what you're dealing with, Don, not anywhere close what you're going through. I think it freaked him out because he's worried about you. You've been constantly overstimulated since this began.”) 

(Donnie cried. Numb and scared. The moment lucid and hot against his senses. He felt the tears, the way his chest heaved, and the way he tangled himself deeper into the soft things he was wearing. 

The moment was clear. Everything after it wasn’t.) 

Him cleaning off a counter, throwing away garbage and sorting spare parts into different bins for later use. Him sitting at his computer, bluelight burning into his retinas as he looked at nothing but code. Him laying down on his bed, the only thing keeping him there routine and not the need to rest. Him getting more coffee. Him doing a maintenance update on the Turtle Tank. Him fixing the wheel on his favorite gaming chair. Him staring at the fridge before leaving, deciding he wasn’t really hungry. 

(“hey don don? you ok? sorry that voice was being mean earlier :(( most of us dont mean hard we just cant control who the.... never mind. sorry :(“ ) 

(Donnie blinked, something undefinably sad and weary dragging him down. Donnie didn’t cry but he felt the tears in his throat and chest. He breathed and even that was hard.) 

Him fixing the wifi when it went down for an hour after a skating accident. Him avoiding any flashes of blue he saw out of the corner of his eye. Him reaching for his phone, only to realize it was dead. Him standing, his vision blurring and vertigo ridding him of any balance. Him realizing he hadn’t drunk anything for the past long while. Him finding his bottle of ibuprofen, swallowing the last few white tablets. Him working on security. Him staring at his code, realizing that he couldn’t understand it. Him reaching for the ibuprofen bottle, only to find it empty. Him throwing the bottle away. Him working on a new extension for his Battleshell. Him fishing the bottle out of the trash, knowing it would be empty but taking it out anyway, throwing it away again afterwards—disappointed at something he couldn’t place. Him feeling sluggish and weak, his stomach complaining loudly to him. 

Donnie found it hard to work after a certain point. 

“Donnie I know that asking for help is difficult and that recently it didn't go so well but I think you should ask Draxum for help. Even if you don't trust him fully, his knowledge and experience could be useful. Please at least consider this proposal."

Donnie could barely register the comment. 

But he picked up his phone anyway, a white cord trailing from the port to the wall. Donnie slumped down next to the outlet, staring blankly at his phone. 

Why was he doing this again?

Donnie opened Draxum’s contact and clicked the call icon. 

Donnie was tired. He didn’t really have anything better to do anyway. 

—||—

The phone rang four times before Draxum picked up. 

“What?” His tone was scathing. “Surely you couldn’t have picked a better time to call purple one,” 

Donnie opened his mouth but he wasn’t sure what he’d say. For some reason, he didn’t think he’d make it this far. 

There was a moment of silence. 

“Is there a problem? Did Michelangelo burn down that disgusting squalor you call a home?” 

Donnie still couldn’t find anything to say. 

Another moment of silence. 

“Well if its nothing, I’ll just end the mirror transfer— ” 

“Do—” Donnie halted, words thick and jumbled in his throat. He swallowed, emboldened but also…hesitant. “...do…do you ever feel like…” 

Donnie chewed on his words, something about them was thick and dangerous. It was hard to bring to life, hard to say them so somebody else could hear them. 

“...like you’re not… you anymore? Like you’re…” Donnie swallowed, feeling distant, too present and alarmingly sensitive. All at once. 

Draxum was silent for a moment. 

“This seems like an emotional issue—you know very well I don’t do emotional issues purple one,” 

“Its..I’m…” Donnie lulled, his breathing shallow. 

There was a second where Donnie didn’t think Draxum was going to answer. There was a second where it seemed like he was going to hang up. But…

He didn’t.

“ What is wrong? You seem…fragmented,” 

“I…” Somehow this didn’t feel, somehow Donnie didn’t feel real. “I’m hearing things, not—not normal things. Things that are just in my head, nobody else can hear them. They know things about me, my brothers, things I don’t even know. They’ll play music and talk about—about pizza topping to each other and—“

“Purple one,” Draxum’s words cut through Donnie’s ramble. “I need you to explain the situation carefully,” 

When did he start breathing so erratically? When did—? 

Donnie swallowed thickly. He took a deep breath, it didn’t much but it was the idea of it. 

“This connection between us and him is too much for one young boy to bare."

“I…I’m hearing…” It didn’t feel real, it didn’t feel real, it didn’t feel real— “ ..voices. I’m hearing voices, Draxum. I—ever since that stupid explosion I—” 

“Voices Donatello?” Draxum asked slowly and evenly. 

“YES—IT—” Donnie swallowed his fear, it snaked its way back up his throat and he couldn’t help but make a fearful, animalistic noise. “ They’re so loud… ” 

Donnie’s voice was small. “And they’re around all the time, they—they talk about villains we’ve faced, things we haven’t faced and maybe—maybe will face. They talk about things I’ve done and—and how it made my brothers feel and it—I—I don’t—” 

“I—I want them to go away,” Donnie’s voice hitched. “But nothing I’m doing is working—and—and I-I d-don’t know how to—” Donnie broke off, choking on something thick and terrible in his throat. A desperate warble took over his words. Donnie’s mouth clamped shut and Donnie was miserable. 

Donnie didn’t know why he called Draxum. There didn’t even seem to be a point. So why did he—

“Donatello, have you informed your brothers of your situation?” 

“...I…” 

This isn't fair at all, we shouldn't be here. We are hurting him!" The voice said, empathetic disgust and revulsion coating their words. "I believe those mean voices got what they wanted so it's time for them to now Shape Up or Ship. OUT."

Why was it so hard to get his mouth moving? He felt so weighed down. He wanted to pass out and yet at the same time he didn’t want to ever sleep again. 

“...L..leo..” 

“Got what I wanted??? Oh darling, you thoroughly do not understand what I want. Oh well. In due time I’ll get what I want. I will agree on the Draxum part though. I can’t wait to learn everything we can do~”

Donnie felt sick. He felt terrible. He felt empty and yet so full. Donnie was too many things. Scared, angry, numb, curious, fascinated, terrified, overstimulated. He was feeling too many things at once. Why couldn’t he just feel one thing for once—why couldn’t he—

“The blue one?” 

Donnie managed a desperate vaguely ‘yes’ sound noise. 

“I see. I will inform Michelangelo and the rat. I will arrive shortly,” 

Donnie couldn’t even let out a mangled disagreement because Draxum hung up directly afterwards. 

Oh…why…why did he…? 

“It seems like we can mess with more than just the soft shell~ I wonder if we can break the others as well~ it will be funny watching them search for music that is not there maybe we can even give the soft shell nightmares of different worlds~”  

Donnie blinked. 

…he…

…maybe he should…

Donnie let his phone fall to the ground. 

He was tired…he was so…

WhY iN hEaVEn'S nAmE WoULd wE GiVe HIm NIGHTMARES of diFfERenT wOrlDs? What about happy dreams? Of the beach, and meadows, and horse ranches, and those pet stores where they let you hold the animals, and the first time you walk onto a college campus, and throwing your hat in the air at graduation, and walking through the halls of an aquarium exhibit, and going on a non-sickening roller coaster, and climbing to the top of a sturdy tree with a good view, and opening the lid on a jar of fireflies, and getting a butterfly to land on your finger, and seeing the red A+ on a test you worked really hard for?”

 “Curling up in bed after you've been away for over a week, and that moment when you're driving and you go under a bridge and the rain stops for the briefest of moments, and the glow of when a parent gives you wholehearted approval, and when a friend really truly cracks up at one of your jokes, and the descending fuzzy warmness of drinking a warm drink on a cold day.” 

There are too many beautiful things to even consider the thought of sending something ugly."

Donnie closed his eyes. He was so tired. 

"well if you want i could give him good dreams~ dreams that are so addictive that reality is nothing but a disappointment in comparison give him the perfect world so that he slowly gets addicted to it sleeping more and more and more~"

…

“Geeze, y’all are out for blood, huh?” 

"Nice~"

Donnie fell asleep.

—||—

…

…

…

Donnie was Somewhere. 

He stood in Somewhere. Just a little cold. Everything was dark. But in a way. 

It was nice. Somewhere was nice. If it could be described at all. 

Donnie stood in Somewhere. The stars burned so hot, they burned cold. They didn’t talk, they didn’t need to. At least not to Donnie and even then it wasn’t really talking was it? 

The shadows whispered, they talked to Donnie. Touched his shoulders and wrists, pulling, touching, caressing. He could feel cold air against his ears, breathy whispers and short, bubbly giggles. 

Donnie couldn’t talk. Not here. 

Donnie was Somewhere. The sky glittered with stars, infinite and knowing. The ground was cool, gem like glass. Liquid and black. It dripped with ink and stood firm when you touched it. 

Donnie was Somewhere. 

And maybe he shouldn’t be. 

…

…

…

—||—

Donnie woke up slowly. He was swaddled in blankets, curled up on a well loved bean bag. 

There were people around him and they were talking. 

“—stand. You better explain yourself Draxum and explain well. Because you are certainly doing a terrible job,” It was Dad. 

“As I said, I will explain once the purple one has woken up, this needs to be explained to him as well and if what I believe is happening then—” Baron Draxum. 

“Is Donnie going to die??” Mikey. 

“He very well could if—” Draxum. 

“OHMIGOSH DONNIE’S GONNA DIE—” 

“Michelangelo do not—” 

"Guys do you think Donnies okay? Yo Dee! You okay? We didn't traumatize you too badly, right? I hope not..." 

Donnie shifted, confused. He was tired. He felt heavy and like his head was stuffed full of pillow fluff. They were talking about…him? 

“Barry you’re really not—” 

“ LEO DONNIE’S GONNA—” 

“I hope it will not come to that Mic—” 

The voices—not the ones in his head—continued arguing. Donnie was only half listening, despite how loud they were. It was like tuning out the voices, you just let the sounds… flow over you. 

Donnie sat up, it took a little effort but he did. Still thoroughly cocooned, Donnie opened his eyes. 

“What the hell is that one lyric uhh something something broken boy how does it feel? Hopeless hopefully”

(Donnie breathed through the static and gently counted to himself in his head. He found it helped—it always helped more after he woke up from a nap. It probably had something to do with emotional energy or something similar.) 

Donnie rubbed the crust out of his eyes feeling sleepy but rested. The scene in front of him was…well not one he was used to seeing. 

Draxum, Mikey, Leo and Dad—where was Raph—oh. He was sitting next to Donnie, looking nervous and still in that ridiculous outfit he used when going on patrols by himself. Donnie turned his head and looked at Raph, it only took a moment for Raph to notice. 

Raph broke out into a nervous grin. “Donnie you’re awake!” 

Donnie took a second before nodding, pulling the blankets around him tighter. 

Raph nodded along with Donnie’s nod. “That’s good, that’s good—um, Draxum said you were…uh or… might be hearing mystic things? Or—h-he didn’t explain it very well and—” 

“Ah—purple one, you are awake. Finally,” 

Splinter looked annoyed. “If you’re so impatient, why not wake him up yourself?” 

Draxum somehow looked even more annoyed than Splinter did. He did a rather impressive eye roll, even by Donnie’s standards. “Because I suspect that whatever your son is being exposed to is heavily taxing not only on his mind but his body and soul. The most natural way for the soul to replenish itself is deriving energy from the body when it consumes beloved foods and sufficiently rests. He should be more inclined to do those things because of the strain. If he is not reaching a certain caloric intake his body will overcompensate with sleep. Waking him would simply make his condition worse,” 

Mikey’s watery eyes went bug wide. “Is that why he slept so long the other day?” 

What? 

“Yes that could very well be the reason Michelangelo,” 

"Broken boy... do you mean Alone by Nico Collins? I love that song! There's a great clean version that I really enjoy listening to :) “ 

Donnie breathed, the sleepy fog slowly lifting. 

(Leo’s eyes kept flicking over to Donnie before looking away, something queasy, fearful and guilty playing in his expression.) 

“What is wrong with my child Draxum, you still haven’t told me,” Splinter spat, eyes bright and angry. 

Draxum looked unphased. “I will but first I have to confirm my theory,” 

Splinter looked very unhappy. “What is your…theory, it is not dangerous, yes?” 

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Draxum said mildly. Draxum turned to Donnie and Donnie pulled the blankets closer. “It can be extremely dangerous,” 

Donnie resisted the urge to shrink back into the mess of blankets wrapped around him. (He would have to find who wrapped him up because it was doing a lot for his nerves at the moment.) 

“Listen you pathetic Apalone spinifera. If you or any voice turns this into a fucking alpha male podcast I will make your life absolutely miserable. Either because you said it or because a voice wishes for your happiness. DONT test me.” The voice hissed, the words distorted and seething. 

Donnie jerked, most of his attention stolen by the sudden aggression that prickled between his thoughts. 

(Everyone was looking at him. Their gazes burned and Donnie wasn’t sure how to make them stop.) 

“...I…I wasn’t planning on it,” Donnie muttered under his breath, his mind churning with foam peaks and stone, beach gravel. 

“Purple one,” 

Donnie’s head snapped up, attention clipping to Draxum. He was looking at Donnie, gaze intense and searching. Donnie, once again, wanted to shrink back to the blankets surrounding him. 

“Please elaborate on your current circumstances,” 

"What is an alpha male podcast?” One of the nicer voices asked softly, obviously confused. 

Donnie paused, relating to the confusion in the voice’s, well voice. Because— which circumstance was Draxum talking about? His familial circumstance? His physical circumstances? His emotional ones? Or—

Oh. 

“ Those fucking alpha male podcast people say the most deranged and absolutely stupid things. I hate almost nothing more than THEM. Stay stupidly naïve.”

(Again that aggression pulled on his mind like a magnet, one that hissed with sea salt and screamed with static. Donnie fought to stay present.) 

Donnie felt a little stupid. Because Draxum was talking about that. 

And here he was. In front of his whole family and Draxum was expecting Donnie to tell them about the voices. (Was Leo too?) 

He…he didn’t want to. 

“Hey guys? Do you think that if we speak loud enough that the others can hear us?”

Donnie opened his mouth. “...I…” What was he supposed to say? ‘Hey fam—thought you ought to know but I’m hearing voices and I’m not crazy and its actually something mystic probably’. Yeah, sure. That would go over well. 

But…Draxum was taking it so seriously and…and Leo believed him, so…

Donnie breathed, curling into himself. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to—

He—he didn’t want to worry them unnecessarily—

And he already hurt Leo with the information and—

Donnie’s mind was consumed with static. 

“Our communication and perception of you works strangely… There appears to sometimes be a delay of sorts. I’ll see what we can do about that… I wasn’t able to witness you mind melding recently, but be reassured that Leo appears to mostly be CONCERNED FOR YOU instead of hurt himself. He truly loves you Donnie. He’s worried. Your entire family finds you precious to them, and in these dark times, try your best to remember how they treasure you. I’m sorry for our disturbance into your life, and I wish you luck.”

Donnie shook. The voice’s tone was soft, it gently touched the little fissures of self doubt and fear that marred Donnie’s existence. He breathed and it was shaky at best. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. It wasn’t until recently, it wasn’t until the voices that Donnie questioned his own worth before. He never really addressed the feeling that…maybe his family cared less then they appeared to. Because it was a staple in his life. Because the things he liked, the things he built, were as useful as he was going to get but now? 

Donnie wasn’t sure how to feel about himself. He never really seemed to. 

“Purple one?” 

Donnie snapped out of his own thoughts. His eyes stung, he quickly touched his face. No tears. Good.

Donnie blinked and blinked a couple more times for good measure before looking up. 

“What…what was your question?” Donnie cursed his stutter and wished he could hide away in some dark hole where nobody would come looking for him ever again and he could avoid the questions until he was nothing but brittle bones and decaying flesh. 

Donnie shivered. 

Draxum looked at him for a very long time. 

Donnie hated it. Donnie wanted him to stop. (He wanted his family to stop looking at Draxum like he was about to deliver Donnie’s terminal, stage four cancer diagnosis.) 

“It appears I was right,” Draxum finally looked away from Donnie. 

“What is wrong with Purple?” 

“Is Donnie going to be okay?” 

“Barry?” 

(Leo hadn’t said anything the whole time. Why hasn’t he said anything? ) 

“Donatello appears to have become a Universal Shatter Point,” Draxum said sternly, everything about him no nonsense. 

Everybody looked in various states of confusion. (Donnie was no better.) 

“Er–what’s, what’s that mean?” Raph stumbled through next to him. 

The smell of gentle cucumbers wafted into Donnie’s noise and he felt an inexplicable warmth settle over him. 

Donnie hummed pleasantly, the two sensations calming, coaxing his body to relax. Donnie blinked, some of the sleepiness coming back with a creeping vengeance. 

But…but they were talking. About him. Draxum had said something—a Universal Shatter Point? What did that mean? Did the voices know what that means? Was it a dangerous thing to be? Was something going to happen to Donnie? Was something going to happen to Leo for being exposed? 

Donnie sighed, a relaxed shudder running through him. He opened his eyes.

Draxum was looking at him again and so was everyone else. Donnie wanted to sink back into the blankets more than ever. 

“A Universal Shatter Point is someone is at the center of a series of cracks or fissures in the veil between our world and every other world that can and will exists, that is the layman’s description anyway,” 

His brothers were asking questions, Splinter was asking questions, all looking confused and worried beyond belief but Donnie couldn't help but think. What did that mean? To be at the center of a crack in the fabric of reality or whatever the ‘veil between worlds’ meant? What did it mean in Donnie’s case? Could…could the cracks get bigger? Was that why the voices seemed to have influence then they didn’t at the start? Was that why—

“ i’d suggest modifying sound proof headphones to drown us out, in theory that should be easy, just find whatever frequency we’re speaking on and play back the same wave lengths exactly so they cancel each other out, that’s how regular sound proof headphones work at least…buuuuttt in practice it will probably take some mystic know how which, eughhhh… isn’t your forte,” 

Donnie frowned. He imagined that the frequencies, if they existed at all, might be some form of electromagnetic anomaly or even a subtle quantum fluctuation—something beyond the typical spectrum that was and could be measured. Perhaps they could interact with space-time in a way that caused minor disruptions in local energy fields. If that happened to be the case then maybe a super-sensitive interferometer could pick up these subtle phase shifts. 

He’d need a way to link these readings to physical events, assuming these frequencies had any influence on the world around them. But if they were tied to more abstract concepts like time or consciousness, the whole thing became even more…elusive. If he was to use a word like that. 

He had no idea how to proceed with something so far beyond the realm of traditional science. Donnie wasn’t really sure where he could even start. 

He had a vague memory of doing some rudimentary brain wave scans, he had yet to look at them properly but maybe if he…

“just hope you’re not taking this to heart don, it wasn’t even your idea in the first place, and hey, leo seemed fine at least after, so probably didn’t transfer any of us to your twin, that’s good, scientific data and all that (-.-;)y-~~~ “ 

Donnie’s snout wrinkled at the sound of a kaomoji. Which was…surprisingly the same as an emoticon but…spicier..in a way? How does one quantify that? How could—

“If you all stopped asking inane questions, I would be able to answer,” Draxum said, voice a low growl, him pinching the bridge of his nose to really sell the exasperated image. 

