Work Text:
Finding Donatello tinkering with something was commonplace. In fact, it was a sign something was wrong if they didn’t have to pry him away from his tools at least twice before the night was over. Master Splinter had threatened to re-instate a bedtime if “you do not show more discretion for the amount of rest your body requires.”
For the most part, crazy late night projects had paused after that and even Donatello admitted to there “being wisdom in moderation.”
But as Raphael made his way into the garage, there was something distinctly off about the tinkering. Finding Donatello under the turtle van wasn’t unusual but the fact he’d almost taken the engine apart and had every piece laid out in neat even rows….that was a little odd. He might be anal retentive but he wasn’t usually that bad.
But then, Donatello had become a vengeance driven maniac not even a few hours before. Figured there would be some repercussions.
“Donatello, did the engine just…fall apart or are you doing this on purpose?”
“Improvements,” came the short answer. Great. Short answers usually meant there was little true processing going on. Much as the genius might think of himself as the “rational one”, he was just as capable of being an emotional wreck.
Hardware store being sprawled right next to him being a prime example.
“Improvements that mean you’re looking at every single individual screw?” Raphael leaned his weight against the van, glancing down at his brother.
After a pause, Donatello pushed his way back out into the light. Sitting up, he grabbed a nearby rag, wiping away the oil and residue from his hands. “Nothing should be overlooked.”
“If there was anything wrong with it.” Raphael challenged. “Seemed like it was working pretty well—“
“Except it was vulnerable to every weapon the Triceratons were using.”
Frowning, the red banded turtle countered. “Uh, not sure if you noticed but everything we have was vulnerable to their weapons. Including us. That means we need fixed too?”
“I fix machines. Leonardo and Master Splinter fix skill and strength.” He set his brother with a look full of planning and outlining and blueprinting and a thousand new method of electronics. “And after I finish the engine, I’ll move onto the weapons and armor. One thing at a time because, unfortunately, I’m bound by mortal limitations of alertness. Even coffee can only do so much.”
He took another swing of the chipped green mug that was “his working mug” before turning attention back to the van.
Raphael didn’t like this. Their brother had always been prone to a little obsession but this carried new levels of self sabotage.
“Donatello, you’re being that obsessive nutball again. You know that never ends well.”
“Are you gonna help me, Raphael or just stand there and insult me?” The genius turtle had turned away even as he spoke, sorting through his tools.
“Hey, you know most of my personality is based in insulting people—“
“Then get out.”
The coldness to that tone took him aback. “Donatello-“
“I mean it! If you’re not helping then get out. I’m busy.” The turtle took up a wrench and slid back under the van.
“I’m just worried about you.” The turtle urged. Maybe raw admission would get him somewhere. “Is that such a bad thing?”
A pause and for a moment, Raphael wondered if he’d get a response at all. But amid the clanking of metal and twisting of screws, Donatello replied, in that monotone voice that said he was done discussing,
“I'm okay. You don't need to worry about me."
“You’re my brother, Boy Genius. Sorry but the worrying isn’t going anywhere.”
“Then go worry somewhere else. You’re distracting me.”
OOO
When Raphael stumbled into the living room, his whole figure radiated concern. Not that he never had such feelings but it was rare for him to be so open about it.
Michelangelo looked up from playing with Klunk. After a hard mission, especially one that stressed the emotions so, he liked to relax by playing with the small cat his brothers and Sensei had gifted him. As it was, the small grey and white feline was intent on grasping the ends of his bandana tails.
Adjusting to the kitten had been a process, more so for their Sensei than anyone else, but at times like this, Raphael was glad they finally gave in to their youngest brother’s wishes.
But as soon as Raphael’s anxious posture became evident, Michelangelo lost all playfulness, yelping when Klunk achieved her victory. Settling the cat on the couch, the teen stood, “What’s wrong, Raphael?”
From the nearby chair, Leonardo closed his book. “Raphael?” Concern etched his words.
“Boy Genius has slipped into obsessive mode. More so than usual.”
The leader gave a hefty sigh. “After what happened, is it any wonder?”
