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He just stood there, in the dark. Contemplating.
He was contemplating the hundreds of colorful lights illuminating the entirely new—and yet familiar—city. The city he once knew. The sounds of extraordinarily advanced, flying vehicles of all shapes and sizes soaring through the air in intersecting directions on a beautiful night were muffled by a giant, thick wall of glass.
So thick it was nearly suffocating.
Although he wasn't entirely sure the wall itself was to blame for it.
To think that the day had started out like any other. Training, tinkering, a futile fight over the remote. And next thing he knew, they were here—in this strange new place.
The future.
In all honesty, he hadn't really had the opportunity or time to process the crazy series of events that went down just a couple of hours ago.
After they had found Mikey and put a serious beating to those people trafficking hooded ghost freaks—whatever they called themselves—his mind simply went absent for the rest of the day. He couldn't remember if it was gradual or abrupt, it just happened.
There was a tour. Yes, a tour of the penthouse. He couldn't remember what Cody was rambling about in his collection room. Something about Mikey's first comic book? He hadn't really been paying attention, his mind too foggy and unfocused, trapped in an ongoing dissociative state. They were each assigned their own rooms. Was Serling warning about not leaning against something? He should've listened more carefully. He vaguely remembered eating dinner with his family. Pizza. Yeah, pizza. Did it taste much different than the ones from their time? His taste buds were inattentive as well. Although, his slightly rumbling stomach told him he hadn't eaten much, either. And he didn't know why. What was everyone chatting about at the table? All he could recall was staring down at a half-empty plate as all sorts of discussions flew above his head.
What was going on with him?
After all, they could finally do what they never thought they'd have the chance to. They could walk—in plain sight! And for the first time in their whole lives nobody was trying to capture them or dissect them. They were perceived as actual people. And all the more, he was in the future. He should've been elated. The scientist in him should've been bouncing off the walls from excitement. This place was filled with technologies and advancements beyond his dreams and expectations, and they were all at his very reach.
It was like he had died and gone to geek heaven.
…
Died.
And yet, as he stood there, plunging in the sweet, sweet taste of privilege while watching this wondrous city buzzing with life before his eyes from the comfort and luxury of his new lavender-scent room in Cody's penthouse, contemplation was beginning to shift into dissociation.
The same kind of dissociation that had possessed him all day long.
This city was just too alive. And something about that just didn't sit quite right with him, as weird as it sounded.
There was a tightness in his chest, a lingering feeling of nothingness slowly drilling into his soul. The crushing weight of inexplicable guilt was pushing down on him towards a dark, inescapable pit. He swore he knew this feeling, the feeling of an all too heavy burden. He felt like he was carrying the entire world on his back. Even worse, he felt like he had failed someone, failed them. And part of him wanted to scream at the universe for this injustice, another wanted to burst into tears, an amalgamation of convoluted feelings stuck in between.
He wasn't crying, though. Not yet, anyway. But he was close—his glassy, amber eyes glistening in the bright city lights.
And funny enough, there was also… relief. Not the kind that brought a sense of peace and alleviation. But rather the paradoxically suffocating kind of relief.
The kind of relief that served as a reminder of the ones he had forced to pay the ultimate price.
Breathing felt a little hard, too, especially thanks to the newly formed lump in his throat.
He had taken off and thrown his new gear and chest plate somewhere on the floor earlier, and hadn't cared much where they'd landed, lacking the energy and attention to.
And thanks to the built-in graviton and atmospheric regulators each of their rooms were set up with, they didn't have to worry about lacking air or dealing with an unexpected change of gravity while they were asleep.
Or so he thought.
The main sensations he was dealing with at the moment somewhat resembled what he, his brothers and father had all physically endured upon their arrival earlier that day, only much more muffled. But how could it be? Maybe his body was still adapting to the new atmospheric conditions caused by the diverse alien inhabitation? Yeah, that was probably it.
Still. He was in the future for crying out loud!
And it was… bright. Contrasting the mysterious somberness invading the back of his mind.
Brighter than he had anticipated.