Donnie looked up, almost completely forgetting there was a conversation going on around him. 

The questions and thrown words all pattered out and Draxum sighed heavily. 

He took a moment to himself before taking a deep breath, smoothing out his visage and looking at them all sharply. 

“Wonderful now before I get into exactly what a Universal Shatter Point is—I must explain a part of Operating Mystic Theory to you all,” He squinted dangerously at anyone who looked like they were going to ask a question. 

“Mystic is a fundamental aspect of our universe. It is baked into the very fabric of our existence, whether you are yokai or not,” 

Mikey lit up. “So April has mystic powers!?” 

Draxum deadpanned. “No, she does not,” 

Mikey looked betrayed for some reason. “But you said—” 

“Hush Michelangelo, if you wish I will explain why she does not later, right now I must explain what is going on with the purple one before the rat ruptures a blood vessel,” 

Splinter glared, Mikey paused before piping down. Draxum continued. 

“Anyone who exists in the universe who has one or more of the three universally mystic aptitudes. Openness, Passion and Focus—will be naturally more inclined to attract mystical energy to themselves. Whether or not they are able to harness it or absorb it is another topic all together,” 

Draxum held his head high and scrutinize each and everyone of them, Donnie shrunk back a little. 

“I’m glad you’re communicating with your family, Donnie. This isn’t something you should go through alone. Bonds make us stronger during tough times, after all.”

Donnie hummed, a little off put. Again, the voices were being nice and again—he wasn’t sure what to do about it. 

“These three aptitudes are gifted from the universe and are traits one is born with, you cannot create them or genetically produce them. They are as unique and specific as the individual themselves,” 

“Openness is creativity or the creative thought. It is not always artistic in its presentation. It, just as commonly presents itself as intelligence or genius. Passion is the powerful drive or motivation towards something or someone. Passion is a more fluid aptitude then the other two,” 

Draxum projected his voice, everything about him still and steady. 

(Everyone was listening with rapt interest, some were still confused and some looked like they were getting it. 

But Donnie didn’t get it. All of these things were just…traits people could have. There was nothing mystic about them. This didn’t make any sense it didn’t—) 

“And finally Focus or as it is commonly called—Willpower. It is not just the existence of focus but the intense, condensed point of it. It is the dedication to a certain thing that creates ripples in the universe, impacting everything around it. Some believe that Focus and Passion are the same but that completely untrue, they are as different from each other as night is to day,” 

Draxum briefly considered something before continuing. 

“Now from what I have seen, Donatello has all three of the aptitudes. Particularly Openness and Passion—” 

“Wait, Mikey’s artistic, does that mean he has Openness to?” It was the first time Donnie heard Leo say something. 

Draxum glanced at Mikey, who was staring with sparkling eyes and focused attention. 

“Yes Michelangelo has an alarming amount of Openness, BUT!” Draxum said, before anyone could say anything else. “I will not be discussing it now, if Michelangelo wishes, he may speak to me after. I will not let this explanation be derailed,” 

Draxum glared for a second longer before continuing. 

“Because of the intense presentation of all three aptitudes, Donatello has incredible potential to harness mysticism. If he were willing to but because his system is closed off to it or was— he is not,” 

“I’m boreeed…Ooh! What if I sing for him!” The voice started singing. “I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind. There was something so pleasant about that phase~” The voice continued singing, soft, oddly spooky music playing in the background. 

Donnie twitched. The song was distracting. 

“And when a being has an intense presentation of the aptitudes, they are potential Universal Shatter Points. Its a rare…side effect of being connected to the universe in that way. Because aptitudes are much like gifts from the universe. If—sometimes misguided gifts,” 

Draxum thought about something and then turned to Donnie, addressing him. 

“Purple one, have you in your past, had strange dreams or felt phantom sensations from a source you couldn’t not pinpoint?” 

Donnie frowned and shook his head slowly. Because—well, he’d never really dreamt before. Unless it was a nightmare and Donnie would have been a lot more nervous and close to a meltdown every moment of the day if he felt things from sources he couldn’t logically pinpoint. 

Draxum looked interested but troubled. “I see. Typically one will have dreams or flashes of Deja Vu accompanied with a sensation of skittering or prickling along the skin of something that doesn’t physically exist, before they fully become Shatter Points. Most recorded cases are a slow build up to the point of Shattering. You mentioned hearing voices on the Mirror Transfer—” 

Leo fake coughed. “Phone call,” And then he fake coughed again. 

Draxum looked vaguely murderous. “—you mentioned voices purple one,” 

Donnie picked at the stitching on one of the blankets surrounding him. “I…” Donnie didn’t know why he found it so hard to say. He didn’t know why the expectant gaze of Draxum bothered him so much. He didn’t know why the looks of his family made it so hard to move his tongue into the right positions to form the correct words. 

“ OHMIGOODNESS OHMIGOODNESS OHMIGOODNESS” 

Donnie flinched at the loud noise, his heart jumping at the sheer volume of it all. Shrieking static and crashing salt rubbed elbows viciously with his thoughts and Donnie found it much harder to talk. 

So he just…nodded as best he could. He hoped Draxum saw it for what it was. An admittance. 

“Question: how is Donnie gonna prove to everybody that he's actually hearing us? Will it just be Leo vouching for him, or is there a way that Drax can focus our voices out so that everybody can hear them? Like shifting music from playing through ear pods to a speaker?” 

The questions tugged at him and felt his attention slipping. 

“Curious…” Draxum hummed. 

“Wait—what’s curious?” Mikey asked. 

“Voices that you can clearly understand and hear are an extremely rare presentation of Shattering. Typically it is fleeting feelings and flashes of things yet to come. Sometimes the occasional whisper or murmur that needs to be analyzed studiously to find any meaning in it at all. You’re brother is quite lucky to be experiencing something so profound and so connected to epicenter of the universe,” 

What did that mean? Epicenter of the universe? Draxum wasn’t explaining anything. Nothing he was saying was helping, it was only making it worse—

“Lucky?” Leo hissed out, something manic glinting in his eyes. “Hearing voices isn’t lucky. They—they’re screaming all the time and there’s the—the stars that glare at you and try t-to—and—and tell you that—” Leo stumbled, fear darting in and out of his expression. “It… its not lucky,” Leo finally ground out. 

Draxum raised an elegant eyebrow. “You heard them, blue one?” 

"i wonder what we look like to terrorize Leo so much" "is it REALLY just the sound? Or it's more than that?" Can he feel intention? or the eyes staring? through the 'stars'? as though the stars themselves were the eyes that appear in his '̴̛͈̫̰̙̭̱̠͐̈́́͑̾̏͝d̸̡̧̨͔̳̝̺͈̟̳̈́̑͛̿̎̒̅̐̈́̓̈́͊͝r̶̨̹͓̠̟̖͚͎͈͍̖͖͋̀̐̈́̕͜͝ē̷̢̙̭̝̗̗͇̋̅̈̇ą̷̞̭̪̘̖̭̻̞͖̯̲͍̩̦́̀̑̐̄̒̉̑̾̍͐͘̕ͅͅm̵̞̔s̴̥̠̘̠̠͙̦̥̙͕̻̲̳̰̀̅̈́́̐͛́̃͗̉̿̀̉̍͘͜'̴̨̪̱̩̓͘ The voice’s tone only got more and more interested." Can YOU feel it? what he felt?" "maybe not,” The voice was curious.

(Donnie reeled from the cryptic messaging that buzzed and tittered at the edge of his vision and crawled over his thoughts. He still didn’t understand how deep it went but every time he looked it only got deeper.) 

Leo swallowed. “...yeah, we…we Mind Melded,” 

Draxum frowned. “That was extremely dangerous Leonardo. While Donatello’s being is acclimating slowly to his Shattering, you are nowhere close to that point. If you are even capable of reaching that point in the first place. You have no exposure to any Impressions the universe may bleed onto Donatello. I’m surprised your mind is intact at all,” 

Donnie could’ve—Leo could’ve—

The voices could’ve broken Leo? 

(All because of what Donnie had asked him to do, all because he selfishly wanted to know if Leo could hear them, all because he—) 

Leo blinked slowly, mouth a thin line. He obviously wasn’t sure what to do with that information 

 “well, maybe for Leo then we feel totally different. Donnie perceives the gaps as a horrible static, but Leo (with his rad portaling skillz) may be way more in tune with time and space and all that. We won't know unless Donnie asks him what it felt like. To Leo, we could feel like a pressure, or maybe even a physical pain. :( I wish we knew how to control the impact we have on them. We're all noobs at transdimensional speaking, so maybe we just don't know how to kill the static."

Maybe it was—

 “If we followed their ninpo patterns then we’re probably like little shocks to the Slider. Hm. In that case mind melding with the others should be equally painful…. Let’s mind meld with the Snapper!”

Donnie’s eyes flicked over to Raph. No. No. He wouldn’t be Mind Melding with any of his brothers. Never again. 

Raph glanced back at him. “You okay Donnie? This is all some pretty intense stuff,” 

People were talking again. People were arguing again. He couldn’t even bring himself to answer Raph’s question. How Pathetic. 

"would that make the feeling a reflection of their ninpō?” 

What—what was Ninpo —? 

“That sounds dangerous, like how would it even look if it is proved to be true" "would the voices be able to affect it? or just cause discomfort?" "would it affect them physically if done too much? like their ninpō does? 

“Donnie sometimes sound tired after too much voices ordeals, and it doesn't look to be just an emotional thing, especially after the...'̷̹̰́̈ḓ̴̔͠r̸̙͎̃̈́e̵̜̽̀ä̷͇́m̸̬͑s̷̙̅̈'̵̜̺̽ started" "wouldn't you say?" "oh, another thing, Donnie, how did it feel to separate the mind meld?" "any side-effects?"

(It hurt, to separate. Like a piece of him had been ripped out and then shoddily stitched back in with black string and a dull needle. It still kind of hurt to be honest. But it was so easy to ignore with everything else happening.) 

Donnie curled into himself, pulling the blankets over himself, making the world go dark and soft. 

Leo yelled something at Draxum, Draxum drawled something back. Mikey tried to keep the peace. Splinter scoffed. 

Donnie pulled the blankets tighter. 

"Yknow for a split second I m̴̛͚̌͊̕i̴̢̜̙͈͔̳̔̇s̶͚̰̞̗̣̲̣͓͐͆̌̇͘-̷͚͉̺̙̲͇̯̬̊̾̑̀̉͑̌̔̕͘ͅͅŗ̷̛͈̭͈̗̠͈͚̘̤̭͖̝̫͊̃̆̎̒͊ẽ̵̡̜̻̹͔͎͝a̷̧̭̞̦͕̥̤͚̩̗̣̗̘̘͐͆̿͘d̵̛͚̈̈́͂̔́̋͐̊̑̕͘̚͜͝ that as 'lets mind meld with the Shredder' cause that way we can bother the horrible Shredder and hurt him (and play Barbie Girl in his head on loop for seven hours as we off key scream in the background) and such and I was like YESSSS but then I realized you said 'snapper' and I went NOOOOOOOO"

Donnie swallowed thickly, trying to calm his shaky breaths. He could hear Raph talking to him, his calming slow lumber something to latch onto and Donnie did so without any complaint and so much relief. 

“No wait- why is that an awesome idea tho?? That would be hilarious, why be evil when you can just torture the villains? (Also I would loop the nyan cat song alongside the Barbie song for pure torture ψ(｀∇´)ψ)” 

Donnie shuddered and listened to Raph say something, his tone high and worried. Donnie shook his head. A couple of seconds passed before he felt Raph’s hands gently pick him up. Donnie let himself be hugged. The pressure was nice, grounding and familiar. Donnie was okay with it. More than okay with it. 

"technically he's still a Hamato, right?" "a violent possessed one at that but still, if you are careful, you may be able to achieve it" "but the cons may out weight the pros cause he IS an evil spirit that you would be binding your mind to and bonding with the voices on your head" "doesn't sound too safe, good luck convincing anyone about that plan” The voice laugh lightly, its tone amused. "even more if you can't actually SAY what it would entail, without sounding crazy"

If Donnie could curl tighter, he would. 

 "I know that overwhelming noise can be awful, hell it's caused plenty of shutdowns, so I'll try and be quiet. I can't promise the same from the others, but we can always hope."

Donnie counted his breaths, mumbling quietly to himself. Raph held him and Donnie vaguely heard Leo storm away, Mikey scrambling after him.

The silence was tense but Donnie could barely hear it.

"Here,” The smell of velvet lavender filled his nose and a glow of warmth gently burned under his skin. Comfortable and perfect. “don't know if it will work but hope it does...you were cold and scared...and i felt a little guilty"

Donnie hummed, feeling tired. 

Donnie could feel when Raph stood and when he started walking somewhere. Donnie felt himself falling back asleep. 

… didn’t Draxum say something about the sleeping spells he kept getting? 

“I gotcha Dee, even if I don’t know what’s happening or get any of this Shattering business, I gotcha,” Raph said, his voice low.

Donnie hummed again, another wave a sleepiness washing over him, making a mental note to find Raph another human sized plushie as soon as he was able to. 

Donnie closed his eyes.

And Donnie.

Was Somewhere.

Chapter Text

The stars were bleeding. 

The shadows whispered to each other, a cacophony of harsh words and sharp pokes. The shadows stirred in an endless whirlpool of malice and care, depth and decay, vitality and the absolute black of nothing. 

The stars watched, they twinkled and shone but for a moment they glinted with the sharp of a knife, instead of the glow of creation itself. The stars were bleeding. Glittering ink and rainbow oil pooling thick like blood and slick like paint. It dripped onto his shoulders and dribbled down into his eyes. He could taste it in his mouth and feel it soaking into scales. 

Donnie burned. 

…

…

…

Donnie jerked awake, a burning ache rattling through his bones and leaching into his muscles. Donnie choked on his own gasp and he couldn’t move, his muscles locked in place. 

Donnie lay there stiff, blankets piled on top of him and a distinct feeling that he shouldn’t have woken up. 

It took a minute, maybe two before his muscles loosened and Donnie could feel himself twitch. He felt warm, sweaty and just a little unpleasant. He was tense, still shaking from…from something. 

Almost hesitantly, Donnie stretched himself out. First his fingers, then his wrists, his elbows, going up and slow. Kneading out the knots he found. 

“ wooooooahhh !!! this is actually kinda scary.” 

What was? Shoulders, upper back, lower back…

 “its starting to make ME feel a little nervous! Im not sure about you, donnie, but something feels off to me. Have you ever heard of the backrooms? Experienced Deja Vu? Have you ever considered that you might not be real? I have. You are young. Naive. So I will give you a warning. A privilege most wont receive.” 

(Donnie ignored the feeling of truth that rang with the words. It was laced with nebula black paint and crowned with thorns and echoed shrieks. It felt weird. Wrong. Tasteful and tasteless. More and less. Deep and shallow only in the way that It could be. It could be everything, it could be nothing. 

Donnie ignored it.) 

Donnie stretched out his toes and then his legs. 

He didn’t panic over it. Panic had come and gone with these types of things. There were so many times that a voice had mentioned something that took a mallet to his world view, at this point it was just another thing to ponder over with a heightened sense of near panicked awareness. 

(Donnie thought about it sometimes. The way that recently, that ever since the voices, some things looked…bent. Wrong, diluted. Sometimes if Donnie turned his head fast enough he'd see a rat suspended in animation, frozen until he looked. It moved but that never seemed right. If Donnie turned around fast enough he caught glimpses of unreality. He couldn’t look at the glimpses, not exactly. Because when he did they flashed away and became something real . Unreality crumbled and became wet, half formed clay. It was real but it wasn’t. 

He could never look fast enough.) 

How many days had the voices been pestering him? Two days? Maybe three? Four? It felt like so much longer. Maybe not a year but…months maybe. But Donnie knew that was wrong. He knew they hadn’t been with him that long. He knew that…

“ The mind can only conceptualize so much before it breaks, Donnie. If you keep searching for answers, you might not like what you find.” 

If Donnie was holding something he would’ve broken it. He knew that. He knew that oftentimes when you discovered something it became a burden, the price of knowledge and all that but Donnie had to know. So he could get rid of the voices. Draxum had said he was a…Universal Shatter Point. He would just have to…unshatter himself. However he would go about doing that. 

The crystal was the point that it had happened. Donnie knew it was an amplifier and apparently Donnie had…mystical aptitudes. Did the crystal amplify those? But the crystal only should’ve been a temporary amplifier so how….

“Unless there really is a piece stuck in my ear…but that wouldn’t explain…” The sensations, the phantom smells and touches. 

“ Well it seems the crystal is the source of the mess, so we should start from there. Donnie, how did you obtain that thing?” 

Indeed. 

“That IS a very good question to ask… I’m curious as well! It’ll allow us to brainstorm, hopefully!”

Donnie thought back. Donnie had been dumpster diving behind a prominent tech company’s office building. Pulling out chargers, broken laptops, fitness trackers and USB adaptors. He was just about done when he felt a…pull, into the next alleyway over. There was no other way to describe it. An insatiable and ravenous curiosity pulled him to the next alley away. It was almost unbearable, it was so sudden and all consuming that Donnie caved almost instantly. He hastily shoved everything he wanted into a bag and half ran, half tripped to get over to the alley way.

And there it was. Black, with flecks of gold and silver deep in the gem. When he held it up to the light there was a reflection of dark, royal purple in its depths as well. 

(When his hand approached it, the world got fuzzy, things seemed to splinter and crack, with the crystal as the focal point. His mind screamed with unintelligible static and then he made contact . Everything went quiet in an instant, the static slipping from his mind like water on a duck’s feathers. He had shrugged it off, it wasn’t alarming or strange it just…was. Donnie had a feeling he should have been more hesitant but he wasn’t. 

It felt like he was supposed to touch it, to hold it and…and to use it. It felt like him but two feet away. From behind a door and right in his own mind at that same time. It felt like everything and it felt like nothing. 

Again. It was something Donnie had ignored.) 

He took the crystal home and that was that. He never questioned it. It didn’t feel like he was supposed to. It was just…there. For him to use at his discretion. Donnie never really thought about it again until just now. Which was weird…especially for him.

The voices though…it seemed they didn’t know. Which was weird because didn’t they know everything?

Donnie must have been talking aloud because one of the voices that had talked a moment ago filled his mind with foaming peaks and prickling static. Donnie could almost recognize it, in the way the words rose and fell, the way they tickled in an almost superficial manner.

“Well, us voices are only able to see what the narrative shows us, after all. I’m afraid I can’t tell you much more than that, as much as I want to…”

“...narrative?” 

