Chapter Text
Donatello gasps as he covers his eyes, attempting to block the bright violet, red, and yellow hues that spew from the combusting Technodrome.
Light peaks through the small crevasses made by his fingers. Wind howls in his ears, a nerve-wracking symphony produced by the explosion. The air threatens to knock him over, excited to put up a fight. A putrid smell washes over the whole city, making his lungs burn with every inhalation. Terror floods every inch of him, causing his breathing rate to quicken, thus making the godawful scent enter his smell. The back of his throat tingles with disdain.
He hears a thump followed by an ugly sob and puts his own finger to his misting eyes. Water meets skin, causing a sense of dread to wash over him.
His mind reels, unable to put a single coherent thought together. It's a scrambled mess in there and it seems no better than what's happening in the outside world. It’s foggy, it aches, and there is no string that connects him to his brain.
His toes burrow into the loose rocks on this distasteful island. It stabs and cuts into him, but it gives him a sense of reality to grip onto. Something tangible, something painful. It physically roots him to the ground and halts his swirling head.
Something’s wrong. Terribly wrong.
Donnie directs his eyes to the sky, clouds of smoke envelope the atmosphere. From these abnormal clouds, chunks of Technodrome rain down, infecting the earth's surface with its corrupted ichor.
Even through his pounding headache, he hopes Casey Jr. made it out okay. They can only be so lucky with their success. He frowns at the thought, turning his head to his brothers.
Raph is bowed over, forehead touching the terrain. He trembles under the weight of the world, and the expectations that were handed to him. Regardless he keeps his composure, a waterfall doesn't break from his eyes. If only Donnie could say the same.
Mikey has collapsed to the ground, and the softshell briefly connects the wailing heard in the background of his pounding ears as Mikey’s sobs. The box turtle has finally let himself break down, after all this time of uncertainty and panic. He commends him for staying balanced for so long.
His own legs shake, staggering against waves of vertigo that encompass his mind. He's losing his balance by the second, but he’s compelled by pure stubbornness to keep himself upright.
Ambulance sirens howl, grieving over the many casualties lost to the Krang’s invasion. The word casualty repeats in his mind because that’s what he could have been, a casualty. Someone lost to this brief battle, only referred to by a number in history.
Raph is the first to move, reminding him that the world keeps spinning. He sloppily staggers towards Mikey, enveloping the youngest in a hug. It's vulnerable, the most vulnerable they’ve been ever since the beginning of this is night. And that’s alright because the Krang is locked away. However, the thought doesn't stop his lurching stomach.
"Donnie?"
At the sound of his name asked in such tentative questioning, the softshell locks eyes with his younger brother. The dam threatens to break and reinforcements are the clear solution, but he just wants to feel naïve and slip away within the grips of his brothers. Just this once.
Though naïvety helps no one; he’s never seen one good thing arise from staying oblivious. The world forces you to learn, no matter how naïve you strive to be. You help no one by being naïve. You just put more in danger. The world shoves that fact in your face. Shoves your worst attributes as a taunt and spits in your face by bringing an alien race to terrorize your civilizations.
He takes one step, a very unstable one though he makes sure to stay vigilant because he is not one of the naïve. It moves him forward. Forwards toward the future, where his brothers can heal.
His brothers spread their arms when he gets close enough and he collapses into them. They all sway because of his added weight, no sturdiness to be found, but the bond doesn't break. The hug is tight and desperate, though nothing like the touch of the Technodrome. It's a comfort, not something to recoil from. They are brothers in arms.
He buries his face into the crook of Raph’s neck, hiding from the cruel world they just saved. The action is childish, but that's what they are. Children. And he'll admit it. During this moment of susceptibility, he'll admit that he is too young.
This is progress, he thinks. It's a reminder of how they all made it out alive. How they're lucky to have even successfully gotten away with defeating something that seems to know no bounds. Creatures who only seek destruction and misery. And now they have to sweep the remnants from this past day away because that's how the world works. It moves and you have to keep up with this breakneck pace it's rotating at.
He squeezes his eyes shut before reluctantly lifting his head up in aspiration to speak to Mikey. But an object rolls up into the corner of his vision. It’s submerged in water, in the process of washing up.
The thought regarding his brother shifts, and his attention turns to the surprise from the ocean. He narrows his brows, attempting to scrutinize the thing from far away.
When it is unveiled, his eyes widen. He pushes away from the embrace--and his brothers--in complete panic. The unexpected movement earns a gasp and a squawk, though those noises never register in his head. Blood pounds and breathing becomes too shallow to be considered normal.
Donnie directs a finger to the object encompassing his thoughts. It lays still, dead.
A body.
His breathing hitches, unable to keep up with the sudden onslaught of emotions. A person just washed up in front of his eyes, on the worst fucking island in all of New York.
And the most terrible thing about it wasn't the rotting stench that's being emitted or the lifeless corpse sitting right before him.
No, the worst part about it is the blue bandana tied around its thoroughly beaten face.