Chapter Text
It started as a minor annoyance.
A dull itch, nestled just beneath the plates of his shell, deep enough that even his longest maintenance stylus couldn’t reach it. Donnie chalked it up to phantom nerve firing, maybe some minor post-invasion damage he hadn’t noticed before. He had bigger things to worry about—restoring the tech grid, heighting the security of their lair, tending to Raph's eye and making compression gloves for Mikey's hands, and, of course, keeping Leo from doing anything reckless in his self-imposed redemption arc.
But the itch persisted.
At first it was tolerable. A twitch here, a flex there. But within a few days, it turned unbearable. His shell ached constantly, tingled at the edges, pulsed with a low-grade burning sensation that grew more intense when he moved too fast or hunched over a keyboard too long. His sleep suffered. His appetite dipped. Even Mikey’s homemade chili—spicy enough to scald any Krang—barely registered.
Donnie didn’t tell anyone.
Because how could he? After everything—after the invasion, after Leo nearly died closing the portal, after the city spent months rebuilding and the Hamato Clan put themselves back together one fragile piece at a time—he couldn’t add another worry to the list. Especially not for something as stupid as an itch.
So, he suffered in silence.
“Are you okay?”
Donnie flinched at the sudden voice. He’d been hunched over his workstation for hours, tinkering with a broken cloaking chip, muttering to himself and scratching at the underside of his shell with the edge of a screwdriver.
He looked up. Leo stood at the entrance to the lab, arms folded, brow furrowed. He didn’t have his usual slouch or cocky smirk. Instead, there was that new look he wore sometimes—tight-lipped, sharp-eyed, like he was always bracing for something bad to happen again.
Donnie blinked. “Fine. Why?”
Leo raised a brow. “You’re bleeding.”
Donnie glanced at his hand and realized the screwdriver had dug a small gouge near the seam of his shell. Blood beaded and trickled down his side.
“Oh,” he said flatly. “Didn’t notice.”
Leo strode forward, yanking a clean cloth from Donnie’s med drawer. “That’s the third time this week I’ve seen you do that,” he said, pressing the cloth against the wound. “You’ve been scratching at your shell nonstop.”
Donnie tried to shrug, but the pressure on his shell made him wince. “It’s nothing. Probably dry air. Or allergies. Do turtles even get allergies?”
Leo didn’t laugh. He didn’t even blink. “You’ve been skipping meals. You didn’t even touch the chili last night.”
“I had a deadline—”
“And you’ve barely slept. Mikey said you were up at three in the morning pacing your room.”
Donnie looked away. “So I’m restless.”
Leo’s voice dropped, quieter now. “Don. Please don’t lie to me.”
Donnie swallowed. The itch flared again, crawling like fire under his shell, and he clenched his fists. For a moment, he said nothing.
Then, in a voice smaller than he liked: “It feels like something’s inside me. Burrowed deep. It started as a tickle but now—Leo, it hurts.”
That was all it took.
Leo’s demeanor changed instantly—older twin mode engaged, emergency override. He gently but firmly guided Donnie to sit on the examination bench in the corner of the lab, tugged his purple battle shell off with care, and began scanning with the medical attachment on his arm. His jaw clenched tighter with every pass.
“Leo?”
Leo didn’t answer at first. He tapped through scan results furiously, eyes darting, posture rigid.
Donnie shifted uncomfortably. “Come on. Give me the bad news.”
Leo slowly turned the scanner so Donnie could see. The image showed a thin network of fibrous tendrils embedded near his spinal ridge—organic, glowing faintly with that sickly Krang hue.
Donnie stared. “…That’s not mine.”
“No,” Leo said quietly. “It’s not.”
Fifteen minutes later, Draxum arrived, summoned by Leo through the emergency beacon.
The former villain stepped into the lab with his usual grandiose flourish, but the moment he saw the scans, his expression darkened. “This is residual Krang matter,” he muttered. “Mutated, parasitic… and still active.”
