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Collections/Challenges: Whumptober, Day 3 (+ 16)
Prompt(s): Burns, “I need you to tell me that it’s okay.” | Wrong Place, Wrong Time, “You mean everything to me.”
Characters: Donatello, minor—Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, mentioned—Splinter, April, Karai
Rating: Mature
Summary: Donnie was blown up.
As if that wasn’t hard enough, he was blown up by his brother no less. The explosion left its mark, permanently, and so has Leo’s betrayal. Donnie’s not sure if he’ll ever move past it.
I mean, how can he? He’s been scarred for life.
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Donnie could recall the vague feeling of something being off the second they set foot in that factory. He couldn’t explain why, what, or even how. Maybe it was the wrong place? Even if his GPS was never off… there was something wrong about the timing of it all. He may not be psychic like April, but his gut had been screaming at him to leave, and it usually wasn’t too far off.
Mikey and Raph had been a few feet ahead of him, disappointed that they’d missed the fight, scanning the area for some clue as to where their eldest brother could be.
Donnie could remember himself looking around, still trying to figure out what it was that had him on edge. That’s when he noticed the first bomb under the catwalk. Then the others—dozens of them—completely scattered around the building. It didn’t take a genius to realize that they were god knows how close to blowing up.
He could vaguely recall panicking, shoving his brothers forward, every instinct in his body screaming “Get out get out GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT.”
He remembered looking back with a shout just as the bombs went off. He’d made sure both of his brothers were standing in front of him, backs turned so their shell took most of the impact. Naturally, that meant they went face first through a concrete wall, but honestly they’d survived worse. Even so, to Donnie, the blast was like nothing he’d ever experienced before—and trust me, Donnie had experienced more than enough explosions over the years to feel confident in saying that.
Unlike his brothers, Donnie had been facing the blast when it went off. He remembered the heat searing across his flesh, burning hot, agonizing. He wasn’t sure the smell of burning skin would ever erase itself from his memory. The sheer force, the power, the blast reducing that building to rubble in seconds.
Unfortunately, Donnie didn’t have the pleasure of blacking out until after his body had been blown thirty feet through the air, smashed into a car and flipped over feet-first. In fact, he was fairly certain he didn’t black out until the exact moment he went heels over head, dam near snapping his neck in the process before slamming down onto his face. There was a moment of extreme pain, fresh blisters making contact with cool metal, and then he was gone.
Naturally, the memories got fuzzy there—a blur. Distant hands carrying his body, an agonizing pain shooting through his bones, his face, his arms. A dull throbbing in his skull, jostling, moving, wishing he could scream only to have low groans escape him instead. It was weird; he wasn’t conscious, he couldn’t see, but he was aware enough to know it sucked.
He didn’t actually wake up till later that night. He’d gone through who knows how many hours of Splinter using the healing hands, April cleaning up the most severe wounds and buffing the black scorch marks out of his shell, all the while his brothers were off doing god knows what.
To say it hurt when he woke up was an understatement. Every limb ached, every joint groaned, his skin burnt, face swollen, ears ringing so loudly you’d think a bell was trapped inside his head. He knew it wasn’t good when he thought he opened his eyes but they weren’t anymore than half-lidded, the left side of his face in particular throbbing with a not-so-subtle agony.
That didn’t stop April’s smile of pure joy, it didn’t stop his brothers bursting through the door and tackling him into a hug despite every touch making him want to scream. All he could muster out was an ‘ow’ or two, barely holding himself up with his arms. They were laughing though, so he supposed that’s all that mattered.
It wasn’t until much after Karai left that he was actually the focus of their attention. Not that he wanted to be—but there was something incredibly annoying about having your awakening overshadowed by your long-lost not-sister declaring she’d kill her adoptive not-father that really put a damper on one’s mood. He could tell Leo and Splinter were worried about her, and part of him resented that.
Unfortunately, his resentment only grew when Leo finally asked him how he was.
“Me?” He said hoarsely, his upper lip curling into a half-hidden, pathetic attempt at a sneer. His face wouldn’t exactly cooperate, so he’d have to make do with whatever that was. “I feel like I’ve been blown up. Cause I have.”
Across from him, his eldest brother winced, but Donnie couldn’t find it in himself to care. That black mask, the spikes, the black accents… he looked ridiculous. It wasn’t Leo. It was all her.
Next to him, Mikey was absentmindedly running his hand down his arm, every brush of his fingers sending fire down his spine. He gently shrugged him off, getting to his feet with some difficulty and (unwanted) help from their father.
Leo said something but Donnie ignored him, not necessarily intentionally, more so because the atmospheric change caused by the simple act of standing had turned the just subtle ringing into a full-blown choir inside his ear canal. He couldn’t hear himself think, let alone his brother’s shitty excuses.
Splinter tried to hold on to him, one hand on Donnie’s shoulder and the other on his arm, but Donnie shrugged him off too. He was unsteady, but he didn’t want anyone’s help. He wanted to see the damage for himself, by himself, without everybody staring over his shoulder and watching his reaction like he was opening their Christmas presents.
(Really, he should’ve known by now that he never gets what he wants.)
Instead of leaving him be, his brothers trailed after him like baby ducks, following his shaky steps down the stairs, across the lair and into the bathroom. They didn’t come in of course, it was much too cramped, but they stood outside, eyes on him like a hawk stalking their prey. Raph had his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the frame with a frown plastered on his face. Mikey was bouncing on the balls of his feet just behind him, staring at D with hope and slight fear.