Brighter than…
Brighter… than…
“Hey, bro!”
Don stiffened as he froze in his spot, taking in a sharp breath—almost gasping for air. He felt like he had just been pulled out from the bottom of the ocean.
Mikey.
The image of a scarred, rugged, one-armed turtle flashed before his eyes, and his breathing began to pick up the pace. His mind played the sound of his brother desperately calling out his name like a broken record.
“Donnie, I—”
Slash.
“What a day, huh? I still can't believe we're in the future!” Familiar footsteps grew closer behind him. “And our new rooms are totally awesome! Of course, mine is obviously superior—” Mikey's voice ceased all of a sudden. “Uh, Donnie?”
Don let out a gasp, and was now having a hard time controlling his trembling legs, so much so that he couldn't stop himself from staggering forward and leaning against the glass wall, his forearms slapping hard against the lean surface.
“Woah, Don!”
Don faintly registered his brother panically yelling his name when a rectangular section of the glass—only a few inches taller than him—started glowing purple with a swift beep-beep, his hyperventilation accompanied by a robotic, feminine voice calmly saying, “Window 53: open.”
As the glass plaque slowly rotated outwards, Don found himself with a bird's-eye-view of the city below. Too numb to feel fear, too numb to panic, too numb to react and save himself. Too numb to move or feel anything at all.
It would've been his demise if it weren't for a pair of hands that grabbed him by the scutes and pulled him back to safety, both turtles landing on the floor with a thud.
“Don?! Don, you alright?” Mikey quickly got onto his knees, pulling up his brother with him before cradling his face and looking intensely into his eyes. “Didn't you hear what Serling said? No leaning on the… windows.” Mikey paused, taking in the look on his brother's face—a look that said his whole life just flashed before his eyes. However, something told him it had less to do with Don nearly falling to his death, and more to do with something else. And it wasn't something new. He knew that look. He could've sworn he'd seen it before. But where? When?
“Donnie?” Mikey's eyes softened, concern clear in his voice. He slid his hands down from his brother's visage and rested them on his shoulders instead, giving him a soft shake. “Donnie, please, what's wrong?”
Somehow, hearing his brother's plea partially brought him back, even for just a bit.
Don's eyes watered, his breath hitching in his throat. “This future…” he barely let out in a shaky whisper.
After ephemeral confusion, it was then that it hit him. Mikey's eyes grew wide with realization before darting towards the glass wall that separated them and this huge, all-too-lively city. He then turned his attention back to Don and, in the obnoxiously bright lights coming from outside, he could see just how pale his brother really was, the poor turtle shaking under his hold with a lowered gaze.
Mikey let out a low yet sharp, “Oh.”
That's why that look was so familiar.
He had seen it before. About two years ago, back when they were attacked by Draco and the Daimyo's son in the heart of their home, back when the time scepter was used on them with evil intentions. Back when his brother was sent to a dark place—a dark future—and never returned the same. Back when he broke down right then and there in front of his family as soon as they had been returned home, safe and sound.
Back when he'd seen him more broken than he ever thought he would.
Mikey mentally smacked his forehead. How could he—how could they—have been so oblivious?
Don's eyes were strongly gravitating in the direction of Mikey's left arm, a short wave of nausea hitting him. And it didn't go unnoticed by his brother.
“Aw, Donnie…” Mikey cooed empathetically. He rubbed his brother's arms in a comforting manner, especially after a cold breeze snuck in through the still-open window, a pinch of city noise seeping in, too. Still, even with the effort, Don shivered, though remained quiet and unresponsive, and Mikey frowned at that.
Glancing over at Don's new king-sized bed, then looking back at his brother, Mikey suggested, “Hey, let's get you off the floor and to bed where it's nice and warm, okay?”
He desperately waited for a response. It never came.
“Donnie?” His eyes narrowed with inquietude.
Don looked like he just got brought back to reality, his eyes snapping at his brother for a moment before lowering them again. “Hm? Uh… yeah,” his voice sounded feeble, almost desolate. “Yeah, okay.”
Mikey wasn't entirely sure Don knew what he was responding to, but he would take it.