His mind buzzed. It trembled, it shook. Something in him didn’t want to understand. Something in him strained against the words, something in him wanted to remain ignorant. Ƨomɘtʜinϱ in ʜim didn't wɒnt ʜim to ʞnow—

Donnie choked. His mind shook and he wanted it to stop. 

“The most I can explain is that…. Well, every life is like a “story”, yes? At least from certain points of views? Because you live YOUR life, and only know what YOU know, compared to someone else living their “story”, with everyone being “the protagonist of their own story”

Ⴇonniɘ didn't—

“ What us voices can do is see your “story” — not quite from your exact point of view, but close enough to get most relevant details — like a movie playing out onscreen. We have different knowledge revealed to us, because we are looking at your life from a different point of view, but we only know so much, unless more information is given. We aren’t omniscient, essentially — just looking at things differently.”

Ƨomɘtʜinϱ in ʜim didn't wɒnt to ʞnow—

wɘnʞ ɘinnoႧ tυ𐐒—

Donnie inhaled sharply, something skittering around in the back of his mind. Something in the back of his mind was weighed down by black ink and reflective stars. A mirror image of what he was and what he could be. 

He knew, he knew, what did he know—

“As Leo would say: English translation for those who don't speak nerd: we don't know everything. We might know something but not everything. I mean if we did, we wouldn't be in this whole situation in the first place.” 

Donnie knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew̸͙̝̺̆̑̈́͠—̵̨̽

“Oh Donnie! You’re awake!” 

Donnie's eyes flew open. (When had he closed them?) 

Mikey, it was Mikey. Why was that so hard to wrap his head around? 

“I made you some food a while ago, but you just kept sleeping and Draxum said we should just let you sleep, so I put it in the fridge. I can go warm it up for you,” 

Mikey was looking at him, expectant with a tinge of worry and relief. 

“How…” Donnie swallowed. He would kill for a glass of water. “How long was I asleep?” Donnie pushed aside the thoughts, he knew, but not now. Hɘ ɔoυlbn't ʞnow now, mɒγdɘ lɒtɘɿ dυt not now . He had to talk to Mikey. 

Mikey paused to think about it for a moment. “Like…sixteen hours or so. You must’ve been really tired,” 

Donnie opened his mouth, paused then closed it. He shrugged instead. Because, he had been . It sucked that he fell asleep so soon after waking up and…

Mikey’s brows furrowed and he stared at Donnie for a long time. Too long of a time. 

Donnie shifted under the searching gaze of his younger brother. 

“...what’s it like?” 

“Pardon?” 

Mikey made a vague gesture. “The…the voices? They’re voices right?” 

"GOOD MORNING D!!!"

Donnie flinched, the sound piercing, teetering and all consuming. 

"today's schedule and prevision mmmm” 

Donnie got the distinct impression the voice was looking at a clock, he also got the distinct impression that every ‘hour’ tick was the word ‘chaos’ instead the next hour. Donnie didn’t know why that very specific image had wormed its way into his head but it did. (He didn’t think too hard about it.) 

 “pfff—chaos again!" The voice’s laugh bubbled up and spilled over happily. “just kidding. not related question: are you hungry?"

Absolutely ravenous. Was Donnie's immediate thought. (Which was weird because Donnie's sense of his own hunger was abysmal and shoved down so hard it was basically nonexistent. He couldn’t feel hungry. He hadn’t in a long time.) 

“Donnie?” Mikey was looking at him with wide eyes, hovering in a way that Donnie recognized. Mikey wanted to help but he didn’t know how.

Something curious and acknowledging flickered across Mikey’s freckled face. “Is…is it loud? Are voices loud? Draxum explained stuff a little more after Raph moved you. Can you hear me? Draxum said it could be hard to hear others with the voices and stuff. Are you okay, do you need something, do you…” Mikey bit his lip and glanced away for a second. 

Mikey picked at a sticker on the back of his hand. “I know things can get overwhelming for you, so it's probably really hard with all this crazy magic stuff going on,”

“By Titan, Lobinha it’s like 6 in the morning what the hell. Some voices are trying to delusion themselves to sleep. Hand over the secrets to your energy, my Titan..” The voice mumbled something unintelligible and obviously annoyed. “Softshell. Coffee. Eat coffee. All you need is coffee. Then work. Go work.”

Donnie shifted in his mass of blankets. 

(He wanted to work. He always wanted to work but…) 

(And…Lobinha? Do the voices have names? That would track considering everything else. Should he…should he ask for their names?) 

“Its…” Donnie struggled to find the right words. “It’s fine…I guess…it's just…” 

"6 am? but it's 6 pm for me. oh my, there's a time difference! l, still pretty funny that both are still 6. Sleep is for the weak, I say! coffee revolution is the way!" The voice snickered. “though coffee doen't work on me, can still sleep like a baby after one, same with energy drinks,” The voice laughs lightly and hysterically for a moment before noticing something in their own words. “uh?! i-i mean, sleep? who needs it?"

“...noisy,” 

Mikey cocked his head to the side, his expression full of thought. 

“Is…” Mikey tapped his fingers together, index to thumb, thumb to pinky, rapidly without pattern. “Is there any way to make them…quieter or hm…Draxum said something about mediation,” Mikey trailed off, looking to the side. 

"Hey Donnie... Just a suggestion for when you're feeling overwhelmed or anxious or depressed, maybe try journaling. You can write about what you are thinking or feeling, make notes about how your body feels, (that can help make you more aware of your body, which can be good for grounding) or if your brain just isn't wording, you can draw, or even just scribble. It might sound silly, but it isn't meant to be perfect or pretty, and it can really help just get some of that negative energy out,” 

Donnie's gaze went from focused to fuzzy. Journaling was…redundant. What was the point of writing something down only for it to be ignored later? What was the point of note taking if you weren’t going to look at those notes later? What was the point of journaling if it didn’t alleviate the issue? 

(Donnie still thought about it. It became one of those many things that told himself he wasn’t paying attention to when he actually was. It became another thing that the voices mentioned, an off handed remark, a little tip, a wisp of insight. Things that were swept under the rug of static and incoming tide. But Donnie still thought about them. 

He still knew they existed, he may not actively acknowledge every comment but each one wedged itself into his psyche, into his memory and into his paranoia. 

Donnie thought about them. Even if he didn’t want to.) 

 “I know things are really hard right now, and there are most likely going to be times in the future where things are really hard as well, but for different reasons. Try to take a few deep breaths and just take one day at a time when you have to. And please try to remember, you always have people who love you, especially your family, and even when you are struggling, or they are busy, or you upset them, or they just don't understand you, they don't love you any less. Even if you aren't right now, you are going to be okay, Donnie."  

Donnie wanted to avoid eye contact with something that didn’t have eyes. 

This was all ridiculous. 

(Donnie thought about it. It was thick in his throat and threatening to his dry eyes. 

Why did every kind comment make him choke and double back on everything he once thought? Why did it feel like his entire life was a lie? Why did every validation from the outside chip away at him and why did always crave more? 

Why…) 

Why was it him? Why was it always him? 

 "Well you ARE the ɿ̴ɘ̴t̵ɔ̷ɒ̸ɿ̷ɒ̶ʜ̶ɔ̸ ̶n̷i̴ɒ̷m̴ so.."

Donnie understood the words but he didn’t. He did but he t'ndid . Why couldn’t he—

He knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he kneẅ̴̰̱̖̯͔̗́͐̔͐̾̓̒́̔̔̅͑̓͘—

“Donnie…?” 

Donnie blinked. Hard. 

He took a deep, shaky breath. Trying to come back to himself. 

“I’m…I’m here Mikey,” He almost didn’t believe it. He almost didn’t…

Mikey's expression was complicated. Too complicated for Donnie to try and figure out. It was all soft edges, complex twists and hushed inside words that Donnie didn’t have privy to. 

“...you still like salmon right?” 

Holy Science he loved his brother. 

—||—

“Isn’t it fun? Being the center of attention? All~ you’ve wanted was to be praised and yet you push it away now that you have it? Let’s not be selfish dearie~”

All Donnie could do was let the words exist as they did and try to not feel miserable over it. Which has always worked so well for him in the past. 

He trailed behind Mikey and tried not to think about it too hard. 

—||—

Yes. Mikey was right. 

Donnie did still love salmon. Herb risotto, a pale lemonade and pan-seared fish. Donnie loved fish. 

It getting reheated wasn’t a problem, Mikey used the stove not the microwave. Donnie’s brother was a turtle of class and high standard. Something Donnie wasn’t sure exactly where he picked it up from. 

Donnie could feel Mikey’s smugness even as Donnie worked through his fourth plate. He didn’t realize he was so hungry. 

"So, earlier Donnie could tell that a voice was smiling and such. I was wondering if this applies to other things like: 🌅 🏞 🌌” 

Donnie almost choked on his food. The immediate and blaring concept of emojis directly translated into sound and twisted all around until Donnie understood in the most upside down way. It was like the kaomoji but even spicier. Donnie understood it even if he barely did. 

A sunset, a black white icon of a path and a distant tree then finally a swirling, purple nebula. 

What—

What was happening—

Nope. Donnie was going to freak out later. He was going to freak out later. Compartmentalize Donatello. Just. Do that. 

Donnie ate his food aggressively and compartmentalized. 

Mikey happily served Donnie another plate and went back to Crush Candy. 

Donnie ate his fish. 

“Soo soft shell, how's that fish~? =]”

Donnie glared at something that wasn’t there. No. Whatever the voice was going to do it needed to not. (He recognized that voice, the way it foamed and spritzed, settled and prickled up again. It was directly tied with a lot of unpleasant things.) 

The smell of tuna filled Donnie’s nose like heavy, wet cotton. Almost fine until it corroded like black mold and putrid dead things. 

Donnie tensed. No. No. No, stop that—

It smelt like a sun dried corpse, baked and slimy with worms.

Donnie gagged. No, no, no, no stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it—

Rancid, sick and disgusting. 

Only for it to roll back into something pleasant. Staying for a moment before rolling back into the same, dreadful rot. 

Donnie shook, nauseous and trembling. 

No, no, no, no, no. Stop that. 

Donnie hated it. He hated the thick, heavy smell. The prickling voice that brought it on. Why couldn’t he just—

Black mold, sick and rancid. 

Donnie gagged a second time and out of his peripheral he could see Mikey put down his phone. 

Pleasant, aromatic and salty. 

“Donnie…” Mikey asked quietly. 

Donnie scrunched up his nose and shook his head. It was so—heavy. 

“Is…is there something wrong with the food—I can get something else—” 

“No, ” Donnie grit out, his stomach rolled. “No..no its not, your food is incredible, its just—” 

“You’re so evil, oh my gosh,” 

Donnie clenched his jaw and fumbled for the lemonade. He sipped slowly, waiting for nauseousness to abort. 

He wasn’t going to throw up. He wasn’t. Mikey would feel bad and then Donnie would feel bad for making Mikey feel bad and then it would be a whole situation and—

“Is it…” Mikey’s eyes were bright, darting around, looking for answers. “Is it the texture? I used compound butter instead of regular but that shouldn’t change the texture, wait–” Mikey scrunched up, officially confusing himself. “Um…” 

Donnie shook his head. 

“N-no? Not the texture?” 

“Is that a challenge!?” 

Thick, thick, thick, thick, filling his nose and stuffing up into brain. 

Donnie keened, animalistic sound scrambling in the back of his throat and out past his lips. 

Donnie swallowed painfully and fought to keep his grip from crushing the glass. 

“Is it a…a Shatter Point thing? I can call Draxum, or-or Raph, do you want me to go get Raph?” Mikey fluttered nervously. 

Donnie didn’t know. 

But he did know it was a…Shatter Point thing, as Mikey put it. So he nodded, blinking harshly. 

Donnie breathed through the sick in his gut and shakily put the glass back on the table. 

Mikey looked a little confused. “Yes? To Raph or–” 

“Can you…” Donnie clenched and unclenched his hands. 

Sharp, pungent, decaying and filled with ammonia. 

“I’ll…I’m going to lay down,” 

Donnie stumbled out of his chair, glancing back apologetically. 

He hoped Mikey got that he was sorry.

—||—

(Donnie curled up the couch, sick to his stomach and letting the horrible, rotating stench wash over him. 

Mikey bought a bucket and a glass of cold water and Donnie almost cried. He talked about the smell. Just enough for Mikey to understand that it wasn’t his fault that Donnie was like this. 

The smell faded after an hour or so. 

Donnie had never felt so relieved.) 

—||—

Donnie never ended up puking his guts out. Which was nice. 

Donnie refilled his cup and drank. He put the unused bowl away and leaned against the counter. 

“ Where the fuck did I put my guitar…”

He felt better than before. 

—||—

Twenty minutes later Mikey was dragging him back into the kitchen. 

“—zza Puffs! I can’t believe he hid them from us!”

Pizza Puffs? 

“We just found them and he had this yellow tape stuff over them? Anyway, he did not hide them well,” Mikey laughed sinisterly. 

They turned into the kitchen and Leo was laying down on the counter and dramatically threw a pizza puff into his mouth. 

There was a large sack with a scribble of Raph’s terrible handwriting on it, but the bag was so slouched you couldn’t quite see it. 

Mikey’s hand darted in and out of the bag revealing a delectablly browned puff. A pizza puff. 

Donnie glanced between the bag and Mikey. These were Raph’s pizza puffs? 

“Hm, oh…hey Donnie,” Leo’s eyes flicked over to Donnie, Donnie couldn’t quite decipher his expression. Leo sat up, looking like it took great effort. He took out another puff for himself. “These things are seriously delicious, I wanted to eat all of them but Mikey insisted on grabbing you first and well…” 

Leo popped the puff into his mouth and made an indecent noise when he chewed and swallowed. 

Donnie found himself with his own puff in hand. 

“DONNIE DON’T EAT THOSE!! THEY’RE POISONOUS AND ADDICTIVE, YOU HAVE TO WARN THE OTHERS!!!”

Donnie jerked, almost dropping the puff. 

“Uh…Donnie? You good?” It was Leo and Donnie still couldn’t exactly place why his voice was sounding the way it was. 

Leo ate another puff. 

It… poisonous? 

“Oooorrrr you could shove them down the snapping turtles throat~ I want to see what they would do to him since it effects them all differently~”

Effects them…? 

Donnie swallowed thickly, watching as Mikey ate another puff.

"Dude no- If you wanna get your sibling to eat something they don't like, you've gotta be more subtle than that. If you try to brute force it they'll just spit it out. You could try 'close your eyes and open your mouth', that's a classic."

Donnie glanced down at the puff, suddenly feeling weird about it. 

“Fair enough the snapper is way to trusting anyway~ or you could mix the puffs with some other food~ that is another good option~”

Leo ate another one. 

Mikey ate another one. 

Donnie stared down at his, voices prickling at the edge of his mind and vibrating with shadowy, snowy static. 

"Don't snappers have that cool instinct to bite any food that moves near their vision? just throw it like a surprise attack!" "Then run, cause he will be very pissed with you"

( “What do you think the voices are talking about?” 

“I’m…not sure. Donnie said one of them made him smell rotting fish earlier, so they could also be making him…feel things?” 

“...dude, that's insane, how does that even work?” 

“I’m dunno, I was planning on asking Draxum about it,” 

“...” 

) 

“HA!”

“:3”

“Good idea!”

( “Maybe they’re talking about the puffs? 

“Maybe,” 

“...” 

“...” 

“What do you think it's like? The..whole voices situation?” 

“...lots of screaming,” 

“You–oh right, you Mind Melded,” 

“...y..yeah, it was…less than pleasant,” 

) 

The voice giggled. “>:3” 

“I assume you like? Not my greatest work but it’s enjoyable” 

“yeah, we are all just messing around (D will sure disagree pfff) :3” 

“Well he is not actually important only a 2̴̺̃̀̾̍͆ḑ̸̘̤̻̹̟̊͋ ̵̯̩͉̳̟̜̮̿́͑̀̈̕c̶̢̹͚̦̣͍̗̖͗̒͊ḩ̷̦̝̈́͐͋́͠a̶̡̨͈̫̙̱̅̓̉̾̈́͂̏̈́r̸̜͈̼̳̥̄̓̾̾͑ą̴̳͙̺̪̉͐̇̕͠c̴̳͓̀̇͊̇͘͠ț̴̫͚͈̈̌͠e̷̘̹̮̭̖͇̽͒̽̅̍͋̑͘r̴̛̛̠͈̻̎͛̈́̈́͝ ̵̢̢̯̻̣͑̐t̵̟̮͇͙̩̣̀̄͒͛͗͜ͅỡ̴͇͙̲͕͔̤̯̩̈̄ ̷̧̛̯̖̳̭͚̭̑͂̂̃̾ǜ̶̲̮̻̟͓̱͆̈́̋̓͠s̵̗͔̩̓̇̑̉͊̐ ̵͕̏3̴̼̟͌̃̈́͂d̵̗̰̼͆͒̑̎̉̕ ̸͖̝̟̲̊͆̉̑̚ͅp̶̛̣̺͖̮̖̖͒̈ë̵͚̻͖̜̥́͐́̀ò̶̦̥͇͇̦͚̻̿͒͜p̷̡̠̳̻̣̰̳̽͋͌̓͋̓͐l̵̨̺̜̤͎̽̌̈́̅ȇ̴̟͈́̍̌̓̕͝ he is nothing just like how we 3d are nothing to 4D beings,” 

( “You think he’s going to eat that puff?” 

“Really Leo? He’s thinking, don’t take a man’s puff while he’s down,” 

“Well, I’m just saying—” 

) 

“ yeah- wait what!? $$$$—” 

“Yup they can do that!” 

( “You think if I poked him, he’d notice?” 

“...Maaaayybbbe, he seems like he’s listening really hard right now,” 

)

“ Well... yeah, you and Struggle are just messing around but... I've quickly come to realize that Chara... isn't? They, um, actually mean all the stuff they say.” 

“:'3 the first meme answers tha question pfff: h̸̜̲͗͒ẗ̸̟́t̶̥͉̆̌p̷̩̑s̵͓͠:̶̧͓̔/̷̩̯͐̓/̶̪͙͗̈m̴̩̘̓.̴̱͇̒y̶̝̔͊ọ̶̡̍u̷̖̮̓͋t̴͙̝̏u̴̹͘b̸͙̦̈́e̸͖̔.̶̠̀͜c̶̮̪̔͋ő̸͕m̸̲͒/̴̥͕́͒w̴͚͂a̸͑͋͜t̶̛̠̓ċ̴̮͘h̴̫͛?̴̟̊v̷̹̍≠̞̀q̸̻͙͌p̵͚͎̅͌F̴̳͙͋o̷̹͇͗́a̸͋͜Ġ̴̢̥̆u̵̪͖̎͘w̷͕̹̒s̸̬͌ủ̵̯ͅg̶̺͔͝,” 

“I- oh my god…I’m starting to think you’re less of a voice and more of an intrusive thought.”

“Why not both~?”

( “Hey Leo?” 

“Hm?” 

“Is it just me or the white’s of Donnie’s eyes the wrong color?” 

