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Donatello knew he would regret letting his brothers mess around in his lab.
They were all just too messy for him to handle sometimes.
For example, one of them (he didn't know which) had come in with a sandwich. They must have been there either while he was out or while he was hyper fixated on something with his headphones on. He didn't remember anyone coming in with food.
Whoever it was had left without the half-eaten sandwich, as it was forgotten on the floor near his desk.
Unfortunately, he had tripped over it.
It wouldn't have been such a big deal, normally. He would have just gotten up and yelled throughout the lair for someone to come get their sandwich.
If that hadn't worked, he would have done something to get their attention. For example, shutting off the wifi temporarily.
Then he would have scolded the culprit, if not everyone, about leaving anything, especially food, in his lab.
However, he had also been carrying parts for his most recent planned upgrades for his tech bo.
And they were sharp.
He had fallen, feeling disgusted by the peanut butter and jelly on his foot as he did.
That narrowed it down to two suspects, as Raph was allergic to peanut butter.
The parts and pieces in his arms had clattered across the floor, precariously scattered near where he now lay.
He had closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands, turning his battle shell covered back to the floor.
It sort of worked. He had hit the ground on his side.
Unluckily, he landed partially on top of a sharp metal shard. It pierced his side behind his plastron.
He felt slight annoyance at it, as his plastron was tougher and more durable than his shell bridge.
Mentally, Donnie berated himself for missing both his battle shell and his plastron, scrutinizing his judgement. He reran calculations in his head, preparing himself for if this situation were to happen again.
He didn't feel the pain immediately, his attention more focused on his brain trying to figure out who had so carelessly left a sandwich on his lab floor.
He was unable to decide on a solution, the evidence being too vague and attributable to both Leo and Mikey.
Unless, of course, it was Splinter, which still didn't help, but instead increased his range of suspects.
It couldn't have been April. She hadn't been to the lair in a few days, and the sandwich certainly wasn't that old. It hadn't been there last time he was in his lab: a couple hours before.
When the pain did come, it came sharp and fast, jabbing into his side with driving force. It spiked up his side, spreading like lightning through his nerves.
His hand flinched to his side, accidentally jerking the piece of metal still lodged in his shell bridge. Wincing, he placed his hand around the wound, avoiding the metal and putting as much pressure on it as he could. His blood felt wet and warm on his hand, which eventually turned to unpleasant stickiness.
Through the pain, Donnie figured that the gash was about four inches long, and that it wasn't too deep, as it felt to be only about an inch or so inward.
Lying on his back, bleeding profusely out of his side, Donnie could only feel irked at his brothers. Less so at Mikey, but the feeling was still there. As far as he was concerned, it was their fault he was here instead of working on his projects like he'd planned.
He breathed out a sigh, ignoring the spike of pain as he drew a breath in to replace it.
He knew not to pull out the metal, not only from his own knowledge and research, but also from Leo's constant nagging and worrying.
Leo had taken it upon himself as family medic to make sure everyone knew what to do for first aid in the case of an injury. Any injury.
He would consistently hold family meetings, which turned into first aid seminars where he would be training everyone on how to do CPR or how to apply a tourniquet.
Donnie knew the rules. Don't pull out the object, as that would cause more bleeding. Bandage carefully without pushing the object deeper. Then seek medical attention.
Unfortunately, the only medical attention available to Donnie was his idiot twin brother, who was most likely the reason for this disaster in the first place.
Steeling himself for the pain, Donnie sat up. Wincing, he continued to get up until he was shakily leaning on his desk, one hand holding him up, the other clutched tightly around his side.
Limping to the other side of the desk, he opened a drawer, rummaging around until he found the first aid kit Leo had insisted he put in there. Pulling it out, Donnie could see the reason why.
With a few snaps, the top popped open, revealing a neatly arranged assortment of band aids, creams, salves, and bandages that Donnie had organized. Leo's method of throwing the things in randomly was irritating to Donnie, so he had reorganized. He'd take the kit, but he'd make it to his standards.
He took a bandage and unrolled it the best he could with one arm. Wrapping tightly around the piece of metal, he shivered in disgust at the sensation of blood dripping down his hands and leg. It was a bit of a difficult spot to wrap, being behind the lip of his plastron. So he stuffed cotton balls in between the wound and wrappings, hoping they'd stay put.
When he finished, he turned so his back was leaning on the desk. Taking a moment and catching his breath, he began thinking about what to do next.
He became aware of the peanut butter still on his foot, and almost overwhelmed with sudden disgust by the texture, he grabbed a towel and began wiping it off as best he could without hurting himself too much.
He started feeling the familiar static weight on his mind of the beginnings of overstimulation. Grabbing his headphones off the desk, he shoved them on his head and ripped his phone out of his pocket.
It slipped, falling out of his hands to the floor. As he tried to catch it, his side complained by way of sharp stinging bolts of pain. He winced and doubled over, which only seemed to make it worse.
His mind felt heavy, hyperventilating slightly and overstimulated to the point where he couldn't think straight, he could only feel annoyed by the string of unfortunate events that had driven him to that point.
He stumbled forward, meaning to get to a weighted blanket, a battleshell, anything to help him calm down and get back into a clear thinking state. He hit his right forearm on the corner of his desk. It throbbed, pulsing with dull complaints.
It was becoming too much to handle and he couldn't cope by himself anymore and he needed something anything to help ground him something to hide in he was too exposed and the air from the vents with blowing on his shell it was becoming itchy and annoying and the lights are too bright but the switch is too far away and he can’t he just can’t can’t CAN’T CAN’T CAN’T-
A weight draped over his shoulders, the familiar texture of his favorite weighted blanket covered him. His breathing was shaky and fast (when did that happen?) and his heart pounded along with it. He stared holes into the floor, overwhelmed by the pain and sensory input.