“Okay,” the orange-clad turtle repeated softly.
Slowly but surely, Mikey carefully aided Donnie back up to his feet, only for him to waver as soon as he was standing. Luckily, thanks to his quick reflexes, Mikey was under his brother's arm in no time, steadying him and supporting as much of his weight as he had to.
Don's head swam as though he were caught in the middle of a sea storm. He could hardly concentrate on his own steps, his brain too clouded with unwanted thoughts and memories. Even with Mikey's help, the task was all but difficult. He hadn't even realized it when they finally reached the mattress, his brother propping him up against a few pillows.
“Hang in there, Donnie.” Don heard a click, followed by the sound of a number being dilated. “Back-up is on the way.” He barely registered Mikey's uncharacteristically solemn voice. “Bros, we've got a code purple! I repeat, we've got a code purple!”
Beyond this point, everything was a blur to Don, the ever-lasting sounds of guns and weapons clashing with each other tormenting his mind worsening by the second. So he gripped his head, his palms pressed hard against his temples as if it would do him any good. His breathing was accelerating again. His heart beat wildly in his chest, threatening to burst out any moment.
Don didn't know when he started sensing movement around him, having lost all sense of time. These movements were soon exacerbated by noises, the vibrations of voices circling him. There was no space in his brain to make sense of any of it, though, too caught up in a fight of its own.
A voice in particular broke through the loud storm in his head, though mostly faint and echoey.
“Don? Donatello!” Leo called out in an attempt to bring his brother back to reality, but to no avail. “Mikey, what happened?” His head snapped at his brother, demanding answers with worried eyes.
“Like I said, we're in the future. Remember last time Don got sent to one of those?” Standing at the edge of the bed, Mikey gave Leo one of those looks that said ‘isn't it obvious?’
In utter silence, Leo and Raph looked at each other with wide eyes, their jaws half-dropped as the same realization finally smacked them in the face.
“Aw, shell…” Raph pressed a palm to his forehead, a saddened look painting his face. His eyes went towards his poor brother whose head was now buried in his knees. “Donnie, we're sorry, we… How did we not notice?” He reached out a hand in Don's direction, knowing his brother was most likely not listening to him.
“Come to think of it, he has been acting a little off all day.” Leo approached the bed and sat on one side while giving his brother his space, remembering all the inattentiveness, the quiet, the late responses, the nonchalance. The clues were all there right in front of their faces. And yet they ignored them. “I guess we just got… distracted by everything else,” he guiltily admitted.
“Talk about getting distracted, I must've spent at least three hours on that game Cody showed me. Oh, man, they really know how to make video games around here, I mean—” Mikey suddenly stopped yapping when he registered two disapproving looks piercing him, quickly putting on a sheepish smile for attempted compensation.
Leo was about to say something when the sound of the automatic door swooshing open caught their attention, followed by a yawn.
Speaking of whom. Three heads whirled towards the entrance to find a sleepy Cody standing on the threshold.
The redhead sluggishly entered the room, a hand coming up to rub his eye. “Guys what's all the ruckus… about?” Any bit of sleep that was still clinging onto him dissipated—his eyes growing wide with newfound concern—at the sight of Don curled up into a ball on his bed. “What's up with Don?” he asked, a hint of panic in his voice.
The three brothers exchanged a look.
“We'll explain later,” Mikey responded. “Right now, can you close that window?” He pointed at where Donnie stood earlier.
Cody still had worried eyes fixated on Don, but he nodded. “Um, yeah, I can do that.” He went over and, with his wrist comm, easily handled closing the open section of the glass wall, the breeze that was blowing in finally coming to a stop. He then anxiously made his way back near Don's bed, still enveloped with worry. “Is he sick or something?”
“Not exactly,” Raph answered with a grim tone without looking at the kid.
That only aggravated Cody's confusion. “Uh, maybe… Maybe it's the regulators? I can check on them if—” Cody thought out loud, with a rather frantic tone, already headed towards the control panel in Don's room.
