Chapter Text
Clad in striped purple pajamas, Donnie lay in bed, clutching his robot plush as his eyelids fluttered with the erratic rising and falling of his plastron.
The starless summer sky loomed above as the softshell turtle leaned, the tips of his toes gripping the tower ledge, toward the intoxicating blurs of crowded headlights, streetlights, and boat lights some thousands of feet below. Blurs of April, and Leo, and Mikey, and Raph, and Splinter, and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. appeared somewhere amidst the tottering lights below.
Gathering what was left of himself, Donnie straightened, inhaled, and stepped off the bridge.
Deafening wind ripped at his bandana as he and his stomach began to plunge, his hollow gaze on the endless expanse of murky water— and, with a sharp inhale, the softshell turtle braced his bones for his final painful collision—
VRRRRRRRRRRRRR—
Donnie jolted awake, trembling and heart pounding, his bleary eyes dizzily meeting his bedroom ceiling.
VRRRRMMMMMMMMMMM.
Groggily, the softshell squinted past his bed ladder to discover S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. vacuuming the shadowed violet corners of his room.
Donnie groaned and flopped over with a sigh of his warm weighted blanket. “D’you really have to do that now?” he croaked irritably.
Unbothered, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. retracted his vacuuming attachment. “Yep,” he returned unsympathetically. “It's time to get up, Dee.”
Despite his uncomfortably full bladder, Donnie sank back into his mattress, the current of drowsiness pulling him back into the choppy black waters beneath the Brooklyn Bridge….
Whhhrrrrr.
S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. butted the softshell’s spiny shell. "C'mon," he encouraged.
Irritably, Donnie swatted him away. “Five more minutes, please?” he mumbled desperately into his sinking pillow.
"Nope." S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. ripped away the weighted blanket, and thus the shield of warmth, from the softshell's fetal frame.
Donnie scowled at him— and, knowing full well he would not be able to return to sleep without the weight of his blanket, begrudgingly sat up. With drooping eyes, he longingly studied his soft, enticing pillow… but heaved a sigh and sat atop his loft ladder.
The softshell turtle drowsily pushed past the creaking, ripped-hinged bathroom door. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. turned around, leaving the softshell to the only business that he had become allowed, and started the shower head with a skreeeak.
Listlessly, Donnie lathered soap onto his palms, rubbing the old scar; distractedly, he rinsed away the suds and carelessly wiped his hands on his pajama bottoms.
With a half-suppressed sigh, the softshell leaned against the sink and stared into the haunted, chipped reflection before him and absently rubbed the pale green neck that had once suspended his frame.
"Water’s warm,” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. announced.
Grudgingly, Donnie pushed himself from the counter, wrestled off his pajamas, exposing his tech gauntlet and the faint scars lining his arms and thighs— and, uncomfortably exposed, he hurriedly stepped into the creaky tub and disappeared behind the curtain with a shhk!
Steaming hot water embraced his spiny shell as he stared past his scarred frame and into the familiar stained bathtub below, the curtain rippling restlessly.
Somberly, Donnie watched as hot water plinked on his upgraded tech gauntlet that communicated vitals, mood, and brain waves to the newly reprogrammed S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.
Since said reprogramming, however, the tech gauntlet had become more of an ankle monitor, for if the softshell neglected to charge it or attempted to remove it, a holographic screen revealing a red softshell silhouette flooded by exclamation alerts, last known coordinates, and lair security footage would summon the robot and ping each of the Hamatos' phones….
Meaning, therefore, that Donnie could not even feel without the entire family's immediate attention.
Donnie heaved a despondent sigh. Why did I ever reprogram S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.?
— — — —
The softshell turtle knotted his purple bandana around his cranium, snapped his spandex fingerless gloves into place, clicked his belt around his plastron… and glanced mournfully at his battle shell, lying forgotten in his desk chair.
Gloomily, Donnie threw on his violet-and-mauve hoodie and clumsily stepped into a purple pair of knee-length lounge shorts— and, hooking his thumbs in his pockets, trudged out of his room, past the training room, into the living room, and flopped himself into the couch cushion.
Splinter eagerly lowered his magazine, revealing his his perked fuzzy ears and reading glasses. "Ah, good morning!” he greeted warmly. “Are you ready for today's training?"