“Uh…” 

) 

“Why not either? Why not leave him alone?”

“Why not both and more as to show him the horrors of reality and shape him into a unstoppable monster if he doesn’t break before that~”

“Dude, stop trying to break the Geneva Convention. He’s a teenager, not a *war criminal*.”

“Geneva convention more like Geneva suggestion~ am I right?”

( “Are they supposed to be that dark?” 

“...no? I don’t…maybe its a mystic thing?” 

“...” 

“...” 

“Do you think he knows?” 

“...I mean, he’s Donnie, if he didn’t know I’d eat my shoe,” 

“We don’t wear shoes,” 

“Fine, I’ll eat my fanny pack then,” 

) 

“ you can be both (teen and war criminal i mean)” 

“Yes you can be both~”

…

Donnie stared down at the puff. 

He felt empty. 

But this time it was a different kind of emptiness. 

It was a lack of care and abundance of apathy. The conversations around him didn’t matter but at this point what did? 

One way or another the sun would explode and nothing would be left. 

Donnie would be gone. The earth would be gone. The lair, his brothers, this puff. 

(Donnie had a feeling the voices would exist whether he was alive or not. So why did it matter what they said when they had an eternity to say it and Donnie only had a few short years?) 

Donnie placed the puff in mouth, the movements robotic and barely his own. 

He chewed. 

And all he could taste was wet paint made from stardust and shattered, screaming static. 

Chapter Text

The puff was delicious. 

Objectively, he knew this. The flavor was light yet intense, rich. Full of spices and perfectly catered flavor profiles. Every bit of it working in perfect tandem with each other. The tangy, yet modest marinara sauce mixed elegantly with the sweet, heavy mellow taste of the mozzarella. The outside was perfectly crispy, with a delicate flake to it that Donnie suspected that had only been perfected in France. There was a soft crunch and then it gave way to succulent cheese, delectable wine based red sauce and roasted tender green onions. 

All wrapped together in a gloriously compact pocket. Still relatively hot despite being shoved in a bag for several hours. 

So yes. The puff was…delicious. 

But. 

Donnie found he didn’t like it. When he put it in his mouth and chewed he felt a disconnect from himself. Like what he was doing wasn’t really him but something else. He could taste it, he could feel it, he even swallowed. But it didn’t really feel like him. 

(There was a faint alarm going off in the back of his mind. One telling him that he shouldn’t be eating it. Whether that was him or a hesitant memory of one of the voices telling him it was poisonous—was up for interpretation.) 

“DONNIE NO!” 

Donnie blinked slowly. The voice was loud but again. He found he didn’t care. 

“ DONNIE YES!”

Donnie brushed the crumbs off his fingers and wondered if he wanted another one. Because, from an objective standpoint, the puff was one of the most delicious things he’s ever had the pleasure of putting in his mouth. 

But at the same time…

“Donnie, please noooooo,” 

There was that. 

He was told they were poisonous and Donnie was inclined to agree with them. But only inclined. Because they could be lying. Any number could be lying and Donnie would never know. 

“Oh dear… You’re feeling quite… disconnected, aren’t you Donatello?” 

Donnie checked his fingers for more crumbs but found none. He tongued the spaces in between his teeth, wondering if he got any food stuck in his teeth. 

He didn’t find any but he did find something else. Something…almost bitter tasting. 

“…I’m not always the best at offering comfort, but please keep this in mind — even a story is real. We will all eventually become just stories, and eventually fade, but as long as you last, as long as you have a sense of awareness, know that knowing something makes it real. Some things are “more real” than others, and the physical only lasts so long, yes, but the second you feel something, the second you think a thought… It is real, in some form or another.” 

(Donnie couldn’t help but soak in the words. Because…he did feel real at times. A touch of wall paint, a hilariously bad joke, a shockingly real spike of discomfort. There were sensations that only felt real and were hard to tell if they could be anything else. 

Donnie wanted to be real. 

He wanted to be real so bad.) 

Donnie tongued the bitter tasting thing, only finding it more bitter tasting. What could that be? 

Donnie stuck a finger in his mouth and rubbed the area that bitter tasting thing was. 

Donnie brought his finger out and looked. 

His brow furrowed. There was…a black substance on his finger. Like ink or wet paint. It shimmered iridescently under the kitchen lights and glittered with…white flecks. Swirling purple clouds and dark blue and pink wisps. Like a nebula. Space paint. There was wet space paint in his mouth. 

…why was there wet space paint in his mouth? How did it get there? Why was it there and—

“Donnie?” 

Donnie looked up slowly, space paint still on his finger. (It was…cold? It was an almost indistinguishable temperature but certainly closer to cold than anything else.) 

Leo was looking at him, a complicated expression on his face. Then again, all of Leo’s expressions seemed complicated. 

Leo glanced down to the paint for a moment before going back to Donnie’s face. “...they’re good right?” Leo’s tone was so strange, light in expression and heavy in subtlety. 

Donnie knew this one. This one was subtext. Leo was asking if Donnie was going to want another one. 

Donnie blinked owlishly, he looked down at the space paint, the nebula like glitter swirling and moving. (It must be mystic, everything stupid was mystic at this point.) 

“Your perception of the world you live in is made real simply because you perceive it. And that can’t be undone. Or at least, that is how I think things work. I cannot guarantee this — but my motto is “anything is possible”, so in my perception of the world — my reality — that is how it is. You think, and therefore you are, Donatello. And because of that, you — and everything, really — will exist. It may not always be in a form you are familiar with, but it will be there. It’s real.”

(Donnie blinked, even slower than before. The words felt like a sugar rub. Coarse, real and unusually soothing. He…appreciated them. In one way or another.)

Donnie looked back up at Leo, his expression about as exuberant as a rock. 

“...exquisite,” Donnie said flatly, tone betraying absolutely nothing. No. Leo. I don’t think I’ll be eating another one. 

Something like the equivalent of ‘eeesh’ flickered across Leo’s face. 

“Got it,” His brother muttered, shoving another puff in his mouth. 

A voice was sobbing hysterically. 

Donnie watched Mikey eat another puff. They were both watching him, examining his every move and instead of being put off, Donnie found he…didn’t care all that much. Their stares didn’t burn so much as they informed . He knew they were worried and he appreciated the concern. Because if Donnie found it hard to worry about himself, he could be grateful for someone to do it for him. 

“ No, it’s fine actually, I like a bit of philosophical comfort! ;)” 

Mikey ate another pizza puff. 

Donnie glanced down to his finger. He walked over to the sink and washed it off. It went down the sink easily, washing off just like wet paint would. He idly wondered if that was going to do something to the local ecosystem of sewers. 

Donnie paused and thought about that one more time. 

No. The weird mouth space paint probably wouldn’t do anything to the sewers. 

Donnie watched placidly as his brothers ate pizza puffs. 

He didn’t even flinch when Raph stormed in. 

“GUYS!” 

Donnie had a feeling he knew where this was going. 

—||—

“—they’re POISON!” 

Donnie watched the scene unfold around him. 

Mikey was staring at Raph, shoving so many pizza pockets into his mouth it must’ve been a choking hazard. Leo would playfully twirl a puff between his fingers before popping it into his mouth. 

Raph looked like he was going to have an aneurysm. 

“Stop it!” Raph made a grab for the bag (it was basically empty at this point) but Leo scooped it up and danced away. All feather feet and lithe movements. 

“Come on Raph, they can’t be that bad,” Leo said with a teasing smile. Leo popped another puff in his mouth. 

“Yeah!” Mikey crowed. “They’re delicious. Nothing delicious can be poisonous Raph,” Mikey said with complete confidence. He ate another puff. 

Donnie saw a lot wrong with that statement. 

“Yeah!” Leo agreed. He ate another puff. Leo tossed the bag to Mikey when Raph got too close. They continued to play keep away with the bag. Which was probably empty, but by the desperation in Raph’s expression—he didn’t notice. 

All Donnie could do was blink slowly. It was funny, objectively he knew that. But the humor eluded him. 

“Sooooo soft shell how do you like my gift~ seems like it was really fun for you~ =] enjoy those puffs~ meat sweats put a lot of effort into them~ to bad you didn’t give any to the snapper yet~ I wonder how you will feel having a entirely new being form from your stomach~”

…Meatsweats? Didn’t Raph mention him at some point? And another being? What did that mean? What could that—?

Donnie’s stomach grumbled. 

Which was…strange. 

"Xenomorph flashbacks :'''3”

…what was….a xenomorph? Donnie knew that ‘Xeno’ was derived from the Greek word xenos meaning foreign or strange and that xeno was often used as a prefix to denote elements that were foreign or alien to a particular system. Such in the case of xenotransplantation or xenobiotic. And ‘morph’ originated from the Greek word morphē, which meant form, shape or even just being . In biology, morphology referred to the study of the physical form and structure of organisms. In linguistics, a morpheme was recognized as the smallest unit of meaning within a language. The term morph could also be used to describe the process of transformation, as in the process of metamorphosis, which often illustrated the significant change in form that certain organisms underwent during their life cycles, typically towards the end. 

So if they were in one word…

…An alien or an alienating experience? But the voice definitely used it as a noun so…

“I wonder if you cure it, won’t that kill another living thing you murder~ he didn’t ask to be created~”

Donnie’s eyebrows twitched, he still didn’t know what the voice was talking about.

Donnie’s stomach rumbled, more intensely this time. He felt a little sick. 

"Poor Tummy Tello, his existence wasn't meant to be lasting in this world" "We can't prolong your life dear creature but you will be remembered” The impression of the voice saluting was felt. "Well, at least until the next better thing happens, but STILL, you will be remembered" The impression of saluting was felt again. 

Donnie let himself lean against the counter. Raph was yelling at Mikey and Leo. Mikey looked…more elastic than normal and Leo seemed to be sweating an above average amount. 

…was this the mystic poison? 

"I know im a bit late to be here but do yall want to give him an existential crisis already? Jesús Christ you guys are WILD,"

Donnie glanced at the now empty bag and then back up to his brothers. He wondered if should do something, Leo was still sweating and Mikey’s head flopped to the side. 

That was not how the neck should move. (Did something happen to Mikey’s neck bones? Wow. That was a concerning thought.) 

Donnie’s stomach grumbled. He lightly touched it, confused. Why was…his plastron moving like that? 

Donnie slipped off his hoodie, bunching it up under one arm as he inspected the source of the grumbling.

Hm…strange. That wasn’t…

"Why do ya'll hate raph so much?? What did he do to you :("

Donnie twitched. (He didn’t hate Raph but sometimes his worry felt…suffocating. Sometimes Donnie just wanted to be allowed to struggle even if he hated it. He didn’t understand why he craved hardship and responsibility but he did. It was an innate thing, a deep thing. 

He didn’t…) 

Leo’s head was on fire and Mikey’s arms were flopping around, the weight of his hands only doing so much for direction and gesturing accuracy.

 Donnie’s stomach grumbled again. 

There was something bitter in his mouth. 

“Donnie!” 

Donnie almost jumped. He didn’t. 

Raph was looking at him. He looked stressed, maybe he should sit down. 

“You didn’t eat any of them, did you?” Raph asked, half suspicious and half worried out of his own skin. 

Donnie blinked slowly. “I ate one,” Donnie lifted up a single finger for emphasis. 

Raph’s expression dropped further and he looked like he was about to have a heart attack from anxiety alone. 

“Hey, uhm, Donnie? I’m sorry to interrupt whatever you’re doing, but I thought I might give you a warning. There will be a certain villain that will…how do I put this lightly…come back and be crazy powerful? You proooobably don’t need to worry about it right now, but I want to give a little bit of advice. Maybe go and check in on Raph and see how he’s doing with the pressure of being the leader? Oh, and get ready for even more mystic stuff coming soon. Just a heads up! :D”

Donnie’s mouth went dry and he found himself looking off to the side. (A villain? Which one? Big Mama? Repo Mantis? Any of the other regularly scheduled villains of the week? Should he upgrade the security again? Make better weapons? Armor? Did they need better armor besides theirs shells? Did Donnie need a better shell? 

…was Raph having a difficult time being leader?) 

Donnie blinked slowly, trying to come back to himself. 

“ Donnie,” Raph strained. 

Something muted and sheepish stirred in his stomach that made him cringe and then—

—his stomach made a terrifyingly disgusting noise. Out rippled a face, a mouth, an indent of eyes and a distinction of faux lips. All stretched like elastic and made from his plastron. 

Donnie felt sick. In more ways than one. (There was a bitter taste in his mouth again. He tongued it absentmindedly and it had the slick texture of wet paint. Maybe he should be more concerned about that.) 

“...oh,” Donnie blinked, slightly horrified down at his…what was once his abdominal plane. 

The mouth… moved. Revolting and entirely unnatural. Donnie sort of wanted to puke. 

There’s a wet and squirming crunch. A rattling and scuttling. A low hiss as a head of something particularly big and shell cased got bitten off. 

Donnie shivered. 

“hehe this is a good show~ poor tummy tello killed for just existing~”.

Donnie wanted to swallow the saliva in his mouth but there was no saliva. Only bitter tasting paint. 

"Noooo why u ate it like a gummy :'3" "should've made some juice, beetle-juice, get it" The voice waited, baited and excited for a moment. Then: “well now this is just awkward,” The voice laughed a bit awkwardly to itself. “uhhhh proceed with what you were doing before"

Donnie blinked rapidly, becoming more and more uncomfortable, despite how muted it felt. 

A loud sqluesh was heard. A slap of wet meat and ringlets of interal organs, sausage links and leaking insides. A tearing, a slurping and lapping of blood. 

Donnie had to fight to keep his shoulder from hiking up from the grotesque noises, disgust and nausea only growing. 

“Hmmmm TummyTello hun’gr,” 

Donnie’s eyes widened, feeling only revolution for the thing coming out from him. 

(Of course he was fascinated by it. How could he not? It seemed to be an almost entirely separate entity from himself and it came from mystics. A mystic poison. Some part of him was…morbidly fond of the idea of a sentient thing taking residence where his outward stomach region was. Like a pet or a..child of some kind. Some twisted companion. Yes of course his first instinct was to coo over it, to be hapless and loving in his weird, dismissive and obsessive way. He doesn’t know why but it was the first thing that bubbled up. 

For a moment. For a second, he was fascinated. Loving and familial.

But only for a second. 

Then. Then he was nauseated by its existence. Immediately wishing it would go away because it was making his skin crawl and bile creep up the back of his throat. 

Go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away—

Go ā̷̻W̸̝̎Â̵̮̖͗Y̸̫̐-̶͖̀͆͜—

…

…he.

He didn’t like it.) 

“Hm~ I wonder if the stomach can hear us.. can it hear at all? Oh how much I would love to make it scream. Especially since the softshell refuses to be entertaining..”

(Some part of Donnie wanted to be angry. Some part of Donnie was tired. Some part of Donnie wanted to explore. Some part of Donnie wanted to shut down and never fully reboot again. He just wanted… 

Donnie wasn’t sure which part he should choose.

He…

…

His mouth was bitter, it wasn’t exactly helping the nausea.) 

“I disagree he is being very entertaining~ but that stomach beast will be fun~ I wonder if it feels pain when it disappears if it feels itself fading~ it’s sentient and very much a living being~ yet your trying to kill it soft shell~ =] I’m proud~”

Donnie wrinkled his snout, leaning heavier against the counter top. 

His head was spinning, the world was fuzzy at the edges and his mouth was too bitter. 

He hated this. 

He hated this so much. 

“—onnie? Are you listening?” 

Donnie’s head snapped up, his heart beating unusually fast. 

Everyone was… looking at him. 

“Are…” Raph frowned, his brow creased with concern. “Are you okay Dee?” He glanced down to Donnie’s ‘situation’ and Donnie felt sick all over again. 

(Leo’s face twitched.) 

The stomach monstrosity made another revolting attempt at speech and Donnie didn’t even try to understand what it had said. 

Donnie opened his mouth but….

“Well I agree he’s… fun…. But I prefer my toys to scream more often. Though~ my toys going insane and killing others is a very entertaining venture, my~ I hope it screams ❤︎”

Donnie’s mouth was so. Bitter. 

Donnie whirled around and took three steps to the sink and threw up. 

His mouth burned from the acid and black, iridescent spit coated his lips and dripped thick down his chin. He hacked and a chunk of something came out. It splattered with all the grace of an absolutely soggy piece of bread and smelled positively abhorrent. 

Donnie coughed and tried to spit the taste out of his mouth. More black spittle came out, thicker and so dense you could probably use it as brick mortar. 

Donnie shook, cold and feeling very put out of his own body. Uncomfortable and just wanting the world to look normal again. 

He blinked hard, his eyes stung and he whipped furiously at them with one hand. 

His wrist came away smeared with black and shiny with stars. 

Donnie swallowed hard. That…that was not normal. 

He fumbled with the faucet handle and ignored the pitched worried voices behind him. Donnie spit out more black and tried to waterboard himself for the next thirty seconds. 

(Why? Why him? He didn’t—) 

He whipped his face down and filled and spit out the water at least six times. Slowly the bitterness was washed away with relatively heavy metal free water and the after taste of sewage. 

Donnie braced himself on the sink and sucked in a shuddering breath. He…

(His stomach grumbled but it did not talk. Donnie thought that this was a marvelous improvement.) 

“ Meat Sweats is at the houseboat on Marina docks.” 

…he knew where that was. 

“ Look I would love to see your 'Smell ya later' invention, but you already suffer exhaustion and headaches from dealing with us and now an unusual case of stomach ache from literal food poisoning! I'm not letting you suffer from a smell trauma over the disgusting smell of diapers, stinking cheese and garbage drive. Why would someone want to watch a literal trash I never understand, then again this is New York. Anything is possible here. But my point is you and your brothers need an antidote ASAP. Please Donnie, your brothers need your help more now.” 

Donnie took another deep breath. He didn’t really need to think about it but he did.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he couldn’t help but flinch away. 

Something flashed across Raph’s face and Donnie had to look away. 

His mouth was still dry despite the water dripping from his chin. 

“...Meatsweats and his antidote are at Marina docks,” Donnie parroted monotonously, not really feeling it. 

Somehow—Raph’s frown deepened even further. 

“...Donnie maybe we should—” 

Mikey tumbled to the ground. Boneless, the poison continuing to run its course. Mikey didn’t look very happy about his current predicament. 

Raph sighed, looking at his brothers in despair. 

“...I guess I’ll drive,” 

—||—

(“I personally like the strong types that resist~ its fun and it gets annoying when they scream and beg for mercy, I want to rip him apart and build him back to a superior being~ i want to make the perfect weapon from the weak soft shell~”

“I’m sure you two have better things to do than this… Don’t listen to their tacky blathering, Donatello. I’m quite certain they are unfamiliar with the true concept of strength or superiority, in any regard. People who talk like this seldom are.”