“No,” Leo's voice came in sharp, yet calm, freezing the preteen in place. “It isn't. Believe me.”
Cody looked at him hesitantly, torn on what to do.
A wet, agonized hiccup suddenly came out of Don, drawing frantic eyes towards him. The voices of his brothers and Cody sounded as if they were traveling down a long tunnel when what felt like a million thoughts, sounds and images were banging on the doors of his mind, eating at him bit by bit.
“Is he going to be okay?” Cody finally asked, fidgeting with his fingers anxiously.
A hand, a copter, a physical fight, a flash of light, a broken brother.
Leo hesitated. “I'm not sure.” He cautiously scooted a little closer to his brother. “Don? Donatello. Donatello, can you hear me?”
A grave, a drill, the scream of his name. Blood spilled. A final breath spent crawling towards a dead loved one.
A distant growl echoed in the background.
“That's it, I'm getting Master Splinter.” Raph was already halfway out of the room, leaving a very lost Mikey and Leo to deal with their silently spiraling brother in the meantime.
Exchanging worried looks, the two turtles wordlessly agreed that they could at least ensure their brother's safety in the meantime. Mikey settled on the other side of bed while Leo’s attention turned back to Don.
“Come on, Don. Come back to us.” Leo immediately regretted his choice of words as Donnie let out a short, pitiful sound and curled into himself even more. The blue-clad turtle couldn't help but cringe at the disapproving look that Mikey shot him. Sighing with remorse, he reached out a delicate hand, though not daring to touch his brother at the moment. “I'm sorry,” he said softly.
He only earned a few wet hiccups in response.
Leo and Mikey looked at each other once more, clueless on what to do, Cody even more so.
No amount of shell rubbing nor churring could help them save their poor brother from drowning in an ocean of memories that were ripping at his mind and heart. He could barely even register the tears seeping through the corners of his eyes. Despite his brothers’ presence and physical comfort, his senses had other preoccupations.
And then, he heard it. He heard him.
“My son.”
Don let out a sharp gasp as a familiar and, oh so, so soft hand cradled his face. His watery eyes snapped open almost instantly, his vision taking a moment to see through the blurriness caused by a wall of tears before recognizing his father's warm, reassuring visage.
And he was smiling at him, with so much love and tenderness in his eyes.
It was almost too much. Too much.
The image of a grave suddenly flashed before Don's eyes, yet again, the name on it being more apparent this time.
He might as well have taken a stab to the heart.
“Father!” he cried out as he threw himself in the old rat's embrace.
Filled with concern, Splinter wrapped his arms as best he could around his son's shell—one hand curled around the back of his head and the other rubbing his shell. He softly whispered words of comfort—both in English and in Japanese—while Donatello sobbed into his shoulder, each convulsion that shot through his body making the old rat's heart twist a little more.
His brothers were just present—Mikey sitting on the other side of bed, Leo standing next to him and Raph leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his plastron—and ready to jump in as soon as they were needed. They were not going anywhere anytime soon.
Cody, while not as knowledgeable about the situation, was not about to leave Don's side. He swallowed a little, still very much concerned and questioning the source of his friend's distress. So, he stayed, and waited to be needed, too—his stomach twisting in a small knot as he helplessly watched his teenage friend weep in his father's hold.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Splinter allowed his son to slowly pull away from him. Donatello’s hands were clinging keenly onto his father's arms, as if something bad would happen to him if he let go, even just for a moment.
Actually, that was exactly what he was afraid of. And his father, as well as his brothers, knew this all too well.
It took a moment for Don himself to notice, but when he did, he shamefully pulled away two shaky hands, his head bowed apologetically. His father frowned sadly at that.
Slowly reaching out a gentle paw, Splinter paused in mid-action, waiting for a sign that his son was alright with the upcoming gesture. Don's dazed, blood-shot eyes seemed fixated on something over the side of his bed and towards the floor, though he wasn't staring at anything specifically—his pupils dilated from all the crying and dissociation. As the paw approached, Don's face crumbled; his lips began to tremble at the tender stroke of his father's fingers to his bottom-jaw, failing to keep in the small, pitiful cry that escaped out of his throat. A new set of tears rolled down his face as he rested his cheek in his father's palm, his eyes closed shut as he bit down on his lower-lip in a futile attempt to muffle any more crying sounds.