“Oh, it doesn’t surprise me. Just scares me.” Not normally one to admit such a thing, there was no avoiding it here. Folding his arms, Raphael snorted. “He kicked me out of the garage. Try if you want but I doubt he’ll be any more receptive to you all.”
Michelangelo frowned. “But he oughta be resting! I mean, the dude got shocked how many times today?”
“Too many.” Leonardo stood. “You’re right, Michelangelo. There’ll be time for him to jump back into his projects but not yet.”
The red banded turtle laughed without humor. “Try telling him that. He was taking the turtle van engine apart when I left.”
Blinking, Michelangelo asked as Klunk jumped onto his shoulder, “But there’s nothing wrong with the engine, bud.”
“That’s what I said.” Raphael flopped down on the couch, snorted as the cat leapt from Michelangelo’s shoulder to his lap, nuzzling under his chin. “Yeah, yeah, hi to you, too.”
The turtle gave a light scratch the cat’s head and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t help to have a furry creature vibrating against your throat. He could see why Michelangelo loved to cuddle with the thing after a battle.
But a cuddly cat wouldn’t fix his stubborn, bullheaded brother. “But our resident brainiac is on one of his ‘I can make it better,’ fits.”
Both Michelangelo and Leonardo groaned.
“Again?” Setting his book on the coffee table, Leonardo asked, “I thought he’d gotten better at that.”
“He was, compadre.” Michelangelo ventured. “Least before today. I mean, he kinda lost his wits for a while.”
While he didn’t say as much, the surfer turtle found himself considering that Leonardo and Raphael both knew what it was like to utterly lose themselves. Both had fallen victim to Donatello’s personality modifier and those periods remained memories full of pain. Enough that after the initial apologies, the pleads for forgiveness, and reconnect, there seemed to be a universal agreement to never discuss it again.
Granted, the circumstances weren’t exactly the same but as far as the surfer turtle was concerned, they were comparable. While there’d been no burst from that invention, the result was the same. Their calm, collected brother had lost who he was. Lost sight of what was important. Lost all his morals, truthfully. Willingly going against their father, against his own brothers.
Frowning, Michelangelo addressed his older siblings.
“Let me try.”
As he headed for the garage, Raphael called, “You might wanna bring a helmet!”
OOO
Donatello inhaled, let it out though his mouth. Long, deliberate. After interruption after interruption—first Raphael the Michelangelo and finally Leonardo—he’d stormed out of the garage and into his lab. There, he had a door he could lock.
He rarely ever did. It just seemed…rude and almost disrespectful—but after being hounded, constantly, for the past hour, he had moved past the point of caring.
Plus, his brothers fussing over him only served as a reminder. He pushed—or tried to—their hurt, begging faces out of his mind. The concern, the worry, the fretting. A stinging, painful reminder that over the past twenty four hours, he had lost who he was.
Guilt rattled his bones, in more ways than one.
Donatello stared at the blueprints in front of him. Stared but didn’t really see.
It was easier to say he was focused on fixing their equipment, their weapons. It wasn’t a lie per ce but it also wasn’t the true issue. But the true issue was something emotional, something absolutely outside of his wheelhouse.
Not that he was emotionless—far from it! He was quite adept at recognizing fear, worry, happiness, sadness in his family. He’d served as shoulder of support many a time.
But it was different…when it was him that needed help. Help he was solely convinced he was not worthy of.
Looking back, the things he’d done. The things he’d said. How dismissive he was. How he ignored his father’s warning. The cruel manner he’d…
Turned on his own brothers. While it wasn’t unusual for his inventions to misfire, never before had he deliberately turned one of his creations on his family.
It was one thing for them to misfire, combust or suddenly break apart and catch his family in the crossfire. Much as he loathed when that happened (and was fully devoted to smothering the victim with affection in the aftermath), that was different. It was accidental.
This…the things he'd done. They'd been intentional. Even with his warped state of mind, some
And it’s not the first time either.
Glumly, Donatello sat, chin in hand, as his thoughts swirled.
His clone had also turned on his family. Said and done things designed to hurt. And all with information from Donatello’s own mind. At the core of it wasn’t some enemy but their own brother.