Without waiting for an answer, however, Splinter dipped his head satisfactorily, his white ponytail nodding along, and tossed his newspaper aside. "Good!” Hopping to his feet, he happily added, “I will start up the projector.”
Whhhrrrrr.
Lethargically, Donnie craned his neck to discover S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. placing a tray of pre-selected breakfast beside him: fresh banana pancakes, a rolling hard-boiled egg, and a small porcelain dish of oatmeal— but most importantly, a scintillating, tall silver mug of iced black coffee and two acetaminophen capsules.
It was then that Donnie realized his head was aching.
Without hesitation, Donnie tossed the pills down his throat, sipped his coffee, and set his mug down with a clang. “Thanks."
S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. dipped his head and whirred away as Donnie stared into the flickering candles lining rhe room.
Splinter grunted back into his recliner, removed his reading glasses, and sipped on his steaming cup of tea.
Absently, Donnie prodded his boiled egg as the projector panned to— unsurprisingly— none other than Lou Jitsu in his glinting orange shades and spandex onesie.
Donnie leaned on the armrest, tracing his reflection in his empty coffee mug, as the credits began to roll.
“Ah," Splinter murmured. "Good old days…."
The projector flickered off, engulfing the candlelit room in afternoon darkness.
Click.
🎶 Another day has gone… I’m still all alone 🎶
Donnie furrowed his brow in confusion. Is that… Michael Jackson? he wondered incredulously.
"Ahem."
Donnie flinched, automatically lifting his head to discover his father sitting before him, his legs crossed, tail tucked, and one scrutinizing amber eye waiting expectantly.
🎶 How could this be?🎶
Hastily, the softshell turtle crossed his legs and closed his eyes.
🎶You're not here with me…🎶
“Now, take a deep breath in… and out…" Splinter instructed.
Reluctantly, Donnie inhaled and heaved a sigh, his permanent-marker eyebrow twitching in embarrassment.
🎶 You never said goodbye… someone tell me why… 🎶
"... And repeat after me," Splinter continued over the music. "I am a Hamato."
🎶 Did you have to go? And leave my world so cold? 🎶
Donnie bit his lip. "I am a Hamato," he said sarcastically.
🎶 Every day I sit and ask myself how did love slip away? 🎶
"I am not alone," Splinter prompted in a zen-like manner.
🎶 Something whispers in my ear and says— 🎶
Feeling stupid, Donnie clenched his teeth. "I'm not alone."
🎶 I am here with you… though you're far away 🎶
“I am worthy of love."
🎶 I am here to stay… but you are not alone… 🎶
Donnie swallowed, feeling hot.
🎶 I am here with you… though we're far apart...🎶
Splinter cleared his throat. "I am not hearing you," he warned.
🎶 You're always in my heart… but you are not alone... 🎶
Donnie opened his darting eyes. "It's just— we said all this stuff last time," he blurted, squeezing his arm self-consciously. Hesitantly, he fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve. “When can we start, y’know… real training?”
🎶 'Lone, 'lone… 🎶
Nervously, Donnie looked up to discover his father's wrinkled brow furrowed and his ears pinned back.
🎶 Why, 'lone… 🎶
“Real training?” Splinter repeated in confusion.
🎶 Just the other night… I thought I heard you cry… 🎶
Dread began to sink in the softshell's stomach.
🎶 Asking me to come and hold you in my arms— 🎶
Splinter flicked off the cassette player with his tail. “Donnie,” he began seriously, “this is real training. You have been gone for a year— you are not ready for more than this."
Chagrined, Donnie dropped his gaze into his lap.
Click.
🎶 —I can hear your prayers… your burdens I will bear… 🎶
Recomposing himself, Splinter placed his palms together and closed his eyes. "Now," he said abruptly, "close your eyes and repeat after me, from the beginning: ‘I am a Hamato….’"
🎶 But first I need your hand, then forever can begin… 🎶
Donnie squeezed his glistening eyes shut and clenched his fists.
— — — —
The scent of pizza and popcorn joined the warmth of his family members beside him, Mayhem's puffy golden tail occasionally sweeping the softshell's shoulder.