Splinter caressed his son's tear-stained face, reaching out a second hand to do the same. He repeatedly brushed off the streaming tears with his thumbs, his son shuddering under his touch.
Donatello took in a wet, shaky breath. “I'm sorry,” he half-whimpered, half-whispered out.
His father's heart broke at that.
“Donatello, my son, you have no need to apologize.” Splinter slid his hands up and behind his son's head to untie the mask he still had on, now soaked with tears. “I am here for you.”
As soon as the wet mask had been taken off and rested in his palms, Splinter's heart shattered at the sight of his most gentle son, looking up at him longingly with puffy, watery eyes, heavy exhaustion painting his visage.
“Oh, my son…” Splinter felt his eyes prick with tears of their own but blinked them away, reaching out to hold his son's slightly shaky hand while he cupped his face.
Don squeezed his father's hand tight in response, unable to hold back a snivel. He felt as though he needed to make sure he was really here—with him.
Splinter could tell his poor son was fighting to keep his tired eyes open, and something had to be done about it.
“Cody.” The young boy's heart jumped lightly as he straightened up like a chopstick. “Will you please fetch some calming tea, with the herbs I had proclaimed.”
Cody glanced back at Donnie one last time, uncertain but trusting. “Sure thing, Master Splinter,” he replied obediently as he crossed the room.
Once the familiar woosh sounded a second time, Splinter discreetly gestured for his other sons to come over, knowing Donatello would want them—need them—close tonight.
Several minutes later, Cody was walking down a dark hallway with a tray of six mugs full of tea, his brow set in a slight frown as numerous theories flowed through his head. He thought back to what he had read in his great-grandparents’ journal so far, none of the cited events lining up with this current predicament. He sighed sadly; his friends’ first day in the future and one of them just had a breakdown.
Upon entering Don's room, he was staggered for a moment to find said turtle half-curled up diagonally on his side, his head nesting in his father's lap, eyes nearly closed from fatigue as he leaned into his father's touch. His brothers encircled him like a fortress, all shuffling close—Leo lied against the pillows with his knees curled up to his plastron, just barely brushing his brother's shell, Raph was sitting on one end of the bed with his legs spread out, one hand gently resting on his brother's knee, and with his legs crossed, Mikey had one hand reached out for Don to hold onto, drawing it close to him; each gesture served as a form of much needed confirmation of their presence.
As a warm smile curved his lips, the boy silently padded towards the small family, Splinter's perked up ears telling him that his presence had been detected. As he neared the night table to put down the tray, murmurs of conversation became more audible to him.
“—and this future is super bright! Isn't that a good thing?” Mikey dipped his head forward as though it would make his point clearer.
The silence that followed came with a hint of shared hope in the air.
“Yeah…” Don whispered.
“Then, what's wrong?” Mikey pressed.
"...I don't know,” it squeaked out of Don's chest almost like a cry as he shook his head, curling into himself a little more.
“You can't stop thinking about that place, huh?” Leo's soft voice along with the delicate touch of his fingers to his brother's scutes grounded him, even if just for a bit, a small nod confirming his brother's suspicion.
“Umm…” Cody hesitated, not sure if now was the right time to ask, but he was desperate for answers. “What place are you talking about, Leo?”
Heavy, strangling silence fell on the room. The family exchanged uncertain, almost scared looks.
“Don't worry about it, Cody,” Don reassured wearily, his voice rough. “I'll be okay.”
Cody felt a bubble of frustration building up in his stomach. “I am worried! I need to know what's wrong?”
Hesitation crossed all eyes.
“Please?” he tuned his voice to a mere plea, his hands folded into each other completing the attempt.
Leo locked serious eyes with Cody for a good while, before sighing in defeat. “If that's okay with you, Don.” He waited until his brother let out a permissive sound. “You might want to sit down for this.”