“You would be surprised on how much I know about strength~ I know he could become something even the mightiest of this universe would fear if he is properly molded unlike his brother’s he could truly be unstoppable~ I have seen many many different beings and their strengths and they have many things in common~ which I will forge the soft shell into~”

“Just as trite as I imagined your response would be.”

“Yes I am unoriginal thank you for noticing~ =] I try to be makes it more fun when I suddenly bring out something new~”) 

…

…Donnie didn’t want to be here anymore.

—||—

Donnie had brought his Battleshell with him. 

He grabbed the claw arm one specifically. He weighed it in his hand and they locked in movement before he could put it on. He didn’t know why his heart was beating so fast. He didn’t know why there was a shake to his hands and a cold sweat gathering under his mask.

He didn’t…

He brought it with him into the Turtle Tank—he would get over himself while they were actually progressing to a solution. He…

…

(He didn’t know what to do.)

—||—

Raph was driving and surprisingly or maybe unsurprisingly—no one was really talking. It was tense, borderline awkward. Mikey had fiddled with the radio dial until he settled on something soft and jazzy. No one minded, so soft and jazzy it was.

Why didn't he just put it on? Well he…

He…

"The Battleshell has such an interesting design” The voice said dreamily. “can't get enough of it, in my head it is so futuristic" "the concept of robotic arms never get old, if i remember correctly the lab has some too, and the kitchen if they weren't disassembled after the S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N incident" 

His mouth twitched in the visage of a smile but it faded as quickly as it came. He fiddled with the clasping mechanism and felt himself frowning. 

Why didn’t he…why can’t he just…? 

He put it on. 

Only to immediately take it off again. (He was glad his brothers were pretending not to watch.) 

It was bad. Sensory, pressured, claustrophobic hell. It was oppressive, crawling and overwhelming. 

So he took it off. 

(His shell tingled.) 

He found he couldn’t breathe all that well. 

"I always question myself how can so many things fit in there" "like, how MUCH space is inside it?" "you have a variety of those no?” The voice’s tone is eager, excited. "Like what types? is there's one for armazement only? or to help lifting things? the latter one could help gathering resources from places for you inventions,” 

Donnie swallowed thickly and tried to take a deep breath, grasping at something he could control. He could explain—he could—yeah—he—

Donnie let his mouth move. “It's a network of flexible micro-shelves and retractable hooks. Each item has a designated spot, maximizing every cubic millimeter of space,” Donnie muttered quietly to himself, almost hysterically. 

He turned the invention over and pointed at each part as he talked, his voice stable but only just. He fought to keep it that way. 

“W-when I need something, the arms retrieve it swiftly and securely, then stow it back just as efficiently. It's like having a pocket dimension in your backpack, combining advanced robotics and spatial optimization while keeping the exterior sleek and unassuming,” He explained slowly. 

It was a sales pitch technically. He could—he’s rewritten it just about a hundred times. He knows it. He knows the explanations, the innerworkings, how to explain to a broader audience. 

He—

Donnie could—

“The…the components are designed to shift and reconfigure itself, accommodating a diverse range of items while maintaining spatial efficiency. The intelligent system continuously calculates the optimal arrangement, ensuring that…that every item is easily accessible and securely stored. This innovative fusion of robotics and space management transforms the backpack into a portable, high-tech repository, for…ah…for usage and adaptability,” 

Donnie swallowed and took another shuddering breath. 

“ if it is this hard to wear it right now, it’s better to take off your battle shell, than suffer, please don’t make us watch you make that choice. I know it may sound strange, but there are some that mean no pain, and others still, that do care about how you feel, and don’t wish to see you suffer. Especially from your own hands. Just calm down and breathe with me,” 

Donnie another exaggerated breath and then another. He focused on his Battleshell and kept rambling. He was good at that. He was— he was good at that.

“It's connected to my goggles, which are equipped with neural interface technology. The goggles read my brainwaves using advanced EEG sensors, translating my thoughts into commands. No—no need for manual controls; I…I simply think about what I need, and then Battleshell responds instantly,” 

(He liked talking about his inventions. It was simple, easy. He knew how they worked. How they functioned. It was tech. 

Donnie knew tech. It was so much easier than mystic.) 

“The uh—ah the robotic arms inside the…the Battleshell are l-linked to the neural interface. When I think about a specific item, the sensors in the goggles pick up the corresponding brainwave patterns,” 

Donnie’s hand brushed up against the base piece of the new goggles. (He grabbed them when he grabbed his Battleshell. He’d finished with them and they had just been gathering dust. He stained the metal a darker purple, the accents were black and the lenses were tinted. He would be able to see through them fine but it gave off an almost ‘sunglasses—evil government agent/scientist’ impression. The colors of the lenses were darkened to heterochromatic oxblood and Egyptian navy. He thought they looked rather fetching. 

They clicked into place like they always did and he felt rather odd about them. 

But at this point he didn’t think he could do without. The extra features could only help, he just…) 

Donnie took another deep breath and another and then another. 

He grimaced, his chest tight and his mouth bad tasting. He fiddled with the clasping mechanism again.

“These signals are sent wirelessly to…t-to the Battleshell, where the onboard processor decodes them and activates the appropriate robotic arm or if—if necessary—a—uh…a magnetic retrieval process. The arm then retrieves the item from its designated spot within the adaptive micro-shelf system…and ah…it..” Donnie swallowed, mouth dry and every part of him morose and borderline distressed. Depressed. Anxious. Hyper vigilant and scared out of his mind. Everything. Everything all at once.

He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. Trying to swallow the traitorous lump in his throat.

“It’s…its an extension of my own mind, its…its…” Donnie felt heavy and tired. “It’s helpful…its…” 

He felt slow. Weighed down and tingling. “...it’s supposed to be helpful,” 

He felt himself droop, his Battleshell hitting the bottom of the tank with low ‘tink’. 

“...it’s supposed to be helpful…” 

He…

He just…

"Kiddo, if you don't want to put it on then don't; please don't make yourself do something that's going to make you uncomfortable like that. Just keep it off for a bit and maybe try again in a few minutes. Or an hour? Or just wait a couple days?” 

Donnie screwed his eyes shut and let his head lull to the side, everything inside him just wanting to sleep. 

Why couldn’t he do this? Why couldn’t he put on the stupid Battleshell? Why can’t he just do this one thing? Why can’t he just be useful—? 

Donnie could feel his face contort miserably and something hitch desperately in his chest. His eyes stung. 

Donnie’s breath wobbled and his hands shook. He tightened his grip on the Battleshell and blinked dismally. 

Why can’t he do this? 

Why can’t he just do this—? 

“Donnie?” 

Donnie's eyes snapped up and found Raph in an instant. (Something hesitant flickered across his brother’s face and his brow shot up in concern and… something else . He looked almost…surprised. Donnie could barely wonder why before shame blotted out any curiosity that could’ve taken root.) 

Donnie blinked hard and found himself glancing quickly out of the windshield. 

They had arrived. They had arrived at Marina docks. 

Somehow, Donnie felt even more exhausted than before. 

Raph was talking to him but Donnie didn’t really want to listen, let alone answer. 

He looked down at his Battleshell, his mouth curling in disgust. He couldn’t do a single thing, right—could he? 

He hesitated only for a second before roughly tossing it aside, metal against metal clanging loudly. His stomach grumbled ominously but it did not talk. (He didn’t know how he would react if it did. He was glad it wasn’t. It didn’t deserve to exist anyway. ) 

He snatched up his discarded hoodie and tugged it over his head with a force that seemed like it should’ve torn the fabric. Hating how it seemed to be the only thing that felt good on his shell. He hated that. He hated that so much. 

“We’re at the docks, I know,” Donnie said, his tone flat, pierced at the edges. 

Everyone was staring at him. Everyone was staring at him. 

Hɘ wɒƨ ɿɘminbɘb oʇ ɘγɘƨ. Too mɒnγ ɘγɘƨ. Ƨo mɒnγ ɘγɘƨ. Hɒnbƨ ɒnb ʇinϱɘɿƨ ɒnb nɒilƨ. Ɔlɒwinϱ, toυɔʜinϱ, ϱɿoqinϱ. Wɒntinϱ. 

Hɘ wɒntɘb it to ƨtoq. Wʜγ wɒƨn't it ƨtoqqinϱ. Hɘ įυƨt wɒntɘb it to ƨtoq—

-̴̧̖̣͈̘̪̻͔͔̟̱̱̘͚͔̜͙̖̜̮̭̅̿̇͛̉͗̌͐̈́̒͒̔̈́̊̓̈́̀̄̏̇͆̇͛̌̾̄͆̈́́͗͌̔̒̀̚͜͝͠ͅͅƎ̷̧͓̹̫̫̫̞͍̬͎͉͈͍̻̼̮̬̬͈͚̱̩͖̫̊̎̿̂̿̎̒̔͛̒̔̂͐͑̇̾͊̄̈̈́̓̅̏̈́̈́̂̓͌͌̌̕͝͠Ƨ̷̡̭̳͙̬̪̖̠̟͂̕A̴̡̡̢̢̼̠̥̥͎̪̺̣̻̖͇͚̦̹̭̿̏̉̒ɘ̵̜̦̲͇̲̺̬̲̈̓̈́̇̈́͛͌̋͋̃̽̈͂̚̚͜͝͠l̵̨̥̫̻̻̥̦̩̰̗̯̙̱͙̻̑̾̉̓͐̊́̃̾́̈́̆͒̈́̀̚͠͝͝ꟼ̷̧̛̛̘̥͎̟͙͉͚̥̰̱͉̙͓͔̻̳̼͍̦̬̤͓͙̘͕̪̺̘̥̜͙̺͖͐͑̐̅̒̽̔̈̐͐̿͘͜͠—

“Can we JUST —!” Donnie’s mouth slammed shut and his teeth ground together. Shame threated to boil over and overtake him entirely. He took a sharp breath and his hands twitched at his sides. He was shaking.

He took another breath, forcing it to go long and deep. 

“Can we just…” His voice crumbled, losing revsolve. But still it was angry, hard and trembling. (He couldn’t—why can’t he just—)

  “...can we just go…” 

His brothers exchanged looks. Glances. Stupid fucking glances—

“Yeah…yeah we go,” Mikey said from his bowl, somehow fitting inside it. (It didn’t make any sense. Didn’t make any fucking sense. That’s not how mass distributed itself, that’s not how—) 

Leo fanned himself lightly, trying to discrete about it, candy blue flames licking up his neck and curling like a thorned crown off of his scalp. He looked a little guilty about it too. (Or was he guilty about something else?) 

“Great!” Donnie’s hands twitched, his eyes stung and his chest heaved. “Just—” Donnie choked on something wet and thick and he jammed his finger over the bay door opening button. It opened with a ‘ fhswwsshhshhh’ and Donnie clenched his fists until they went white. 

“... Let’s just get this over with,” 

—||—

The fight was brutal. There was blood on Donnie’s hands. 

Meatsweats wasn’t dead but he would probably have to eat his meals out of a straw for the next nine months. Maybe some physical therapy for another six to eight. If his insurance would even cover it. (If he still had it. If he still even qualified as human. ) 

The antidote tasted incredible. Slightly sweet, mellow and perfectly even on his tongue. The texture was heavenly. Creamy, smooth and coated his tongue like velveeta chocolate. There was a fruity aftertaste, with just the right amount of tangy zing . 

Delicious. 

And Donnie couldn’t taste a single bit of it.

Chapter Text

The car ride was quiet. 

Tires over pavement, gravel, the odd sidewalk. Minimal bumps, just like it's supposed to. A safety belt came over Donnie’s chest, tight and snug. Just like it's supposed to. He was breathing slowly, forehead resting against the cool, ballistic glass of the window. Breath clouding the glass with perspiration and forehead going bump-bump with every sidewalk the Turtle Tank rolled over. Just like he suspected it would. Just like it should. 

He had a headache. That wasn’t surprising. 

Soft, jazzy white noise filled the air and Donnie felt sick.

Nauseous, scared, belligerent, angry, confused. Sick.  

It curled under his ribcage and threatened to spill over. He was dully aware that he was shaking. Tears of unnamed emotion put a terrible pressure behind his eyes and he was cold with sweat. He was cold and he gripped the hoodie around him tighter. Shaking. 

Donnie breathed and the glass clouded over. His head going bump-bump. 

“Hey… so uh… I know you just want us to leave you alone and whatnot, but I don’t think the more… chaotic ones’ll do that and the rest don’t wanna leave you alone with them, so. If there’s anything we can do to help when you’re feeling disconnected or overwhelmed or anything just say the word. I know I’m not always particularly helpful myself but… you’re self destructing. It kinda sucks seeing you like this tbh.”

Donnie screwed his eyes shut. His stomach rolled and his mouth tasted paint bitter. Astringent. 

He shouldn’t be feeling sick. The antidote was in his system, it had fixed everything. It had fixed his brothers. Mikey’s bones. Leo’s perspiration. His stomach…

A hand went over his lower plastron and pressed, soft fabric disturbed and Donnie swallowed down the astringency and the animalistic sound that crawled up his throat. His head went bump-bump and the headache got worse. 

The music was soft and jazzy and Donnie felt like his ears were bleeding. 

—||—

Raph parked roughly but didn’t turn off the Turtle Tank.

Donnie fumbled with his seat belt. 

“Donnie stop,” Raph said, his voice firm and neutral. 

Donnie froze. 

“OOOOOOOO, you’re in so much troubleeeeeeeeee!”

(Donnie twitched but didn’t do anything else.)

“I need to talk to you,” Raph turned to Mikey and Leo, his expression difficult to place. Though Donnie couldn’t see it all that well from where he was sitting. “Mikey, Leo. Why don’t you find Pops….it's a time so-uh—so I’m sure he’s watching TV or somethin’,” 

Leo and Mikey exchanged glances. 

“Um…Raph I—” Mikey cut himself off, conflicted. He started up again. “We…we can all talk about it,” 

Raph grimaced. “I’d just…uh—I-I wanna talk to Dee about it. Alone, sorry big man,” 

Mikey faltered. He was subdued, the brightness dulled and he never dared to glance in Donnie’s direction. 

Donnie’s stomach curled. He couldn’t help but think this was his fault. His fault.

“...I..” 

“Come on Mikey, I bet Dad’ll be willing to let us use the projector if we give him those cookies you’ve been saving,” Leo said, something fake in his tone. Plastic and just like Mikey: dull. 

His fault. 

“B-but those were for—” Mikey glanced at Donnie once. 

What?

“It’ll be okay. We’ll see Donnie and Raph in a little bit, right?” Leo looked at Raph. A thousand expressions and words in that single gaze. 

Raph nodded. “Yeah. Everything’s fine Mikes,” 

Mikey looked sad. So sad but he let himself be dragged by the elbow out of the Tank, Leo talking the whole way. Plastic and dull. His fault. 

Raph waited a too long while to start talking. 

Donnie ached. Donnie felt sick. Donnie was tired. 

“Donnie…we…gotta talk about that,” Raph looked away for a moment before looking back, his gaze heavy. 

“...I don’t see what there’s to talk about,” Donnie said cooly, quietly and most of all. Monotonously. He wasn’t sure he could sound any different. 

Raph’s face twitched, complex and unhappy. “Donnie…you almost killed someone,” 

He…

He did, didn’t he? He thought about it but only barely. Meatsweats hardly resembled something that could be admitted to the hospital in the first place. There was blood everywhere. On his hands, on his Bo, in his mouth—

“And-and sure he’s a villain. A bad guy—I get that but–but you can’t just…just do that,” Raph frowned deeply. “I know you joke about goin’ lethal and all that but…” Raph broke off, a frustrated huff spilling out. If he breathed on the window it would cloud over and Donnie’s head would go bump-bump. 

Donnie blinked slowly, his stomach twisting itself into knots. He felt…bad. For what he did? How he made his brother feel? How he went about? He wasn’t sure. It might’ve been all of them. It might’ve been none of them. But regardless of which one it was he still didn’t know.

“You hurt someone, Don. Real bad—that’s…” Raph struggled with words, eyes sad and maybe even scared. “That’s not good. Hurtin’ someone like that…that’s not good and I…” 

Crashing salt and crushing static. Donnie was drowning. 

"Hey, beating bad guys to a pulp is a classic sign of a series getting darker with age! Just look at what happened over the course of the 2012 series--one of the heroes ended up beheading the Big Bad,” 

(...2012 series? 

Donnie made a note of it. Even if he didn’t understand it.) 

Donnie fiddled with his hoodie tassels. His mind slipping on loose oil and black, star speckled water and he couldn’t find the mop or the wet floor sign. He was stuck. 

“I’m worried Don. I’m worried about you and what you’re doin’ and how you’re doin’ and, and—just…” Raph closed his eyes, breathed in. He held for a count of three before letting it out, his eyes opening as his lung exhaled used oxygen and carbon dioxide. His eyes were heavy and sad and Donnie felt sick. “I’m worried,” 

He looked at Donnie for a long time. Donnie wanted to claw his skin off. 

“Maybe the experience of putting someone into a coma will be enough to make our Donnie-luv consider who he wants to be and how he wants to be remembered by future generations.”

..who he wants to be? He didn’t…

…

Raph was still looking at him. He was being serious and Donnie felt bad for handling it so poorly. Handling the situation poorly. (Which situation? He…he didn’t know. All of them? Maybe? Why was he so bad at this?) 

“I…I wanna know what’s going on in that head of yours. I know this mystic mumbo jumbo hearing voices stuff’s probably really hard for you but…but I wanna understand it,” 

Raph was looking at him. Serious and earnest and scared. Worried. Maybe even worried for Donnie, like he said. 

Donnie’s teeth nipped at the skin of lips. It…it was hard. So hard—he…

“ Make a note of it as something to think about after you've managed to put up a firewall between your brain and us chattering multitudes,” 

“...I…” Donnie faltered and bit until he tasted blood and then continued to bite harder. He scratched at his cuticles and nail bed and his head swam with too many things. Too many thoughts and too many voices that weren’t him. 

“...Donnie? Please, Raph just…wants to know why and how and—and what I can do,” 

It was awkward. It was fumbling but it was honestly. So honest that Donnie felt ill equipped, ill tempered and ill mannered to deal with it. To truly take it in its entirely and love it for what it was. Care. Love. Good. Hope. 

Donnie felt sick. Donnie felt like crying. His gut twisted, his eyes stung and there was terrible pressure in the back of his throat. Thick and unbecoming.

But at the same time…a part of him felt…

…weirdly…empty. Like someone had scooped out all his feelings and he was stuck with the dregs at the bottom of the barrel. He felt raw. Exposed. Wrong.  

Some part of him felt wrong. 

But most of all, out of everything he was feeling, out of everything he could be feeling.

 Donnie felt drained. He just wanted it to stop, he wanted—

“ Donnie dear—do you want to be remembered as the genius who created the first totally-automated banana farm on Mars, or do you want your name forever connected to some loser you killed in a fit of rage at the age of fourteen?"