Donnie felt his stomach drop. “Are you saying the Krang are still inside me?”
“Not exactly,” Draxum said, already pulling out surgical tools and reagents from his satchel. “It’s likely leftover biological material from your contact with the Technodrome. A fragment. Dormant—until now.”
Leo’s voice was tense. “Can we remove it?”
Draxum’s eyes flicked to Donnie. “We have to.”
Donnie opened his mouth to make a sarcastic quip, to deflect, to say ‘no big deal’ or ‘well, I always wanted more sci-fi horror in my life’—but the words didn’t come. He just looked at Leo.
And Leo looked back at him like he was already preparing for war.
.
.
.
Donnie stared at the medical scan still projected in front of him, his expression unreadable. The network of invasive, Krang-like tissue pulsed faintly with a sickly pink glow, embedded near the spinal ridge of his shell. No movement, no activity—but alive. Active.
The silence between them stretched long and tight, as if speaking would make it more real.
Finally, Donnie muttered, “Guess that’s why no amount of scratching helped.”
Leo didn’t respond.
Donnie looked over.
His twin stood a few feet away, fists clenched at his sides. His knuckles were pale. His chest rose and fell in a sharp, uneven rhythm, like he couldn’t get a proper breath in. Not like he was angry—no, Leo didn’t have that fire in his eyes. This was something else. Something quieter. Sharper.
“Leo?”
Still nothing.
Donnie sighed, tried to make light of it. “Hey, come on, it’s not like it’s Krang Krang. Just some residual space-goop. Draxum’ll zap it out and we’ll be fine. Right?”
“…Don’t.”
The word came out hoarse. Leo turned to face him, and Donnie saw it clearly now—his eyes were glassy. His voice trembled when he spoke again.
“Don’t pretend this isn’t serious. Don’t act like this isn’t a big deal.”
Donnie blinked, startled. “I’m not—”
“You are.” Leo’s voice cracked. “You always do this. You downplay it. You act like you’re invincible because you’re smart enough to fix everything—but you’re not. You’re not invincible, Donnie.”
Donnie opened his mouth—then closed it again.
Leo stepped forward slowly, as if approaching a glass sculpture about to break. “You’ve been in pain for weeks. You didn’t tell anyone. You could’ve told me. I'm your twin for goodness sakes. We are supposed to tell each other everything”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” Donnie said quietly.
“Well too bad!” Leo barked, the sudden rise in volume shocking both of them. He dragged his hands down his face and turned away, struggling to reel himself back in. “I’m already worried. I’ve been worried since I woke up from my coma and found out that your shell got super messed up from the Technodrome. Gosh Donnie I had to learn from April of all people that you had a seizure. I haven’t stopped worrying.”
The confession lingered in the air, raw and heavy.
Donnie shifted uncomfortably, heart pounding harder. “Leo…”
Leo turned back to him slowly, voice softer now, breaking at the edges. “I can’t lose you. You’re my baby twin, Don. I know we don’t always say it but—you’re part of me. And I need you to be okay.”
Donnie felt something twist deep in his chest.
Leo stepped closer and rested a hand over Donnie’s, where it rested on his knee. His grip was gentle, grounding.
“I’m not mad that something’s wrong,” Leo whispered. “I’m scared. I don’t know what this is or what it’ll do to you, and I can’t protect you from it—not this time.”
For a moment, Donnie didn’t say anything. His throat felt tight, like it had closed up around his next deflection, his next anything.
So instead, he moved his hand—slowly, cautiously—and interlaced his fingers with Leo’s.
“I’m scared too,” he admitted, barely audible. “But I trust you. If anyone’s gonna get this junk out of me… it’s you.”
Leo’s grip tightened. His eyes shimmered, but he nodded, jaw clenched.
“You’re not going through this alone,” he said. “I swear.”
And in the stillness of that moment, with Krang matter glowing behind them and uncertainty ahead, the twins sat side by side—hands linked, hearts pounding, tethered together in fear and in faith.