After sinking in the nearest chair, they told him. They told him everything. All the way from Draco and Daimyo's son's unexpected appearance in their old lair to the awful state their brother was in once they were returned back home, calculating what details to throw in and out while ensuring to give the kid a somewhat decent picture of what Don had gone through. Cody could feel his stomach swirling the deeper they went into the story, his jaw set in a way that expressed mostly shock.
Left utterly speechless, his face practically pallid at the swarm of newly gained information. His eyes then widened even more than they already had as another realization hit him, nouveau guilt punching him through the gut. “Oh, Don. I'm so sorry. I—I shouldn't have… It's my fault you guys were brought here, I—”
“Don't,” a feeble voice cut in. “Please, don't blame yourself, Cody.”
The boy's eyes met the drained turtle's.
“It's not your fault,” Don slurred out.
The boy swallowed, still feeling responsible for the state his friend was in.
They heard Don stifle a little breath. “And… I'm sorry,” it came crawling out of his dry throat.
“Sorry?” Mikey sounded more offended than confused.
“I thought…” he sounded as though he were trying not to cry. “I thought I got over it.” He didn't see but rather felt empathetic eyes on him.
“Such things are not so easily forgotten, my son,” Splinter said softly, stroking his son's head.
“Yeah, Don. No one blames you for what you're going through, just stop being so hard on yourself and let us be there for you,” Mikey's voice took on that rare amalgamation of both serious and caring.
“We're here for you, brainiac. Don't you ever forget it.” Raph was pointing a strong index at him, his voice strangely both soft and assertive.
“And if the future is this bright, then that means we have lived—will live long enough to make it happen,” Leonardo said firmly, the leader in him breaking through. “And don't worry about April and Casey, they'll be waiting for us on the other side and in the meantime they'll keep each other safe,” he added, his intuition having not failed him since Don's breath hitched at the mention of their friends' names. "No matter what happens, no matter how many times you fall, we'll always be there to pick you up.” Don felt Leo's hand softly resting on his side, his soothing voice washing over him from behind. “Always.”
Letting his family's words sink in, Don liberated a prolonged, heavy sigh that conveyed so many emotions. “I know,” he breathed out. “Thanks, guys.”
A couple of warm mugs of tea later, Donnie ended up trapped in a cocoon of warmth and safety—Leo's warm beak firmly pressed under his neck, Raph’s arms curled around him from his other side and Mikey laying sprout out over Leo with one arm draped over Don's shell, all turtles now gearless and maskless. With closed eyes, Don's head was laying on his father's lap, a soft paw delicately stroking his cold, clammy forehead, so much having weighed heavily on his mind.
The dark lingering feeling of nothingness was still present in some way, though now having subsided for the most part, the raging storm having finally calmed to a few occasionally strong waves, but it was okay. He wasn't sure if he would ever be free of this burden keeping him chained, but it was going to be okay. He was going to be okay. As long as he had his family by his side, he was going to be okay.
He prayed that he would be okay.
“Rest, my son. We will all remain here when you wake up.” Splinter leaned in to nuzzle his son's forehead, as he had when they were mere tots, the token of affection having alleviated Don's fast thumping heart, finally sending him off into blissful—and hopefully nightmare-free—sleep.
The hand, the pain, the fighting again, a woman in the shadows. A burden. A soul so dim from hope once lost, now finally restored.
Don's eyes watered under his already closed eyelids, his fast-paced mind slowing just enough to allow him to turn it off.
Still sitting in the same chair, Cody curled his fingers tighter around the warm ceramic, his gaze switching from his newfound family to the city that was still buzzing with life outside his penthouse.
He sighed heavily, his mind taking the moment to rearrange all the data he had earned tonight. He didn't quite understand how he hadn't stumbled upon this crucial event in the turtles’ lives in the journal yet. Maybe April and Casey wanted to spare the awful details, or maybe they weren't fully informed in the first place. He wouldn't blame the family for not having told them now that he knew.
Regardless, he was responsible for bringing them here. And he was going to make sure they felt whole as long as they stayed.