He thought he’d learned from it. Thought he’d cast out those portions of his mind so fixated on data, on facts, on results. He’d made it one of his most vital personal goals—cast out what made that clone possible.
And now this.
“So much for my brain being one of our greatest assets.”
The longer he thought on it—his clone, his mind being rocked into some kind of vengeance driven monster that would attack his own family,—a deeper, more painful realization bubbled in his gut.
This wasn’t the first time someone in their family had been subjected to a form of personality dissection. Admittedly, he was to blame for it being such a familiar issue.
When they’d tired of Leonardo’s stickler for the rules attitude. When Raphael had lost his fierce, sadistic edge (while they’d not done so deliberately, they weren’t jumping at the idea of changing him back either.)
His personality modifier.
It had seemed like such a good idea.
When he’d made the personality modifier, he’d looked at it like…well, like one might remove a bad fruit from a basket. Personalities were made up of so many different factors but surely correcting or removing one would improve the bunch, right? If something that caused a negative reaction was removed, it would lead only to a better outcome, right?
Except it hadn’t worked that way. He still couldn’t quite grasp why (at least not in a way he could admit to himself).
The utter horror on his brothers when they came back to themselves. The utter betrayal on their faces. The way they tried to push down the obvious twisted feelings.
Donatello had kept himself so clinical about it. So “well, the data doesn’t match, I’ll need to work on that,” even while he tried to convince his brothers they were still loved and valued.
He’d meant it, too. He did love them and treasure them and value them but he had never truly grasped the impact of having one’s personality scrambled until he was on the receiving end.
Now? He felt disheveled, confused, angry…though he was pretty sure he was angry at himself.
And why shouldn’t I be? The stuff I make for my family sure doesn’t seem payment for the trade offs.
How many times had his relentless pursuit of curiosity resulted in chaos or even pain for his family. If he hadn’t made this invention or had put aside that one…
How much time have you spent in here away from them? The caustic voice inside him crooned. When Leonardo was so thrilled he had reached a level in his training he had been pursuing for months?
What did you say?
“Show me later. Not like we won’t see each other training anyway.”
He’d pretended the fallen look on his brother’s face hadn’t bothered him. Not considered all the times Leonardo had put his training on hold to be a sounding board for Donatello’s ideas.
When he was knee deep in oil inside the Turtle Van and Raphael had come out, saying he needed to relax, that he could take “just five minutes” to listen to his new comedy routine.
What did you say to him? Oh, yes…
“If I want to be tortured, Raphael, I can think of a lot better ways.”
He hadn’t even looked up from his project.
Were his brother’s comedy routines bad? Almost always. But it was something he enjoyed. Something that brought him joy. How was he going to get better at it if he didn’t practice? That was the point of family—to support.
He hadn’t.
And Michelangelo…he’d been hinting and bugging him for weeks about a different sort of cheapskate. The kind that could get airborne, if only just a bit. A constant jabbering about the places they could go with that, without the bulky van. He talked about being able to make day trips, to show him ‘the mondo cool places I found, Dude!’
Donatello had finally stormed into his brother’s room one night, slammed a new board on his bed and said, “Here! Happy, now? Go on your ‘totally awesome trip’ and leave me alone!”
He’d ignored (at least visibly) the broken way Michelangelo had called after him, “I wanted us to go, Dude.”
Laying his head against his palms, Donatello groaned. As much as he tried to push these thoughts out, to make himself focus on the fact the past was the past, he couldn’t.
He was a scientist. When there was a pattern, it was worthy of noticing. He couldn’t not notice it.
And as far as he was concerned, all these past events, there was one common denominator.
Me
OOO
“Michelangelo?”
Leonardo and Raphael came upon their youngest brother sitting in Donatello’s room, outside of the entry door to his lab.
“What are you doing?” Raphael approached, hand to his brother’s shoulder. “If you’re hoping to be invited in, I’ve got a bridge to sell you.”
“Something’s wrong, compadres. I know our bud didn’t want to talk but I’m worried about him.”
“We all are, Michelangelo.” Kneeling to his brother’s side, Leonardo offered a smile, small as it was, as comfort. “But we can’t make him talk to us.”