Leo was standing the furthest away, hands hanging limp at his sides, eyes downcast despite staring straight at him. Donnie hated it. That look. A mix of pity and self hatred, wrapped into one perfect kicked puppy expression.
It took a lot of willpower for Donnie to finally look at himself, and boy, did he almost regret it.
The first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t permanently disfigured, thank god, but he was by no means unscathed. His upper body was littered with first and second-degree burns, the worst of them on his shoulders and the left side of his neck. The way he’d turned when he looked back at the explosion.
That said nothing for his face though.
From his left jaw all the way to his temple was a row of blisters, at least five, yellow and bulging, the skin around them irritated, itchy, and aching. The first-degree burns spanned across every square inch, completely changing his complexion into something resembling a graffitied stop sign, but thankfully the blisters had limited themselves to the left side.
Subconsciously, he knew it could be a lot worse. The healing process would suck, it’d probably remain discoloured for at least a year, and it’d definitely scar, but with time it could fade. Sure, maybe it wouldn’t be completely unnoticeable, but he wouldn’t be anything like the Shredder. It wouldn’t be the first thing you saw. No, that title was still held by the gap in his teeth, maybe even his freakish height compared to his brothers. But eventually, it might not even be the third.
Still, that didn’t stop his heart from dropping into his stomach, his face paling, legs practically going weak. Nothing could prepare someone for the sight of their own burnt body, blisters that looked fake, his skin peeling, so red you’d think someone tried to sand it off. He was sure the only part of his body that wasn’t burnt was his back, which made it almost worse in a way.
Still… this was probably his worst injury yet. And he’d been mutated into a car, kidnapped so many times he couldn’t list them all if he tried, electrocuted, beaten senseless by one too many animals, and suffered so many concussions he’d started to worry about ending up like Mikey.
But this? This would leave a mark. There would be proof littering his body for years to come, he’d be reminded of this every time he looked in a mirror, people would know whenever they met him, this couldn’t—this wouldn’t heal all nice and pretty. Maybe subtly with time, but within the next year? He’d look like he was sporting the worst sunburn of his life.
He was scarred. For life, most likely. All because his brother had to go behind their backs—work with someone who tried to kill them more times than he could count—just to get in a few petty shots at Shredder’s plans.
He wanted to scream.
Maybe that was reflected on his face a little too well because Raph spoke up then; worried, his voice soft. Something that almost never happened. Not with Donnie. “You okay, Dee?”
He turned his gaze to him, rustic eyes blazing with anger, humiliation, pain. “What do you think, Raph? I’m—I’m fucking—“
He laughed then, turning his body fully away from the mirror, head dropping into his hands. “I look worse than when Mikey had shellacne!”
And that was putting it mildly.
Mikey, of course, let out an annoyed “hey!”, but Donnie didn’t care; he was too busy trying not to have a mental breakdown in front of his brothers.
It wasn’t really that bad, right?
He could’ve lost a limb.
He could’ve lost an eye.
He could’ve had burns so serious they melted the flesh off his bones.
He got off easy… right?
So why did it feel like he didn’t? I mean, sure, he was covered in welts, every inch of his skin raw and red, covered in yellow, fluid-filled blisters all over his arms and face, some patches peeling and bleeding. Sure, he looked hideous, and of course he felt even worse, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t…
“Donnie?”
This time it was Leo. Leo, who fucking got them into this mess. Leo, who didn’t tell them about their plans. Leo, who snuck around behind their backs. Leo, who should’ve known that Donnie would’ve done anything—anything—to keep him safe even if he didn’t agree with what he was doing.
But Donnie knew that wasn’t fair. Knowing his brother, the eldest turtle had already beaten himself up enough that Donnie shouldn’t say anything. He didn’t have to say anything.
Still…
“What, Leo?” He dropped his hands, his voice was flat. He couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t—
“I—“ he swallowed. Donnie waited, eyes locked on the floor, desperately trying to ignore the fact that he couldn’t see any green on his skin. “I need you to tell me that it’s okay. That—that you’re okay.”
Donnie couldn’t help but scoff.
“Why, so you can make yourself feel better?” he snapped, glaring at his older brother. “So you can convince yourself everything’s fine, that your mistakes didn’t—didn’t hurt? That I’m not—”
He blinked, bit his tongue, did his best not to cry. Leo was still, eyes wide, mouth shut. Raph, like Leo, was quiet for once. He didn’t egg him on, didn’t do anything but stand there, staring at Donnie with pity. (God, he hated pity.) Mikey was the only one who looked remorseful, sympathetic, guilty even. Why, Donnie didn’t know; it wasn’t his fault—he didn’t start this.
“You blew me up, Leo,” he said quietly, dull eyes locking onto the blue banded turtle.
“It was an accident—!”
“YOU BLEW ME UP.”
His brothers all shrunk back, and so did Donnie. He coughed, his throat spasming, every bit of his body shaking with the force. He sucked in a breath, and another, and another, and one more for good measure. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and he shut them reflexively, desperately trying not to let them fall.
“Donnie—” Leo started, Donnie just shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry—“
“Don’t, Leo,” he snapped, sniffling.
“D—“ He shook his head again. “Please, you mean everything to me.”
“Clearly not enough.”
“Donatello—“
But he didn’t care, pushing past his brothers as best he could, navigating his way back to his lab with blurry vision. That, and a broken body which wanted nothing more than to sleep with enough painkillers in his system to knock out a horse.
It didn’t matter what Leo said. The only thing that mattered was what he did.
His brothers were still calling after him but he didn’t care. Didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to see them. He didn’t want their sympathy.
He didn’t want anything but to be alone.