Suddenly he became aware that someone was talking to him, or rather, at him.
“-nasty bruise on your arm. How'd that happen?” Leo was in the middle of his sentence by the time Donnie had tuned in.
Bumped on the table. He signed, avoiding eye contact with his twin.
“Why'd you-” he cut himself off as he stepped on the sandwich. “Oh, I forgot about that. Gross!”
So it was Leo! Donnie had been more inclined to think it was him given past incidents. He felt a fresh surge of annoyance and anger at the slider.
Leo! He signed sharply with angry, program motions. I told you not to bring food in my lab!
“But Mikey does!” Leo whined back.
That's different. Donnie insisted.
“How is it different? We're both your brothers!”
Because I know you, and it never ends well when I let you do things. For example, this time… Donnie pushed the blanket aside to show Leo the piece of metal still extruding from his side. Leo winced, letting out a sharp breath.
“Dude, lead with that! We gotta get that patched up!” Leo pushed his shoulders, herding him out towards the med bay.
Leo, you don't know how to-
“Yes, I do. Now let me work” Leo sat him down on one of the med bay's cots, adjusting his blanket to reach his side better. “How are you not screaming in pain?” He muttered more under his breath as he set up his tools.
Donnie went to sign a response, but Leo pushed his hands back down.
“Don't. I can't have you moving while I'm trying to fix you.”
I'm the fixing guy. Donnie thought sullenly.
Donnie zoned out for most of Leo's work, wincing occasionally when the local anesthesia wore off enough for him to feel something, generally accompanied by Leo's swift apologies.
When he had finished and given Donnie the care instructions, Leo left the room, muttering about having something he needed to finish. Donnie remained sitting on the cot, still lost in his thoughts.
He really didn't want to get back to his lab to look over the sandwich and scrap metal that had caused the whole ordeal. He certainly wasn't looking forward to scrubbing the blood and jelly from the floors.
Instead, he opted to go to the kitchen.
Wrapping the weighted blanket tightly around himself, he began making a cup of coffee. He knew no one would bother him if he had his blanket, a clear indicator of a bad day and overstimulated Donatello.
After downing that cup plus a couple more (he didn't count) he made his way back to the lab, steeling himself mentally for the task ahead.
However, when he opened the door, he discovered that everything had been cleaned up. His scrap metal was stacked neatly on his desk, the sandwich and plate gone, and best of all, the blood was cleaned completely.
There wasn't even a stain.
“I felt bad, like it was my fault you got hurt.” Leo stood sheepishly in the corner, his arms full of towels and cleaning solutions.
“It was.” Donnie replied, monotone.
“Well, I cleaned up, so, you can't hold this over my head, okay? You can't be mad at me anymore.” Leo snorted, rolling his eyes sarcastically.
“I can and will. Just because you cleaned up your mess doesn't mean nothing ever happened.”
Leo flinched, and Donnie instantly regretted his words as he suddenly remembered the whole invasion fiasco.
“Ah, well, Leo, that's not what I meant-” Donnie started. He cut himself off, trying to hide how embarrassed he was by his words.
But Leo was spiraling already, his eyes unfocused and his breathing shallow and fast. His hands fidgeted together and his arms came up to cover his face involuntarily. He let out a high pitched whine as horrible memories seemed to flash across his vision.
Donnie felt terrible. He had caused this and he wasn't the best at feelings. He didn't want to go find Mikey or Raph, because then he'd have to explain himself, and it could possibly make the situation worse with their fussing.
Standing there in the doorway, he felt helpless as his twin plummeted deeper into his panic attack.
He reached an arm out, but stopped himself, thinking about what he would want if it was him having the panic attack.
He took the blanket off his shoulders, wrapping it around Leo's. Just that seemed to help a little, and Leo looked up. His eyes were still unfocused, but he appeared more attentive.
Donnie took Leo's arm and gently guided him down to sit on the floor. He closed the doors as quietly as he could, yet Leo still flinched at the sound.
Donnie didn't know what to do next. So he started talking; Leo would call it rambling. He described the project he needed the scrap metal for, what he planned to do with it. Then he talked about some of his interests, such as botany. As he talked, Leo got calmer, his breathing evening out. Donnie started to talk about Leo's interests when he noticed, reciting medical textbooks he'd read, trash talking some of the subjectively worse Jupiter Jim movies.
Leo started inputting some of his own opinions when he had calmed down enough to. Donnie sighed in relief and mentally congratulated himself for successfully handling the situation.
They sat in silence for a moment, until Leo took a deep breath and started talking again.
“I know you didn't mean it. I'm sorry for losing control like that, Dee.” Leo looked away as though embarrassed.
“Leo, no. I shouldn't have said that. I was in the wrong, that was not your fault.” Donnie reprimanded him, astonished he would think such a thing.
“But it's been almost a year! I should be better by now.” Leo hissed in frustration.
“No. That's not true. I've been told…” Donnie recalled some of ‘Dr. Feelings’ lessons, “that mental healing can take time. That it's not a requirement to get better as quickly as possible. It's okay to not be completely fine with a traumatic event just because time has passed.”
“You got that from Mikey, didn't you?” Leo teased, but behind his jest there was a hint of acceptance, a mild change in his perspective.
“Yes. ‘Doctor Feelings’ and I have had many long discussions these past few months. I cannot imagine why though.” Donnie joked back, throwing in air quotes for his baby brother's alternate identity.
Leo laughed, and Donnie felt reassured that he truly was okay.
“Thanks, Dee.” Leo said when he stopped.
“Of course. Now I need to inspect your work, as you and I have very different ideas of ‘clean.’”
Leo laughed again, and the sandwich was completely forgotten about in Donnie's mind.