“I…I know but I can’t…something’s wrong. Not just him being upset about him going all dark avenger on us. That’s just…well, that’s what triggered everything but he’s thinking about more than that and it worries me.”
Raphael tilted his head. “Thinking is usually the brainiac’s forte, Michelangelo.”
“Not this time! I’m serious! Something’s wrong!”
“My turtles, what is the cause of all this commotion?”
The group of three turned and Michelangelo scrambled to his feet, rushing at Master Splinter.
“Sensei, I know we, like, need to give him space but something feels wrong. He never locks us out!”
Raphael sighed, “But can you blame him? Leonardo didn't want to talk to anybody when his brain got scrambled. Both times!”
Gritting his teeth, Leonardo told himself not to take it personally. It was the truth, wasn't it? And he wasn't the only one vulnerable. While his approach needed a bit of fine-tuning, Raphael was speaking from experience.
Leonardo mentioned such:
“Raphael didn't want to either—”
“Least I came around faster than you—”
“And neither did you, Sensei.” Leonardo stammered a wee bit. Last thing he had wanted was to pull their Master into this argument but perhaps he could provide some guidance. “Shouldn't we give him his space?”
At the reminder, Splinter’s stance tightened, just a bit as his knuckles grasped his walking stick firmly.
Wincing, Leonardo said, “Sorry, Master, I know you don't like to think about the Rat King—”
“But you Dudes are just proving my point!” Michelangelo threw up his hands. “Why is this family allergic to talking when bad stuff goes down? Your feelings don’t bite, amigos!Those were mondo uncool things you lived through and we never talked about it!”
Leonardo put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Relax, Michelangelo.”
Raphael scoffed, shaking his head. “Why would we want to talk about it? I’d argue feelings do bite and I don’t really wanna spend time with those emotions. Considering brainiac doesn’t do emotions best in the first place, can you blame him for shutting down?”
“Yeah, I can. In fact, I blame all of us! When we get those scary emotions, we, like, totally plug our ears and ‘la la la I can’t hear you’ and it doesn’t help!”
The youngest turned to their master. “If it worked, you wouldn’t still tense up when we mention the Rat King.”
He pointed to Raphael. “You wouldn’t get that look in your eyes whenever you hear ‘please.’ And you wouldn’t shudder anytime you get vulnerable at all. You’re good at a lot of things, Dude but your poker face is mondo-weak.”
Shifting to Leonardo, the youngest said, “And you can’t tell me you gave up Three Musketeers just ‘cause, Dude. It was one of your favorite books and you haven’t touched it since that…weirdness happened. And wherever you hafta get serious, I see it.”
“See what?” Leonardo’s voice was pinched but not with anger. “You see what?”
“The hesitation. Like, you’re scared you’re gonna…” Michelangelo shook his head. “We shoulda talked about these things, compadres. Really talked about them. And now Donatello has gone through one. And he’s doing what we always do. Trying to push it down.”
Storming to the door, Michelangelo banged on it with his whole fist. “Yo, Donatello, let us in, bud!”
Silence.
Turning to his family, Michelangelo pointed at the door. “See? He’s doing the same thing and I don’t wanna see him get…stay hurt like you all have. Not if we can help it. If he wants to get mad at me for being nosy or annoying or whatever, fine. I can take that.”
The boy’s eyes were wet. “But I’m sick of my family saying they’re fine when they’re not!”
The three exchanged glances. While they didn’t exactly like being called out, they couldn’t argue he was right. They did often try to pretend these things either didn’t happen or were just a simple mission—as if they didn’t play at the core of their emotions.
Raw emotions would inevitably lead to impulse, to scrambled and misconstrued thoughts. To dark places their family had no cause lingering in.
Splinter frowned then gave a nod. “You are wise beyond your years, son.”
Walking up to the door, the rat knocked himself. “Donatello. Our concern for you has overridden all other things. Please open the door now or we will enter regardless.”
OOO
Donatello turned the personality modifier over and in his hands. He had no other choice as far as he was concerned.