…

Donnie took a deep breath, his eyes stinging and his gut twisted in stressful, painful, horrible, pricklingly numb and depressed knots. He looked up at Raph. Up into his earnest, worried, honest eyes and opened his mouth, tongue coated in his own blood and something that tasted too bitter to be natural. 

Donnie talked. A decision that he still didn’t understand. 

“...okay,” 

Raph paused and then lit up, still a little confused but happy nonetheless. “O-oh? That’s—uh—that’s good. Um—yeah. Yeah that uh…” Raph fumbled off and blushed as much as a turtle could. “That’s—er, sorry Dee. You..uh…yeah,” He finished pathetically. Looking a little more than a little embarrassed but still. Happy. 

Donnie closed his eyes for a moment, breathed in, held it and slowly let it out. His stomach twisted and Donnie wanted to bury his head into something soft. 

“...I’m going to talk,” Donnie said slowly, like cold syrup. He wanted to get it out without it getting clogged in his throat. “And if you can hold your questions till after…that would be…best,” 

Raph was already nodding. “Yeah–yeah, totally Dee, I’m here for you,” 

Donnie tried for a smile but it fell as soon as it came. He took another deep breath, glancing off to the side. 

“I don’t…know a lot about it. I probably know around the same amount as you,” He didn’t like that. Nothing was helping but that didn’t help more than everything else. “But I’m….” Donnie paused. 

He paused for a long time, brows furrowed and messing with the cuffs of his hoodie. He was saying it, he was actually saying it. It felt real. So, so much more real than before. 

"Banana.🍌” 

Donnie paused for an entirely different reason—the very concept of Banana imprinting on his brain. He blinked and shook it off and continued. 

He…

“...I’m hearing voices, Raphael. Draxum talked about it but…I don’t think he…explained it very well,” Donnie wasn’t sure if he was going to explain it well either but the explanation Draxum gave…a Universal Shatter Point? It was scientific, named, researched not…

…experienced. 

Raph opened his mouth, then realized what he was going to do and shut his mouth again. 

Donnie appreciated it. 

“It's…” Loud, scary, enormous, eldritch, unknown, fascinating, interesting, corrosive, threatening, terrifyingly brilliant. “...a lot…” 

“I don’t…know what they’re talking about sometimes…the uh—ah..the voices,” Donnie was staring at some point into his lap. “They can… make me feel things,” 

Donnie didn’t look up but if he did he’d see Raph’s expression, growing in concern and lingering but approaching horror. 

Donnie opened his mouth but no sound came out. Nobody told him it would be this hard, why was it—

He pushed anyway. 

“I don’t…know where it comes from but it…comes and…and I can’t stop it,” He remembered smooth cucumber and sharp cinnamon. He remembered rotting fish and thick blood. He remembered the scrunch of beetles between too many teeth and the sensation of warmth from entirely outside of himself. 

He glanced up once and cringed away from Raph's expression. Worried, concerned, scared, curious, confused. Donnie tried again. “So…sometimes I’ll smell flowers or cucumbers or…” 

Rotting fish and indescribable bad. 

“...or other things,” 

Raph held himself closed and yet his shoulders were open. Donnie had to wonder what that meant. He was never the best at body language. 

“Sometimes there so loud that…I can’t hear people or anything else but the voices,” 

“Hey Don! Man, you've been through it, huh? All the voices talking about murder and pain... just so you know, we call those guys "The Chaos". They're the voices that want bad stuff for you- but don't worry. They're not allowed to cause any serious damage. Us voices like to think we're so strong, but we gotta follow the rules of this place, just like you do!” 

Donnie paused. The Chaos? That…that oddly fit. (Though it did feel a bit reductive.) 

(And rules? Surely those were the rules of the universe? Newton’s Laws, ect?) 

“Anyway, a word of advice? You're not insane yet, but you will be, if you keep letting The Chaos get to you,” 

Donnie’s cuff fiddling stopped. His attention snatched up by something that felt like a sound and smelt like a feeling. 

“I say if you wanna keep it together, have some fun! I know that sounds impossible with the voices and all, but it might be the best way to cope with The Chaos and their blabbing,” 

“..onnie? They’re uh—talking right? Do you, do you need something or—”  

“Relax, go with the flow, and do what you want! Know that in a way, you have more power than any of us, Chaos or Order. And hey- if all else fails, and you have a mental break, at least TRY to make it entertaining. What do you think we're here for?”

…that was…oddly reassuring. To be told he had more power then he thought he did. 

(...what…were they here for? Weren’t they just a product of the crystal exploding and turning him into a nexus of misfortune?) 

“Ooo, the Chaos and the Order? That sounds so sci-fi! I can’t decide which team I’ll be on, so I’ll probably just go with the latter. Good luck dealing with…all of this, Donnie! You’ve got this! :>”

“—should, should I leave or—” 

(...it was good to have names to things. Chaos and Order? It made a morbid amount of sense. It seems he had a strange Lovecraftian Nightmarish ecosystem floating around in Hammerspace. 

  It was…funny. If he wanted to think of it that way.) 

"Yeah, crazy stuff, right? That's what people here identify with, but personally, I don't like those labels. I'm just here to help keep the story going, and maybe have some fun for myself in the process :)"

Maybe—

A hand brushed his knee and Donnie shot back into body.

“Ah–geez—sorry Donnie—I just—” 

“It’s…” Donnie swallowed and blinked, fog lifting from his thoughts. “It’s…fine. What…what were we talking about…?” He looked away, embarrassment crawling up his neck. 

Raph pursed his lips, frowning. “We…we were talkin’ how…how the voices affect you, does…does that happen a lot?” 

“What?” Donnie asked, the question was so vague a million and one answers immediately came to mind, regardless of relevancy. 

“The uh…” Raph worked through something in his head, hands moving slowly along with his thoughts. “The…spacing out…when they—the voices—talk…does it…make it hard to..pay attention?” It looked like Raph already knew the answer. 

Donnie inhaled, embarrassment crawling up further. “...yes,” He shamefully admitted. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like to admit that the voices—the Chaos and Order—affected him in such a visceral and tangible way. (Was there a way to mitigate those effects?) 

“OOO OOO! What if we become the Rebellion? The ones who refuse to stick to one side of the moral spectrum? >:D”

…Donnie didn’t like that he was getting used to ‘hearing’ emoticons. It felt unnatural. 

“...oh, um,” It was obvious that Raph didn’t know what to do with that information. 

“ Actually, there IS a side who refuses to stick to one moral side. They called themselves The Neutrals. But honestly? The Rebellion sounds SO MUCH COOLER! I vote we change the name to The Rebellion.” 

“I SECOND TO THAT! ♫♫AaaAaaNnddD♫♫ you know what they say; Viva la revolukyuón! oh wait, no, I meant 'Viva la revolución!'—It's still in the same context, right?” 

“I’m…guessing plugging your ears doesn’t help,” 

Donnie forced himself to breathe and he tried to focus on a scratch on the tip of Raph’s plastron. 

“...no,” 

“...oh…erm…” Raph frowned deeper, eyes going up to think. “You think there’s…mystic headphones or somethin’?” 

“ I mean…’the rebellion’ certainly sounds cool, but people who refuse to stick to a side are more flip floppy. ‘Neutrals’ are people who don't make a negative or positive impact. They exist and interact, but they don't make a difference for good or for bad. People who flip back and forth are a fourth category called the ‘Fickle’.”

“I…maybe,” That would actually be…quite useful. If..such an item existed. 

("Hey Donnie, if your headset can read your thoughts for commands does that mean the voices can use your BattleShell?"

…Donnie hoped not. It didn’t…sound realistic. Mystics were…different, right? At least Donnie thought them to be.) 

Raph continued to frown but nodded. He paused and then looked at Donnie. 

“ If you think about it, switching sides is still more chaotic than not, but like a subcategory one, i like to imagine it like an RPG where the mercenary or spy that works for themselves and can choose to change the tides of a game for their own desires (a wild card of sorts),” 

“Well,” Raph started, looking a little happier than before. A slight smile on his face. “If you don’t hear somethin’, Raph won’t get mad if he’s gotta repeat himself,” He nodded. 

The corner’s of Donnie’s mouth twitched upward and some of the knots in his gut unraveled themselves and he felt a little warmer. It…felt good to have someone be willing to do that for him. (Even though another, more bitter part of him didn’t believe it.) 

“I…thank you Raph,” Donnie was looking down again but it was for a better reason this time. “I’ll try to…pay attention,” 

“If you can’t, you don’t gotta Dee. Raph won’t get mad. Promise,” He shot Donnie another smile and Donnie couldn’t help but nod slowly. 

This felt nice. 

“...okay,” 

“And…you can’t control it right?” Raph asked, contemplative. 

Donnie’s fingers twitched and he nodded. 

“Got it,” Raph thought about something. “Well then…it shouldn’t be something to get mad over—cause you can’t control it and you can’t stop ‘em right?” 

Donnie frowned. He felt like he should but…

Donnie nodded slowly. 

“ Oooooooooooh, I like how "Fickle" sounds! That's me! Agent of chaos and sometimes here to help!”

“:3,” 

(Why did that sound like a normal word now? How did that happen? Why…why did he feel like he could…pronounce it?)

"A name for the ones who can't make up their minds—the Mugwumps. Anyone who just wants to sit by and do running commentary is a member of the Peanut Gallery if under the age of 35, and either Statler or Waldorf if 36 and up. Oh, and there is a song that uses the word 'Mugwump', and it's currently playing in my head.”

…right. That…made sense. 

Raph was still nodding. “So—uh—yeah! Can’t get mad if its outta your control or—well, can’t get mad at you,” 

Donnie couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. He…felt better. Despite everything going on..up there—he…

It felt good to talk. 

It gave him a sense of control he’d been sorely lacking. 

They talked a little longer and eventually they went back inside. Donnie stepped out of the tank with a thump-thump, but with concrete floor instead of ballistic glass and his feet instead of his temple. 

—||—

"You should talk to them about the whole ‘coughing up stardust paint’ thing. It's kinda concerning."

…oh. Um…hm. 

He…he doesn’t know how he forgot about that one.

Chapter Text

“Hey,” 

Donnie stopped and turned. Raph was looking at him, still worried but still so earnest.

Donnie paused and his eyes didn’t know what to look. Raph? The floor? That one nick in the Turtle Tank’s doorway? Donnie didn’t know.

Raph tried for a smile and Donnie followed suit after a second. (He felt that Raph had better luck in that endeavor.) 

“I’m…really happy you talked to me,” Raph said, eyes soft. “And uh…if you’ve got anything you wanna talk about—I’m always open,” 

Donnie breathed slowly and nodded after a hesitant moment. “..alright,” 

Donnie turned to leave but Raph stopped him again. 

“And Dee?” 

There was a nervous energy in his gut, worried about what Raph might say. “Yes…Raph?” 

Raph’s brows furrowed and he adopted a serious expression, eyes going to the side for a moment before going back to Donnie. Donnie wanted to look away too. He didn’t. 

“We…we still gotta talk about…about the hurtin’ MeatSweats thing,” 

…oh. 

Donnie breathed more forcefully, he could feel his pulse behind his eyes. (Was that normal?) 

“I—” Donnie didn’t want to, not now, not when he was finally feeling good for once—

“But…” Raph paused and Donnie couldn’t help but hang on every word. “Not…not now,” 

Donnie almost melted with relief. “..really?” He asked, like he couldn’t actually believe it. Because he sort of couldn’t.

Raph nodded. “We already talked and-and I’m..uh…just…” He thought about something for a beat and looked at Donnie with grave, telling eyes. “Just promise you won’t do that again,” 

Donnie froze, he’s not even sure if he blinked. That…Donnie wasn’t sure if could promise something like that. He wanted to but the desperation and rage and panic and—

It curled inside him and rot. He wasn’t sure he could stop something like that. But…but he wanted to. He wanted to be able to promise Raph that he’d try. (Even though some of the rules seemed a bit arbitrary.) 

So..Donnie nodded and Raph immediately looked much too pleased. Donnie, in time with Raph’s glowing expression, immediately felt bad for…lying? Was he…lying? He didn’t…

“Thanks Dee, I really appreciate you for trying,” 

Donnie nodded and Raph said something about a shower. Donnie watched him leave, good mood slowly getting crushed under the guilt of promising something he felt like he couldn’t keep. A heavy boot crushing the brittle bones of a snake. 

Donnie…

Donnie forced himself to breath and walked in the opposite direction of Raph, feeling the blood in his mouth and staining the hoodie he was wearing. 

…

His mouth tasted bitter.

—||—

Donnie found himself in the kitchen again, rooting through the fridge. The voices still rambling somewhere inside his skull. He remembered how he walked here but at the same time he didn’t think about it. Why would he? He was just walking. 

“What do you call a useful plank of wood? Adorable :D”

They’d been telling jokes the past couple minutes. He’d complain but…

Donnie shoved a celery stick in mouth and chewed. 

(Donnie stomach rumbled at him, groaning and complaining and being a general nuisance. 

Well at least it wasn’t alive anymore. At least that part of him was normal again.) 

“What do you call a fake noodle?…An impasta.”

Donnie ate more celery and found carrot sticks instead. He ate those too. 

(Yum.)

A voice, a familiar one that Donnie had begun to associate with good things, choked on what could only be assumed to be a glass of water. 

“Ohmigoodness I love that! I've never heard that joke before XD I'm going to have to tell it to whatever friend I see next :)” 

It…was good that the voices had friends? 

Donnie ate more carrots.

"Why did the plant buy a camera?... To do a photo-synthesis!” 

…that was really bad. Donnie ate more carrots and found a tomato. He thought about it and decided it too, would meet the same acid based death as every other vegetable he found. (Yes he preferred meat but…not now. He…) 

(And also yes he knew that technically a tomato was scientifically and botanically a fruit but in the culinary setting it was a vegetable and eating was technically culinary?) 

“That one was so good that I hate and love it at the same time. ” 

Donnie huffed, mildly amused. He ate more miscellaneous items and the voices kept telling jokes. 

—||—

The guilt eating away at him slowly turned to something else. It burned hotter and soon Donnie’s hands were shaking. Stomach filled and his mind clear from drinking cold water kept in the fridge—Donnie was mad. 

It was almost spite filled. 

The voices wanted things from him. They wanted him to hurt, they wanted him to hurt others. They watched him and wouldn’t leave. 

Filled him with sensations that had no basis in reality and yet they felt as real as a sensation could be. They talked and talked and talked—

It was exceedingly difficult to focus on anything else, sure it was getting easier to continue what he was doing and not get swept away in the Static—something in him acclimating to the madness that crawled and skittered and bit at his fraying thoughts and stability and normal. 

But he still—

He couldn’t control it, he—

Donnie needed control. He needed control like he needed to breathe. 

And there were things he could do. Easy things. Things he understood and practiced and had near immediate results. Simple things. Everyday things. Things he could control. 

So…Donnie set out to do those things. 

Craving control and something real. Donnie set out to shower with a vengeance. 

—||—

Donnie showered. He scrubbed violently and turned the water so hot it must’ve been a safety hazard. Suds went everywhere and Donnie was careful around his shell. (He always was.) 

Down his legs and between his toes and the underside of his feet. Hands, neck, plastron, arms, palms. Anything that could be cleaned was cleaned. 

"Hey DeeDee, can you post the blueprints and programming code for S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. somewhere public?”

Donnie paused. What? 

 “At least the A.I. that made him into a helpful little cleanup bot? My place is a disaster and I suck at making myself do housekeeping chores. I don't need the programming that gave him teenage attitude problems, just the cleaning routines! 😁 Oh, and maybe some plumbing-repair routines..."

…no. He would never do that. That was a security risk and violation of S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N’s right to privacy. It was basically the same as posting naked pictures of yourself on the internet. He wouldn’t do that to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. 

And besides. The value of the information in question couldn’t be adequately quantified within the parameters of the voices themselves. As far as he knew they didn’t have access to the internet, the Cloud or any other public and accessible domain. So…it was an inappropriate and moot request. 

Donnie mumbled as such under his breath and scrubbed harder, water unbearably hot and skin scrubbed raw. He felt clean. 

(All the blood was gone.) 

“I can just hear the big and elaborate way he will say no,” 

…and?

Donnie unceremoniously tossed the loofa to the pooling and draining ceramic shower floor and stood stock still. Letting the water rinse the soap suds off. 

(He didn’t have time to worry and panic about the voices watching him shower. At this point it was given. 

…

…at least they hadn’t said anything…weird yet. Donnie could be grateful for that.) 

"Party pooper. How about I trade you my knowledge of crochet? Or making muscadine vine baskets? Or raising silkworms?"

…tempting but…

“..no, while I…appreciate the offer, I will have to decline. The information you’re offering is easily accessible through independent means, rendering this trade both unnecessary and unjustifiable,"

Words came in and words came out. Vocabulary picked up and used with ease. 

Donnie picked up a texturally adequate washcloth and began to ensure all the soap was well and truly gone. 

"Hmmm--then how about some casserole recipes?"

Donnie wished there was something to stare blankly at. Donnie carefully worked at his shell, mindful of his strokes. 

"And I don't have to understand what he says or anything he releases to the public—not right away, anyway! Figuring out how to read the blueprints and make sense of the programming code gives me an excuse to avoid housekeeping for however long it takes me to learn robotics! That said, I'm up for shortcuts—we can sort of read his mind, right?” 

Donnie froze, eyes going wide. They what?

(Hot water ran down his arms and pooled under feet and gurgled down the drain. Water would drip into his eyes but Donnie was unaffected. Third eyelid doing its job.

Steam curled along the ceiling and Donnie was grateful he set up a situation where it would be almost impossible to run out of hot water.

He was glad he didn’t have to pay bills. That would just be a pain.) 

But.. they…?

“Can we borrow his brain and copy-paste his memory and skills, or do we have to wait for him to think about something consciously?"

Donnie’s mouth opened and closed and his chest was a little too tight. Donnie screwed his eyes shut and breathed. 

No. No he was not going to have an existential crisis in the shower. Nor was he going to have another one ever. He’d had too many in the last few days. Sufficient enough for a lifetime. 

Donnie opened his eyes, spite licking up the sides of his ribs again. 

Donnie finished his shower. 

"Woah now, don't tell him we can read his mind! It's the only place he can feel safe!"

Donnie turned off the water, glancing once to see the water draining slowly. He stepped out onto the stone mat and grabbed a towel. Soft and more than texturally adequate. 

"Yeah, he for sure isn't safe most of the time.." "Don't worry D, you will get used to it! you can do it, i'm rooting for you! :3"

…

(...thank you.) 

Donnie dried himself off. Legs, arms, hands, feet, chest. He’d done this a million times before. (He could control it and he could do it.) 

"We can always try!"

Donnie finished and wrapped the towel around his waist. 

He went to his room. 

—||—

“Yo Donnie, do you wanna hear some silly future things to lift your spirits?”

Donnie didn’t have anything to lose, so he ended up shrugging and mumbling a sort of yes. 

“They’re gonna end up making a Shrek 5. Oh, and they made a sequel to Moana! Though Moana 2 does not seem to be doing well review-wise. You know what did, though?” 