Distractedly fidgeting with his glowing strings, Donnie stared ahead wearily, lights flashing across his countenance, at the battling Jupiter Jim shooting beams of light in microgravity, his spaceship tether tightening with each movement.
In the softshell’s mind, however, there played an entirely different scene and genre: taking a knife and slicing his emerald-green arms, line after burning line, blood welling at the source of each cut— just enough blood to appease his bloodlust….
“Egad!” Jupiter Jim cried faintly. “My trusty tether! Without any outside force” —the suit tether snapped, somersaulting him past his enemy— “I’m doomed to perpetual motiooooon!”
Restively, Donnie pulled back his sleeve and tapped his gauntlet, igniting the dark with an orange status screen, and checked the time.
Dissatisfied, he slipped his sleeve back over his scarred arm and wound his hoodie string around a finger.
On the screen, a jetpack whooshed into view, snagging Jupiter Jim from his fate.
"Red Fox!" Jupiter Jim exclaimed in delight. "After everything… you’d still save my life?”
Grinning, Red Fox cradled the legend in her suited arms. “Always,” she returned.
In the softshell's peripherals, Leo threw up his arms in frustration. "I still can't believe he chose Red Fox over me for his comeback film," he sulked, gesturing toward the screen.
Raph leaned forward. "Uh… don't you mean me?" the snapping turtle interjected. "Jupiter Jim picked me, remember?"
Mikey gawked at him indignantly. "But you weren't even in the competition!" he protested. “JJ only picked you because you wear red.”
Donnie squeezed his hoodie strings.
April turned to spurn the arguing brothers. “Guys,” she interrupted, “I can’t hear anything—”
Taking advantage of the commotion, Donnie pulled up his hood, wriggled out from his corner seat, and crept through the evening shadows, nearly escaping the room—
Until a pair of steely glowing red eyes rounded the corner, halting the softshell in his clandestine tracks. "Going somewhere?"
The jumbled voices fell silent; on the television, Red Fox's jetpack hurtled through space, background music swelling.
Bracingly, Donnie closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and stiffly turned around to discover the jury panel of Hamatos frowning from the sofa. “I’m, uh… gonna head to bed," he informed brusquely, gesturing toward his room.
Splinter frowned uneasily, his floppy ears pinning back, and sat up in his recliner. "Already?”
Leo exchanged a glance with the others. “Aren't you gonna finish the movie?” he asked with a frown.
Donnie shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Nah, I’m tired,” he said, hooking his thumbs in his pocket. Without further elaboration, he spun his heels toward the exit—
“Wait!” Mikey blurted, leaping from the couch.
Continuing backward, Donnie turned and waved a dismissive arm. “It’s fine, I’ve got S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N., remember?” he reminded brusquely, shooting a glare at the purple drone. “It’s not like I can do anything.”
Mikey furrowed his brow in confusion. “Uh… what?” he said. “I just wanted to say good night.”
Donnie halted, furrowing his own brow. “Oh. Well. Good night." Robotically, he again turned to leave—
It was then that Raph stood and snatched his wrist. “Don, quit bein’ a stranger and get over here,” he invited, pulling him into a mushy embrace.
Donnie scowled at the unsolicited gesture— but as the rest of the Hamatos followed suit, the softshell's rigid shoulders drooped in defeat.
"Night, Don-Tron," Leo bid warmly.
Mayhem pounced up the snapping turtle and licked the softshell’s cheek.
"We love you," April reminded with a squeeze.
Donnie swallowed, blinking the sudden gloss of tears from his eyes.
Slowly, the family released their grip— but not before Raph affectionately rubbed his head. Donnie pulled away, swatting and failing to suppress his grin, and wiped the yōkai's slobber away with a grimace. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered.
Whhhrrrrr.
Flanked by S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N., Donnie sauntered down the dark lair corridors. With every step, the voices from the TV grew more faint until they had become nothing more than a faint, indistinct murmur.
Upon reaching his room, Donnie tossed his silver goggles onto his empty desk and adjusted his cat-ear headphones atop his head.
“That doesn’t look like going to bed,” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. commented.
Donnie climbed his ladder and collapsed into his bed, out of breath. “There,” he grunted. “In bed. Happy?” Without another glance at his irritating robot, the softshell pressed play on his next track and pushed the volume to its limits.