There was an odd irony in it, he supposed. He’d created this device as a means to correct the intricacies and quirks that pulled down a person. It had been an utter failure. Just like so many of his other inventions.
But the one thing the invention did do was completely change one’s thought process, their internal network. Utterly changing them into someone else.
But I need to be changed. He thought. It’s my duty to my family to change. The clone, the issues with this personality modifier, the utter neglect I’ve shown them and now this…
He heard pounding at his door, voices. He pushed them out of his mind.
A simple fix. He’d never hurt them again.
Turning the gun around, Donatello pointed it at himself, making a few last minute adjustments with the wiring and—
Something hard, strong and fast slammed into him with all the force of a freight train. Donatello hit the ground hard, the gun spinning across the lab floor.
Something heavy pinned him to the ground.
“Dude, have you completely lost it?!”
Michelangelo. And Leonardo, Raphael and Splinter just behind him.
Raphael found the gun first and a few well placed stomps from those big feet rendered it inaccessible for the immediate future.
“Donatello, what were you doing?!” Leonardo and his brother’s voice should never sound like that. Broken and drained and fragile—like a flower caught amid the frost. Where the slightest touch would shatter it.
Master Splinter shouldn’t look like that. Old. Small. As if all the weight of the world had been slammed into his shoulders and his bones couldn’t take it. “My son, why—“
“Have the cheese slipped completely off your pizza?!” Raphael was angry. But a different kind of anger. The type of anger where despite your best efforts hurt, fear, and confusion bubble up.
Donatello didn’t understand. Well, not entirely.
“I was trying to fix things. You all know how I am. I see an issue, I fix it.”
“You just got your senses back, compadre!” Michelangelo trembled even as he refused to budge from his position locking Donatello to the ground. “Why would you wanna scramble them again?”
Tears dripped off his face.
“I’m fixing a maladaptive pattern.”
“What pattern?” Leonardo put a hand on Michelangelo’s shoulder. “Let him up, Michelangelo.”
The youngest of them eyed his leader and for a moment, it looked like he might refuse. But gradually, he stood and Donatello sat up but he made no move to stand.
“All the pain I cause you guys. With my inventions, with getting so wrapped up in my projects that I forget about you, with my clone and now this.”
“Uh, I think you might still be a little fried upstairs, Boy Genius.” Raphael’s sarcasm couldn’t hide the fear. “Because half of those weren’t your fault and the other two can be fixed pretty easily.”
“Indeed, my turtle.” Finding his voice, Splinter knelt, holding the purple banded turtle’s face in his palms. They shook, despite the rat’s best efforts to remain calm. “Why such a radical action?”
“The common denominator has been me, Sensei.” There was a weight to his voice. “There’s something fundamentally askew with my mind. And if there’s one thing that modifier was good for, it’s removing an element from the mind.”
Michelangelo shook, tears in his eyes. “Dude, you’re not you without all of you! Didn’t you see what it did to Leonardo and Raphael? Why would you want that?”
“So I would stop hurting you all! My intentions aren’t important, I still hurt you or some form of me hurt you. That tells me there’s something rotten I need to fix.”
“But there’s not!” Leonardo protested. “There’s nothing wrong with you!”
“Sure, you might be annoying or get a little too obsessed sometimes but you wouldn’t be you without that.” Raphael wouldn’t take his eyes off the remains of the personality modifier, as if the scraps would reform any moment.
“And that’s the problem! Maybe who I am isn’t a good thing!” The turtle inventor stared at his hands, slumped on the ground. “I hurt you. I attacked you. Not the first time. It needs to be the last time.”
Flopping to the ground himself, tears running down his face, Michelangelo said, “Dude, haven’t you realized why the modifier never worked?”
At the slight change of topic, the genius turtle lifted his head, “What?”
“You used to always talk about how it should work but it didn’t. How every time that thing got used, it was a mondo disaster—“
“It was,” Donatello said even as Raphael quipped,
“Should have destroyed that thing a long time ago.”
“Cause people don’t work like that,” the surfer turtle insisted. “You can’t just pick and choose traits to take away.”