“Inside Out 2! Yep, they made a sequel. They also did another Puss In Boots movie, which was ABSOLUTELY AMAZING!!! Too bad there aren’t as many original animated movies as of late. I guess companies are really greedy with their cash grabs nowadays- I mean future days.”

…

Donnie didn’t recognize any of those movies. 

(...and yes corporations tended to follow the market and previously establish IPs. That’s why there were so many Lou Jitsu movies. They made a lot of money.

And the target demographic, teenage girls mostly and martial arts inspired adults sometimes, paid a lot of money to see them.

It made sense.

That didn’t mean it was fair though.) 

—||—

Donnie carefully looked through his clothes, everything folded and in its proper place. 

He was…cold and the extra coverage sounded…nice. 

He ended up in a pair of pale, gray-black, beige cargo pants, a white shirt and an oversized lavender zip up jacket. The jacket itself had a mild Tetris-like print covering the entirety of it and the closer the blocks got to the hem and cuffs of the jacket the darker purple the blocky silhouettes became and the more they were accented with a silver thread that caught pleasantly in the light. 

The zipper was dull matt and the tassels were thin, dense rope that ended long and with a faux silver bar acting as the aglet. Heavy and quite serviceable as a fidget. 

Donnie found a nice pair of mug brown boots to go along with it. (He’d fished them out at the back of a department store. There were strange iridescent gray splatters and trails along the bottoms and peppered high up the boot. Like liquid aluminum or melted wire but dried and stuck firmly. He wasn’t sure where the splatters and trails came from but he honestly forgot about them for a while.

 Donnie was going to clean them off but he never got around to it. And now…

Well…it didn’t seem like that big of a deal.) 

The outfit was soft and extremely comfortable. And now he had pockets! (Donnie liked pockets.) 

And of course he had a clean mask (fresh sharpie eyebrows. He wasn’t an animal ) and his new goggles outfitted on as well. He wasn’t sure if he could do without the familiar fabric or comforting weight. 

He looked once at his BattleShell, he’d brought it back in at some point but he couldn’t exactly remember when, and turned away instead of trying to put it on again. 

He looked down at himself and nodded. Yeah…this…this felt a lot more comfortable than his BattleShell at the moment. (Which was something he was ignoring.) 

Donnie looked around his room. Miniature projects, the little collectables he was comfortable keeping, spare tools, memorabilia collected over the years, blankets and pillows and clothes.

Hm. 

Donnie began tidying up his room, the weighted aglets swinging gently as he moved. 

Salt water static and buzzing white noise. Donnie found he wasn’t drowning. 

“I enjoyed hearing about your BattleShell, Donatello. It’s very apparent that you have a deep passion and understanding of technology. It’s very admirable, and I always love hearing people talk about what they love,”  

Donnie breathed and picked up a screwdriver and put it where it was supposed to be. 

(...he did have a deep passion for it. He liked it so much and always itched to be doing something and..

..

He liked it a lot. He always had and hopefully he always would.) 

“Most mechanics and programming are beyond my understanding, but I have a similar fascination with biology. If you ever want to talk to someone, or have them talk to you, I’d be happy to chat about our respective interests. Perhaps it can serve as a distraction, if needed? I’ve heard you like botany, and I’d love to talk about it with you, regardless.”

Donnie only paused for a second before continuing his dutiful cleaning. That went there, this went here…

(He did like botany. He’d always had an interest, while it wasn’t as ravenous and all consuming as his love for technology and pushing any boundary he could, he still enjoyed it from time to time. He grew a batch of bell-peppers a few years back. It ended terribly and he kept trying until he figured out the secret. 

Twelve to sixteen hours of high quality, artificial sunlight, 70-85°F during the day and 60-70°F during the night, low-nitrogen fertilizer blends, manual pollination—you had to be extra careful with that one—and finally: gently pruning and snipping any peppers that crowded any others or if the pepper got too top heavy. 

Of course there was more to it and each plant was different but that was the general idea and strategy. Each plant had different circumstances and as much as Donnie prided himself on sticking to an exact schedule sometimes he missed on the dot watering. 

But…yes. He liked botany.) 

Donnie finished the far half and started on the other half, scooping up blankets and miscellaneous with his boot tip if he could and gently kicking them in the air for his hands to catch and sort away. 

“I agree! Oh Donnie, I’ve got an idea too! If you tell us what kinds of things you’re interested in, we can tell you some fun and obscure facts as a break from the constant torment. It’ll be like reading a book or googling or something! :D”

Hm. That sounded…interesting enough. 

"Yeah! Did you know Australia is wider than the moon? Oh, and in medieval times, pineapples were like, 200-700 dollars, so people used to bloody RENT PINEAPPLES to use as decoration at classy events!”

..hm. That..was not something he knew about. (But he did know about the Australia and moon comparison. Still, very interesting.)

“...Imagine how expensive pineapple pie must have been. Or Hawaiian pizza! And somewhere in the 19th century, there were only TWO CARS in the ENTIRE state of Ohio, and they STILL managed to crash into each other! Thats crazy, man."

…

…huh. 

(Donnie finished the other side quickly and began to gather up clothes to start a wash. He had to do something with his hands.)

(Spite still licked like liquid nitrogen and chrome fire up the sides of his ribcage and Donnie still craved a sense of control. He felt better but he still needed…) 

"Love the idea of just talking about random facts! mmm! i know some, did you know that coconut water can be used, in emergencies, to replace blood plasma? In the war people would sometimes use it! When the alternative was the only option available. Fish skin is useful to treat burns!” 

“You should probably sterilize it before using though…It acts like a protective barrier, has nutrients to help the cells hydrate, properties that kill bacteria and is a natural anti-inflammatory. Hope u find it useful!” The voice laughs through a partly closed mouth. Very similar to blowing a raspberry. “:3,” 

…it still bothered him that emoticons sounded normal now. Just like any other word or consonant. (He was morbidly curious. Could he say it, could…?)

Donnie roughly tossed clothes into the bin and kicked up pairs of socks. Since when were there so many clothes on his floor? Donnie always made sure his room was meticulous. How could he have let it get this out of hand?

“Thank you! I'll make sure to keep the fish skin thing in mind when my next lava diving Thursday rolls around <3,”

…was..that a heart? 

…

Regardless…

Donnie picked up the last article and shoved it on top. He picked up the bin, about half way full, and started out of his room.

"Lava diving?” The voice paused but started again, sounding interested. "sounds fun :3"

“Lava diving…” A voice mumbled.

Donnie got the distinct impression the voice was…staring at another voice. Dead eyed and serious. 

He turned the corner and was grateful nobody was using the washer. 

“Who can last the longest in a lava pit?” 

(˙ʎlǝɹᴉʇuǝ dn ʇᴉ sʍollɐʍs ʇᴉ ǝɹoɟǝq ʞɔɐlq ʇǝdɹɐɔ ǝɥʇ slɹnɔ puɐ ǝɹǝɥʍou ɯoɹɟ dn sǝlqqnq ɐʌɐ˥ ˙ɹǝɯɯᴉɥs ʇᴉ sǝʞɐɯ puɐ ɹᴉɐ ǝɥʇ sǝʞɐq ʇɐǝɥ 'ǝɹǝɥʍoN puɐ dǝǝp 'ǝɹǝɥʍǝɯoS

˙pǝɯɹɐɥun ǝɹɐ sʍollᴉd llɐ puɐ ʎuɐ ʇnq) 

Donnie’s knees almost buckled and he had to blink. He…

Donnie closed his eyes and waited for the vertigo to pass. He breathed slowly and was struck with the stick around his eyes. He wiped at it and…

…it was more black star paint. 

Donnie swallowed and, after a moment of hesitation, rubbed it off on one of his socks. It was going to get washed anyway. (He made sure his eyes were clear. His sock ended up dirtier than it started out.) 

“they’re heat resistant >:3,” 

̵̼̓˙̵͉̍ʇ̷̮͝ǝ̷̠̿ʎ̷̛͙ ̸͇̄ʇ̵͙̽o̵͚̚N˙ʇᴉ puɐʇsɹǝpun ʎllnɟ ʇ,upᴉp ɟlǝsɯᴉɥ ǝᴉuuop ʇnq ʇnoqɐ ƃuᴉʞlɐʇ sɐʍ ǝɔᴉoʌ ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʍ ʍǝuʞ ǝɥ puᴉɯ s,ǝᴉuuop ɟo ʞɔɐq ǝɥʇ uᴉ ǝɹǝɥʍǝɯoS

Donnie breathed through it and dumped the clothes in the wash, throwing in a scentless detergent after it. 

He closed the lid and set his preferred settings, thumbing the start dial. It took a moment but it whirred to life and water was soon heard from inside. 

"Mira..what have you done?!” Then: “Oh well guess we have a lava pool now :3,” 

(Donnie made note of the name, tucking it away carefully. Who knows when it’ll be useful.) 

“Indeed we do. >;3,” …Mira said, tone fun and mischievous.

Donnie took a moment for a deep breath and took the bin back to his room. 

He paused and stared for a moment. It was clean. The success was immediate and sweet. 

He let himself enjoy it for a minute. 

…

..

.

…

Alright. He had more things to do. 

Donnie turned on his heel and went straight for his lab. 

He had a Bo to clean.

Chapter Text

Donnie paused before he started. 

He stared at his Bo, a weird, disturbed feeling kindling in his stomach at the sight of it. 

It was strange. Looking at the blood that stained the metal and had dried in the crevices. Some of it had flaked off but not nearly enough of it. 

It was a reminder. A message, a whisper. He had hurt someone. 

(He remembered. Donnie remembered how badly he’d hurt the villain. Staring down at slugged and thick red and deep pink organs. Donnie didn’t mean to do it—he didn’t—

He didn’t want to remember. Donnie pushed. He pushed the thoughts away and shoved the memories under. He wouldn’t think about it. He wouldn’t. He didn’t know if he could handle the bile that would come up because of it.)

Donnie had hurt people before. He’s shoved villains into walls and metal beams, not sticking around to hear the strangled grunt or gasp that came after. He’s swung his Bo down, with the force to bruise and the intention to cause external damage that turned internal much too quickly. He’s created compact flash grenades and microbombs, lobbed them at the enemy and snickered when the light strobed the area, shrapnel flew and smoke choked the sky black. 

Donnie had hurt people before. It was a sort of disconnect that came and went. Sometimes it was hard to understand when too much was too much. Donnie always joked about going ‘lethal’. Because usually, it was a joke. Though maybe some part of him subtly agreed that ‘yes, going lethal would be the best in this situation’. 

Donnie never really listened to that part of him. Everyone had intrusive thoughts, didn’t they? 

Donnie slowly turned his Bo over, tracing a line of dried blood, rotating it on the tips of his fingers. His palms cold from the metal. 

“Good job soft shell~ you defeated that mishmash of flesh with ease~ incredible work, =] ” 

Donnie wrinkled his beak as the voice spoke, echoing and all too present. 

He…

A feeling. Strange and prickling, slowly crept along his scalp, almost like soft nails but not quite. It was…soothing. 

Donnie tensed, breath coming in sharp. What was that? 

It felt nice.                             

What—

It was indescribably pleasant. It made his skin break out in shivers and his eyes widened. 

(It made his stomach churn and an anxious root started to grow in the back of his throat. Choking and bitter. Fleshy holes and quivering tears. Donnie didn’t understand where it was coming from. He didn’t— ) 

“Do you see what you can do when you don’t hold back~?” 

Donnie’s fingers twitched. His eyes darted around and his mouth curled. The grip on his Bo tightened and his knuckles went white. It was vile. It was sick, it— 

It felt nice.                                         

Donnie couldn’t help blink rapidly, on hand pried its way away from his Bo and pressed into the fabric that comfortably covered his other arm. He pushed harder and harder and harder—

But it was still there. Under his scales. Crawling on his scalp, creeping down his neck, growing like a weed under his skin.

Donnie wretched his hand away from himself and dropped his Bo in the process, it clattered metal on stone onto the ground and his fingers flexed in and out. He found no relief in the movement.

“That battle shell of yours is incredible~ but it could be so much more if you just change it~ imagine if those arms were blades~ you could cut your enemies down with ease~ you could use it to spray toxic gas~ or have a long ranged option with a machine gun~”

Donnie’s breath hitched and something in his chest shuddered violently. He fumbled with his goggles and hastily set them aside. He didn’t want to break them again. 

He made quick work of his bandana as well, it fell softly but Donnie was already finding anything that was a good enough reflective surface. 

He looked and there was nothing. There was nothing there. 

(His scaleras were off-white, basically mute gray—but he could barely put any attention it because—

Because—)

But he could feel it. He could feel it prickling and skittering and whittling all the way down to his bones. 

He hated it because it

felt good.                                

He—

He wanted to claw his skin off. 

“So why not use your shell to DESTROY all in your path~ to destroy your enemies so they can NEVER harm you or your brothers again~ =]”  

His stomach flipped with a nervous, terrible, horribly sick triad and sweat trailed over his lips. His mouth tasted bitter and something cold but not quite was coating his tongue in thick waves. Donnie swallowed shakily but it didn’t help. 

Donnie stood for a moment, shaking, twitching but unable to do something as it crawled. 

(The words. The words they drilled—) 

"My opinion on that? Badass,"

Donnie shook his head at nothing in particular the sensation sent another wave of unfairly pleasant shivers through him and his breath hitched. Uncomfortable and sick to his stomach. 

It was unnatural, it was—

He—

It felt so good—                                                                                                              

"What? It's true! The guy had it coming, and now he will think two times before attacking you and the others you care for. Plus he won't try to hurt or worse his so called 'prey' for some time now, you just bought time for everyone, a good thing, yes he is seriously hurt but can you say he would have as much mercy as you guys had until now? Would he stop if he caught one of you?"

Donnie breathed in and out, the air his lungs felt hot and he shook his head again. 

The headache that had rescinded started to come back. Pulsing behind his eyes and only making the sick in his stomach worse. 

It didn’t matter what the voice was saying—at this point the White Noise had really become white noise. Background to this horrible—

                   Unbearably pleasant 

                       feeling. 

"No, I don't think so. Things can get heated fast in battle so you make a choice, call it what you want, bad, good, in the end it all leads to results and consequences. Not saying if you should kill him or not,” 

“Only that you think about it this way and make your own decisions. In the end of the day, MeatSweats was defeated and will be incapacitated for longer than usual, pros? cons? always weigh the consequences of the actions, that's all,” 

Donnie was shaking. Something so horrible terrible and—

He swallowed, mouth quivering.

(His mind was dark honey. Thick, messy and unable to go anywhere but downhill. Down, down, down—

Every single word was a fly. Drawn to his mind, only to get stuck when it landed. Trying to free itself only made the situation worse. Made the words stick further.

Donnie was stuck.

He—) 

“Cons: become numb to greater violence, could make you blind to how it affects others or better options,”

Donnie dug his heels into his eyes and his shoulders came up of their own volition. Crept to the ears and shaking. 

“Pros: ensure protection, you are a bigger threat so he will hesitate to engage immediately on battle,”

Donnie tried to breathe and he could taste bitter astringency seeped into his tongue and sweat on his blood cracked lips. 

Deeply, deeply uncomfortable and—

 euphoric.                    

—||—

(Donnie stood for a long time. His legs were shaking but he refused to let gravity take him. 

The feeling faded after 10ish minutes or so but he still stood. Palm heels dug into his eyes and salt stacked static washed over him in droves. 

“Wow. This is... Pretty pathetic.”

Donnie couldn’t help the high pitched keen that shredded its way through his throat. He couldn’t stop trembling if he tried. 

“Oh whoops, just slipped out. I mean can you blame me? You’re so… weak. Look, you just need to improve. In general. Improve your tech, your fighting skills, knowledge.. You’re just.. not good enough,”

 “Here’s an idea! Take some time to be useful! Train in the dojo or improve your tech. Make a training robot so you’re not such a burden. Ignore your brothers, they’re only gonna get in the way. They’ve been conditioned to protect your weakness, now prove they don’t have to cater to your every problem. Improve soft shell. Get. Better,” 

The words were a hot iron. The words were sizzling oil. The words were a grill turned to the highest degree. 

They were hot. 

They burned. 

Donnie was getting burned. 

He—

“Agreed. Grow up, stop whining about your own issues and go help your brothers. For crying out loud, Mikey’s bones were almost stuck as jello forever! You really think that having these quote-unquote ‘mystically-caused’ voices gives you an excuse to be a screw-up? I mean, what if we really ARE hallucinations? What if you imagined that Draxum called you a Shattered-Point? It sounds fantasy enough to be a good excuse.”

Donnie was shaking, teeth grit and knuckles white. Burning.

In place of the uncomfortability bloomed a nasty shade of dark purple and liquid metal. Like blood and chipped teeth and bruises that displayed just how hard someone could hit. Knives and forks and needles shoved under the toenails and kicked into the wall. Nerves sparking and tears clogging your throat. 

He was so mad. 

He was so frustrated.

He was so absolutely, unbelievably pissed. 

It was hot and miserable and he hated it.

Everything was turning on his head. Up was suddenly down. Right was suddenly left. Basic laws of the mind and body didn’t apply anymore. 

(The burning was real.) 

It didn’t matter that this had the possibility to not be real. The anger in his gut was real. 

(It was so real.)

The black Something that dripped like thick paint and bloodied viscera through his grit teeth, down his chin and onto the floor was real. Staining and marked. 

(Nothing had ever felt more real than the burning. In that moment. At that time. Nothing else had ever felt more real.)

The crescent shaped cuts in palms and the pearls of red that welled up were real. 

The sting of pain was real. 

It was real to h̴i̷m̶.̶

It was all real to h̴i̷m̶.̶

D̵o̵n̶n̷i̴e̸ ̶w̷a̷s̸ ̷r̵e̶a̴l̴.̷ ̶

A̶n̵d̶ ̸h̴e̶ ̶w̸o̵u̵l̸d̵n̴'̶t̷ ̵l̵e̵t̴ ̴s̴o̶m̴e̷ ̶v̸o̵i̷c̵e̴ ̵t̵e̵l̷l̴ ̷h̶i̵m̸ ̶o̴t̵h̸e̴r̶w̷i̵s̸e̶.̴)

—||—

Donnie cleaned his Bo and mumbled furious curse words the whole time. 

He grabbed, folded and put away his laundry just as angrily. 

He typed up a new set of security protocols and the base for about fourteen other programs just as angrily.  

He stomped around the lair fixing leaky faucets, squeaky chairs and snagging everybodies phones to do hardware and software updates and putting them back before they noticed. 

He fixed a flickering light bulb. 

He adjusted the sensitivity on the Turtle Tank’s wheel. 

He started running diagnostics for a new body for S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. 

He drew up new blueprints of an improved set of incapacitation tech. He broke seven pencils doing it. 

Donnie worked fueled by rage and the everlasting feeling that he wasn’t enough. 

…

But at least he was real. 

At least he could count on that.