“D, you know that’s not—” the robot started, but a melancholy piano riff consumed whatever else S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. had said.
🎶Wonder how I didn't die…🎶
With a sigh, Donnie glanced to his side and welcomed his beloved robot plush into his arms.
🎶 This is not my life; I’m no survivor, I only happened to survive…🎶
S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. visibly sighed, his frame and glowing red eyes drooping in defeat, and whirred below toward his charging station.
Absently, Donnie flicked Techie's floppy zigzagged antenna; as though in a trance, he watched the orb oscillate.
🎶 Wonder how I sleep at night…🎶
The world and piano riffs around him faded into a blur as heavy dissociation hijacked his vision and the weight on his chest pushed him through his mattress until like a phantom, Donnie had phased through, leaving him floating inside the concrete cells of his psyche.
Time stretched onward until the softshell rediscover himself back into his bed, his gaze lingering on the pulsing-magenta-tinted ceiling.
🎶Waste not, want not, borrowed time… 🎶
Wearily, Donnie rolled toward his wall. His drifting gaze caught the scribbled Atomic Lass calendar Mikey had filled with space stickers and followed the hatched out days until he'd deduced what must've been the current day: August 31st.
🎶Lender knows I’ve tried to make it right; give back my life, and if not take it 🎶
More than six months had passed since his latest attempt involving writhing face-first in the brimming bathtub until panic gave way to drowsiness and shifted into the familiar violet void, the angelic black feline studying him with her sympathetic ivory slits; and waking, convulsing, and retching water to discover April's trembling palms against his newly throbbing chest.
🎶 'Cause lately, I been thinking maybe I could take it or leave it if I can’t at least break even, then I'm leaving 🎶
…And coming Halloween would soon be the anniversary of his first suicide attempt compromising of anchoring the smooth gray extension cord in his closet, kicking the desk chair out from beneath him, thrashing, grasping at his neck until the ringing world faded away, and waking to an agonizing jolt in his aching heart.
The softshell’s gaze drifted toward the bottom of his closet, where lay the dusty violet cane that he'd needed soon thereafter.
🎶 When I been feelin’ this awful since I hit bottom and said "hand me my shovel, I’m goin’ in"🎶
More than a year had passed since the infamous initial Incident: oozing dark blue blood, then spurting blood from his glassy palm, and groggily waking under glaring fluorescent lights of the yōkai.
🎶 Oh, brother… man, you call that recovered? 🎶
And yet, despite losing and regaining weight, starting and stopping therapy and medication, giving in and up self-harm, even once dying and returning to life… nothing had changed.
Donnie still could not help but wish he was dead.
🎶 Tripped on a couple steps and collapsed on the stairs, broke my neck on the backs of those who I’ve hurt and scared 🎶
After all, truly, what was left to live for? The softshell turtle was done fighting, done inventing, even.
🎶 Like it's a good thing you said, “You’ve got your whole life ahead” 🎶
A glimmer from the adjacent shelf caught his jaded eye; following it, the softshell turned his gaze toward the empty Catfeine can dented from Mayhem’s tusks.
🎶 Oh, great, another half a century to live to regret; I’d rather be anybody else instead🎶
On the can was a leaping Tsubasa, the regal black cat that had haunted his mind with psychosis-induced dreams and visions.
236, 238, the feline had whispered. Don't hang up yet. Look to the purple patterns…
🎶 ‘Cause I was drunk when I made my bed… 🎶
But Donnie couldn't even bear to glance at his mystic patterns anymore, for the coating of scars were a tally of his sins— sins he gravitated toward, despite all his attempts to move forward.
🎶Now with a half-decade hangover I lay down in it🎶
Distraught, Donnie returned his gaze toward the ceiling, his mind drifting away with to the pensive piano. If only he could go back to the way things had been….
🎶What have I done? Don't know what I’ve said 🎶
Things before S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.'s reprogramming, that was; that way, he could at the very least cut himself again…
🎶 It's a half-decade hangover, either this, in jail, or dead…🎶
For despite everything he'd been through, Donnie couldn't help but feel he himself was Jupiter Jim, his fraying tether about to snap, soon to send him spiraling into the infinite abyss.
🎶 It's a half-decade hangover.…🎶
Hopefully without Red Fox to rescue him this time.