Donatello straightened. “It should. It should be possible. If—“
“But it doesn’t. It’s not, like, just…” Michelangelo frowned, trying to find a means to express what he was feeling. He and Donatello often were on such different wavelengths but there had to be a way ti make that connection.
“It’s like…when I make a cake, I use flour and sugar and stuff and out comes this sweet, yummy thing.” Scratching his head, Michelangelo wracked his brain. “Like…you told me that table salt is made out of gnarly ingredients.”
Something resembling calm took the scientist’s face. This he understood. “Yes, you were listening?”
A nod. “Always listen when you talk, Dude. Don’t always understand it—“
“Sometimes, I don’t think the head scientists in the field would understand our Donatello.” Raphael remarked.
“—But I always listen.” Michelangelo looked at him. “So…I was right? About salt?”
Nodding, Donatello affirmed. “Sodium and chloride. They’re both pretty caustic on their own. I wouldn’t handle them without gloves.”
Leonardo, catching onto where his youngest brother was going with this, said, “But when they’re combined, you get sodium chloride which we have to have in order to live, right?”
“…yes?” The hesitation in Donatello’s voice betrayed his confusion.
Master Splinter smiled. “I see what your brothers are trying to relay. What you may see as something negative becomes a vital piece of something we would not know what to do without.”
A blank stare but more from shock than anything else.
Raphael huffed. “See, Leonardo’s bossiness might get under our skin but it’s also what lets him make the split second decisions on the field. And we all know how terrible the rest of us are at that.”
Michelangelo grinned, “Dude, we were walking disasters!”
“And while you all may resent how stringent to rules Leonardo is, that same organization allows him to maintain order.” Master Splinter looked around at his sons. By now, they had all joined Donatello on the lab floor.
“Then there’s Raphael.” Leonardo gave his immediate younger brother a cheeky grin. “Rude, full of vinegar and fire.”
Catching on a bit, Donatello said, “And that same fire makes him terrifying in battle.”
Grinning, Michelangelo said, “Exactamundo! And you’re the same way, compadre. All your obsessing and focusing and preciseness…it saved our bacon today!”
“And,” Master Splinter added, “Your ability to see science and opportunity in all things has crafted a view of the world that attests there is never no answer…only ones that have not yet been discovered as of yet.”
Leonardo gently took Donatello’s hand. “And none of that would exist without all of you.”
Michelangelo wrapped his arms tight around his brother. “We love all of you compadre. Just because this stuff happened, it doesn’t make it your fault!”
“Yeah,” Raphael added. “What’s that weird phrase you toss around so much? ‘Bout causes and relations or something?”
Donatello smiled and a genuine warmth entered his chest as he gave Michelangelo a squeeze back. “Correlation does not equal causation.”
“Yeah that one. I mean, it sucks all that stuff happened but we attract trouble like pizza calls Michelangelo. Blame all the craziness, not yourself.”
Hearing it, pausing and considering it, and feeling his family with him—their smiles, their hugs, their love…the dark thoughts that had consumed his mind for the last few hours began to fade.
“Thanks, guys. That helps. A lot actually.”
“Good. Then I suggest we spend time together. Michelangelo was correct; we must get more used to discussing our feelings after a battle, even those that cause us pain.” Splinter stood and the others followed. “Perhaps especially those.”
Donatello sighed but then smiled as Leonardo hugged his free side and Raphael draped just behind him. “Yes. I know. I should have come to you. I just felt…overwhelmed. Drowned almost in all my thoughts. Lost.”
Michelangelo smiled and hugged his brother tight. “Ah, it’s okay to be lost sometimes, Dude. We’ll come find you.”
The genius smiled and hugged his brothers back. “And I’m a pretty lucky turtle to have that.”
Leonardo gently jostled Donatello’s shoulder as they walked out together. “Four turtles and a rat. I don’t think even the most creative scientist would have thought of that combo. But put us together and you get a pretty amazing family.”
Amid Raphael’s “man, that’s cheesy!” Donatello smiled and said,
“And it’s way past time for me to remember just how amazing they are. Let’s talk, then eat then watch a movie. Maybe go sewer skating tomorrow.” He looked at them each in turn, “We’re worth way more than the sum of our parts.”