Chapter Text

“Oh, it seems my music hasn't been helping lately, huh Donnie? I'm sorry. I don't decide which of our messages reach you. Still, like a doomed ship, I'll keep broadcasting. Hope these grant you respite soon,”

—||—

“...um, Donnie?” 

Donnie nearly leapt out of his skin, he fumbled with the screwdriver and managed to regain his hold on it. (He was improving their water pressure. While it was spectacular, Donnie wanted it to shoot out so hard he could feel his scales peeling off. 

…why? 

..

No reason.) 

Donnie turned to see Mikey. He was wearing one of his comfort hoodies and a pair of baggy sweatpants, his mask loose and pushed up like a hair scarf or headband bandana. He was drowning in fabric and looked two shades from miserable.

Donnie’s mouth went dry. (There was still chrome black Egyptian choking his insides. A sort of slow cooking burn that turned your flesh wrinkled and pungent red to the touch. He swallowed it down. For Mikey, for Mikey, for Mikey—)

“...hello Michael, what can I,” Donnie faltered but started back up again. Swallowing down hot coals. “What can I help you with?” 

(Music of an upbeat rhythm, light drums and a plucking guitar played whimsically through the space where nobody else could hear. 

But Donnie could.

‘—And though I sleep where the dogs go. The places the drunks roam

Right down by the lifeboats—’

Donnie listened, because there wasn’t much else he could do. 

..though he did appreciate it a lot more than anything else. 

..he…

…he liked the music quite a lot.) 

Mikey stood awkwardly in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot. Donnie had himself up and personal with the piping in the wall. He’d done some light deconstruction work and he’d put the brick and mortar back in and over when he was done with his adjustments.

Mikey glanced around the room awkwardly and eventually his eyes landed on the exposed piping and Donnie’s twitching limbs. (His burning lungs and burning instensines. Donnie swallowed the anger and it stoked. Bitter and resentful. 

Not for Mikey, never for Mikey—) 

His little brother grimaced and looked away. “...I was just going to tell you the water’s off. I was going to make some pasta for dinner but the water wasn’t coming out,” 

“Ah…I see,” Donnie said, no short of awkwardly. 

Mikey didn’t move from the doorway. He stood there, a tad fumbling and waiting. Unsure and…something else. Donnie was starting to feel it whatever it was as well. Creeping up his limbs and wriggling somewhere in his throat. He swallowed deeply, even though it didn’t do much. 

( Donnie shook and his insides were on a low simmer.) 

“..I’ll be done with this soon, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Donnie tried. Trying to be reassuring and trying to keep his voice level.

A voice, familiar in the way its Static rises and falls, hums along with the music. Enjoying itself. 

Mikey was staring at the floor, eyes refusing to drift near Donnie at all. 

The thing in his throat was starting to turn over, going bad. Putrid and black like mold. 

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t…

Did–did he do something? Was…

…

Was this about…MeatSweats? 

(Donnie didn’t like him. He never liked MeatSweats at all. But…Mikey liked him. So they all had to…deal with it. 

It turned the coals in his stomach over and his eyes pulse hot.) 

Donnie sighed silently, gut curling unpleasantly. It was rancid in a way. Fermented fruit left in the bowl. Oily butter past its expiration date. A carton of spoiled milk that turned sour, lumpy and covered in pale, pus colored film. 

Donnie was angry, yes but…not at Mikey. With the way Mikey was looking at him, with his eyes floating around lethargically, his head dipped low and his brows furrowed. Unpleasant thought baked into his expression. Donnie…didn’t know how to feel. 

Donnie looked away, not knowing how to feel. He stared at the exposed the piping. And dared to wonder.

 He—

Mikey sniffed. 

Donnie’s head shot up, alarmed. 

Mikey’s eyes were dangerously wet and he scrubbed at them fruitlessly with the thick fabricked ends of his hoodie. 

Donnie was at a loss. Feeling out of the loop and out of his body. 

Why was Mikey crying, what was—

“Family is the strongest thing in the world~ it holds you in and protects you from outside threats~ but it can become toxic, unhealthy and harmful to those trapped in it~ your family…is in the middle ground I suppose it’s healthy but unstable, it’s unstable yet unbreakable~”

He—

(The thing in his throat was burrowing deeper, rotting faster. Warm and sticky and fuzzy with exposure. It dripped like garbage fluids and Donnie almost gagged on it. 

He didn’t know what to do—

He didn’t—) 

“Mikey what—” 

“Why?” 

Donnie blinked. “What?” 

Mikey’s beak wrinkled horribly and he turned his face to the side, angry and…scared? He wasn’t sure. 

“Why?” Mikey ground out, he turned his head dangerously slow and Donnie was struck with how bright and furious and so sad Mikey’s eyes were. “Why didn’t you talk to us? To me?” 

“I—” 

“If–if it was getting so bad—why-why didn’t you tell me or-or Raph or—or Dad?” Mikey sniffed miserably. “Even Leo would’ve worked!” 

(Donnie felt that maybe he should’ve been offended at that.) 

Donnie didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he ended up pitifully messing with whatever tool was in them.

(Anger was snuffed, not gone, but covered with garbage bags and half-decayed plastics. They would smoke but they would not burn. 

Not yet anyway.

But when they did—it would be impossible to breathe.) 

“It…it wasn’t—” Donnie cut himself off and started again right after. “I…didn’t want to upset you—” 

“Upset me??” Mikey asked through grit teeth, eyes wide and cynical. He scoffed and rolled his eyes for good measure, tears continuing to well up fat and fall at their own accord. “You got so upset you killed MeatSweat!” 

Donnie froze, eyes wide. He… he didn’t though. He thought desperately. He didn’t. 

(Some part of him believed that though. Believed he was dead. A drying and cooling corpse. Dead.) 

“HA! Oh this is gold!! The Box Turtle thinks that he can just come in and be MAD about you trying to kill meat sweats?”

Donnie’s eyes fought to glaze over but he blinked and settled them back on Mikey. Mikey, who was trembling with rage and fear and frustration and sadness and…

Donnie barely understood it. 

“It…no, he’s not dead,” Donnie defended weakly. He looked away but forced his eyes back. The soft shell swallowed. He didn’t know what to do with this. He didn’t know what to do when Mikey was like this. He’d never seen Mikey like this. A defiant curl to his beak. Eyes angry and upset slits. Pupils bright and his eyes wet pools of misery. 

Donnie felt something struggle inside him.

(The garbage was smoking. Thin plastic bags molted and curled liquid vile. More was shoved on. Orange peels and toilet paper and black banana peels and broken tupperware and plastic wrap and used sporks and shredded credit cards. More was shoved onto the coals in Donnie gut and Donnie felt something rotting in the back of his throat.) 

“Hey! Didn’t he try to eat you after putting you on a roasting fire? Bet that wasn’t a sensory nightmare! Oh yeah! And willingly poison countless people with a mystic poison? Maybe we should question why he sees that thing as a role model? Why does he care more about some pig than his own brother? How could he!? He doesn’t understand you! You’ve been hearing voices for the past couple, what? Weeks!? While he does what? Draw all day? Oh woe is him!”

( The song ended.) 

Donnie breathed shakily and hated that he silently agreed with some of it. Truth and lie and manipulation and bitter-sweet water all mixed into a slurry that Donnie was forced to drink. To gag and to choke on. He didn’t understand, it made sense but it—

(...Mikey wasn’t like that…he…) 

But. 

But Mikey paused and stared at Donnie with sudden dead eyes. Donnie felt like something had turned over and died inside him. He… 

“Donnie,” His little brother said coldly. Eyes pools of watery black. “His organs were outside of him,” 

Donnie opened his mouth to defend himself but closed it instead. Because…because yes. The organs were outside of MeatsSweats. 

(He remembered. It was a slip. A particularly hard hit sent MeatSweats through something broken and sharp and suddenly hot organs spilled out like spoiled peaches from the can. They were fleshy and a deep pink. Paleness nowhere to be seen. 

Donnie didn’t know how. It was some sort of cosmic miracle that Raph and Leo didn’t see. Didn’t see what he’d done.

But Mikey…

Mikey was close to where MeatSweats had landed. Flecks of blood speckled his toes and he got a good view of what Donnie had done. The organs that spilled, the gurgle of flesh as it spewed—

How do you fix that? How do you come to terms with what you’ve done and how you probably traumatized your baby brother—

How—) 

“...I know,” Donnie settled on, feeling cold. 

Mikey stared at him. Each second his eyes got wider and angrier and his beak curled more and more. Pressing in a displeased and baffled crescent of overall revoltion. (Or was it just more anger? Donnie couldn’t tell at this point.)

(Smoking, choking black. Foul mold and twice baked apricots left in the sun. Skittering brown red ants and a sweet, cloyingly fetided smell. 

Donnie could feel it in his throat. In was in his lungs and in his stomach and— ) 

Mikey twitched once. “Really—just ‘I know?’. That’s all you have to say for yourself? I know?”  

“I—” Donnie himself twitched, but not once, but twice. His eyebrows creased and he frowned back. “What do you want me to say? I-I not sorry,” He was surprised to say it but he wasn’t. He wasn’t sorry.

“ Not sorry? He’s-he’s dead,” 

Donnie opened his mouth, words on the tip of his tongue but—

Static. Crashing and absolute. 

“My my that box shell is rather rude is he not? He shouldn’t talk to you like that~ and it’s not fair either, that meat abomination has tried to kill you and your brothers so many times~ and especially since that disgusting mishmash of meats had tricked and used the box shell on multiple occasions~ why can’t you just PUSH BACK?”

His vision was going spotty at the edges. A headache was crushing somewhere between his ears and Donnie yanked sharp, fiberglass air in by the lungful. Alveoli shuddering with the pressure.

 Rotten. Decomposing. Moldering. Soggy. Greasy. Sick. 

Donnie shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“MeatSweats tried to eat you, you tried to kill him, sounds like it's even now, yeah?” 

Donnie let everything drop to the floor. They fell and clunked and clanged and clattered and probably cracked the ceramic floor. It was loud and echoed piercingly throughout the bathroom. 

(Mikey’s eyes flinched at the sudden noise.)

Donnie breathed slowly. “He’s not dead,” Donnie ground out. Fists clenching. 

(The garbage was smoking. The garbage was burning.) 

(And he probably was dead.) 

Mikey beak wrinkled and his brow furrowed into it. Somehow shrinking and looking upset at the same time. “Prove it,” 

“What?” 

“Prove. It,” 

Donnie scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I can’t prove that—” 

( Burning. Burning. Burning. Someone took out the smoke detector batteries. The garbage was burning and Donnie could smell the strawberry dense smoke getting closer.) 

“Uggghhh—just—you, you—” Mikey struggled with something. “You—you—how—” Mikey heaved and a new wave of tears welled up in Mikey’s eyes. “How can it not bother you!?” 

…what?

Mikey was breathing fast. Anger crumbling into something distraught. “You—you just killed someone. How can it not bother you that you just sliced someone open. How—” He broke off and started up again. “And-and now I’m trying to make pasta and you’ve got your hands in the wall! ” 

Donnie’s mouth was dry. Confused. Miffed. Puzzled silly and upset.  “...I..” 

( Smoking, smoking, smoking. The batteries were gone and there was smoke in his lungs. It tasted like parlor wine and fuzzy blackberries. 

Fire licked at his feet and licked at his lungs. His ribs. His esophagus. It burned black and heated in his stomach. Dark coals and bonfire pits made from plastic bags and long gone nectarines. Dull smoke and sluggish fire. Sweet. Too sweet.) 

“I-I,” Mikey laughed. It wasn’t happy. “I’m trying to make pasta and I can’t even do that right,” 

Donnie didn’t know what to do. He didn’t understand. Why couldn’t he understand? 

“My hands won’t stop shaking and I couldn’t find the pappardelle and the water wasn’t coming out of the faucet and I know next to nothing about how the water works and —” 

Mikey cut himself off, face pained. His eyes screwed shut for a moment and when he opened them again, he drove them into the floor. 

He was quiet. Breathing hard but deep. 

“Mikey should separate the person—MeatSweats, eats people, bad—from the character he played—Ruppert Swaggart, Mikey likes his show!—in his head and boom! He can idolize what he thinks he was and still. Not be killed by the guy?? Or be upset when?? Self defense?? Getting rid of the threat must happen??”

Donnie’s breath did a strange, uncoordinated dance on its way into his body. He bit his lip, a malformed something nesting in his throat. (It had been there the whole conversation. Rooted deep and causing Donnie to almost choke every time he opened his mouth.) 

The voice’s words made sense. (Too much sense.) He… (It made sense.) But Mikey couldn’t hear them. (It…) 

And he wasn’t going to say that to Mikey and—

“I…” Mikey continued wetly, he wiped at his face again but it didn’t do anything. His cheeks remained wet and Donnie remained choking. “I…I don’t know what’s happening Donnie,” 

Donnie felt stupid. He felt so dumb. He couldn’t move. His mind remained a stock image in the rain. Still and muddy beyond belief. 

“You– you’re hurting and I can’t do anything about it Donnie,” 

….he…

“And-and I just saw my brother try and kill someone and not an hour later I’m making pasta?? Like,” Mikey laughed again, sounding delirious. “How messed up is that? My brother’s going through some horrible shit and I’m supposed to just. Make pasta and deal? Make pasta and deal with the fact that I saw someone’s guts today and my brother’s eyes go black when he’s stressed?? What am I supposed to do with that? Huh? What am I supposed to do with that? I-I—just–” 

(...his eyes go black?) 

Mikey’s lip wobbled and he tucked his head into his shoulder, shaking all the while. 

Donnie swallowed thickly. Mind absently tugging in too many directions. 

"Sorry Mikey, uh.. don't meet your heroes? If you do and they are a bad evil pig cook then..just steal his recipes and be done with it?...dunno where i was going but..yeah.."

Donnie felt sick. Rotted. Putrid. Fetided. 

(Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, where there's fire, you’ll find Donnie. Choking on tears and the rooted, black creature that lives in his throat.) 

Mikey sniffed. “I…” He sniffed again and wiped at his nose. Cheeks wet, eyes rimmed red and looking smaller than he ever should. “I’m just…tired,” He sounded tired. “I…don’t know what…” He sounded like he didn’t know. “And…and you…” He looked at Donnie, eyes tired and so, so sad. He looked sad. Sounded sad. Donnie never knew someone could sound so sad. 

His eyes held for a moment longer before then slowly, dejectedly went back to the ground. 

He stared. One second, two, three, four. 

Donnie stayed quiet. His mouth was too heavy to move anyway. 

“...I was going to make buttered noodles,” Mikey said, voice a step away from broken. “And some red sauce for anyone that wanted it,” 

Donnie felt empty. Carved out and hollow. (Sick. Putrid. Filthy. Something squirming in his throat and burning holes through his stomach.) 

Donnie’s ears itched but Mikey didn’t say anything directly after. His little brother picked at the hems of his sleeves and gnawed on the insides of his cheek. He sniffed and blinked slowly. 

After another minute of silence Mikey spoke up again. “..I..I was thinking asparagus too. A garlic toss with shallots and chives,” Mikey shrugged limply. “Plain white bread to go along with it…I, I dunno..” 

Mikey blinked slowly again and his eyes drifted up to Donnie's work. Exposed piping and bricks carefully set in a pile against the shower threshold. 

“...sorry, I’ll text when dinner’s ready,” 

And with that Mikey turned and shuffled out of the bathroom, gently closing the door behind him. 

And Donnie was left. Alone and choking. 

(Donnie breathed and Donnie choked. He choked on overripe mangoes and mushy grapes. Tumorous blueberries and turned sour-sweet raspberries. He choked on the black thing wriggling in his throat and choked on the inky smoke that came from the burning garbage in his gut. Burning coals and microplastic smoke.

He didn’t know what to do.) 

—||—

Donnie finished quickly. 

He put everything back together and slathered mortar as he shoved the bricks back into place. 

But the water for the kitchen was turned on almost as soon as Mikey left. 

He didn’t want to make anymore mistakes then he already had.

Chapter Text

Donnie worked. 

He started prepping the metal for an extension for his Bo. He gathered copper wires and screws and drill bits. He designed better cameras, smaller, better film, larger scope. He ran his code again and again and again. Just so he knew it worked the way it should. 

He took care of the growing piles of trash in his lab. He carefully sharpened and polished every single blade in the lair. (He didn’t touch Leo’s sword.) He ate the leftovers Mikey left in the fridge. Buttered noodles and garlic asparagus. He scrounged around for more ibuprofen and took three. 

He looked at the brain scans he took what felt like months ago. His brain activity was too high. Much too high. Even for the stress he was under. It wasn’t natural. Donnie twitched and took them again. Rushing away to sort through an error that had cropped up in his coding before they finished printing. He fixed the issue and rushed back to the prints. Still. Too high. Donnie twitched harder and took them again. Too high. Again. Too high. Too high, too high, too high, too—

Donine should be having a seizure right now. Or-or a stroke. He…

Donnie took them again. Same result. Again. Same result. Again. Same result—

Donnie stopped taking them. It had been hours and he wasn’t getting anywhere. So he ignored it and went back to work. 

—||—

Donnie worked until he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. He stared bleary eyed at a metal fold up chair. It looked comfortable. 

Donnie unfolded it and fell asleep. Barely even relaxing into it before he passed out. 

—||—

.

..

…

Donnie was Somewhere. 

And his eyes bled in time with the Stars. They shone bright, a deep pressure of a noise pushing relentlessly down on him. He didn’t understand.

But at this point he didn’t have to.

But at this point he might have been starting to.

And at this point the Stars seemed to all there was for him.

They sung. A lilting, beautiful melody that told of ages past and every step yet to come. They sung of ships and harbors. Of willows and dandelions. Of snow and frosty mountains. They sung of existence itself and the great Nothing that lay just beneath it all. They sung of his creaking knuckles and aching ribs. Of his tear clogged throat and fluttering eyelids. Of his misery. His pain and his desperation. Of his anger and roiling agony. 

But they also sung of his life. His potential. His love and care and passion and creativity and curiosity and the very true sense and desire for knowledge. They sung of his brothers. Of his family. And his deep care for them. They sung of his devotion and loyalty. Of everything he was. Every strand that made up his existence. His breath. His thoughts. His mind, body and soul. They sung of how every delicate thread was important. Vital to the continuation of his story. Donnie’s story. The Story that the universe held so dearly. 

The Stars sung. 

And The Shadows whispered. 

They touched and tittered and gossiped in hushed tones and giggling voices. Eyes stark white slits, coalescing from the vast expanse that made Where Nothing Truly Was but Everything Truly Is. 

The perfect place of Nothing and Everything. Of Here and There. Of Where and Here. Of Far and Near. 

The place of Balance, Harmony and excited Chaos. Bristling, extraordinary Chaos and elegant, formidable Order. 

The place where the Shadows whispered and traded secrets. 

The place where the ground was crystal glass that rippled with movement and self-actualization. 

A dangerous place.