lucetilogs | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who:

thesevencodes
What: Training. For real.
When: Mike gets sent home. Don does some really unimpressive solo training, spends a night guarding Polka, and eventually gets his head back together. Then this happens.
Where: Starting outside C6, and probably ending up elsewhere.
Summary: Don apologizes to Raph for being a jerk in the best way he knows how: by giving Raph permission to abuse him until he becomes an acceptably competent ninja again.
Rating: PG-13
Where has Don been for the past week? Why, making a new bo staff. Crafting the simple weapon doesn't involve slaving for hours over a hot forge in the smithy - rather, he's been out in the woods, using the peace and quiet, the meditative carving of wood, to get his head back together.

He needs to train. He's been doing some work this week, out in the woods, and he's managed to bring himself back to a level that wouldn't make his father cry in embarrassment. (Shake his head sadly, yes - but at least he wouldn't be asking the ancestors how he got such lazy, undisciplined sons.)

Now, though, he needs help. He needs someone on a higher level, who can beat him back into shape, and then beat him into a better shape than he's ever been in before.

Fortunately, he knows such a person. And he knows that the individual in question will be all too willing to do it.

He prods the journal open with his toe. "Raph - come meet me behind the building. ... And don't panic. It's good news."

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Ouch. That word coming out of Donnie's mouth makes him flinch. Raph could probably count on one hand how many times he's heard his brother openly swear like that. And considering his natural lack of fingers, that's saying something.

"It doesn't matter, 'cause it's not gonna happen again."

"Stop it." He pushes Raph away. "Think, Raph. Plan. You have to, because it sounds like I won't be able to. And I'm not going to let you go into that unprepared, because you were pretending it wouldn't happen."

"Donnie, you're confusin' me. I told you we already cured you in my time. It's done and over with! What'm I supposed to do!?"

Don stops short.

Raph is right: when he gets ejected from Luceti, he'll return to his own time, a time where Don has already gotten sick and gotten cured. He's the one who still has to deal with this.

"Okay." He shifts backwards, giving himself space so he can draw in the dirt. "Tell me what you did. Tell me what you should have done. When I get home, I'll tell... the other you."

Frustration burns like hot pin pricks, and he feels his muscles tightening painfully. "I told you everything already. What more do you want?"

Raph raises his hand to his forehead, trying to fend off an incoming headache. "I hate this timeline crap."

"You only told me what I dragged out of you!" Don makes a sharp movement, drawing Raph's attention. "What did you sedate me with? Did you have enough of it on hand? What about the cure, where did you get it?"

He thinks furiously, trying to ask all the right questions.

And then he realizes he's been missing the most important one.

"Raph, when did I get stung? What day? Maybe I could wear protective gear, and just avoid the whole thing..."

Raph sighs heavily, letting his hand fall into his lap again, eyes turned heavenward. "I don't know what they sedated you with. All I know is after a while, you started gettin' used to it."

His hand travels up again to pinch the space between his eyes. "And I don't remember the day. It was months ago. I wanna say May. Yeah, late in May."

We're skipping over the cure part, Don. Even his Donnie doesn't know the full extent of that.

Edited 2010-04-22 03:58 (UTC)

"May." He scratches a glyph in the dirt. "Okay. I won't leave the Lair until June."

Then he frowns. "No, wait. People say that when you leave here, you don't remember anything. I can't -" He swipes his hand angrily over his scrawling. "Damn it."

It's all been a waste. He can't change it, no matter what Raph says, because when he gets home he won't remember this conversation.

So he goes to the opposite extreme: not to the beginning, trying to head off the catastrophe, but to the end, where they start to rebuild.

"Just tell me it all works out," he says. "Tell me everyone is okay. So I'll know while I'm here. So I don't have to look at anyone... and know I'm going to hurt them."

"You know better than to listen to what everybody else is tellin' you."

The longer this conversation drags on, the more emotionally exhausted he feels, and the stronger the throbbing in his skull becomes. He is so. Damn. Tired of talking about this.

But he'll stay for as long as Don needs him. He'll repeat himself forever if he has to, trying his best to keep the annoyance out of his voice, because he created this mess. He just had to tell him everything.

Raph inwardly curses himself for even trying, undeniably horrified that he has single-handedly traumatized his brother for some impossible chance he may remember and change things.

But if Turtle Luck kept running true to form, all of this was a waste and he's broken his brother for nothing.

Raphael looks on placidly as his brother begs him for answers, but his fists tighten, his jaw is set, and inside there's a feeling somewhat akin to grief.

"They're all fine. Everybody's fine. I don't know how many more times I gotta tell you until you believe me."

He swallows, and prays it was worth it.

"I know. I -" He rakes his fingers through the dirt in frustration. "How can anyone even know if that's true? It's not like we can ask the people at home."

And yet he's heard it, from multiple sources, and with all the other weirdness surrounding this place he's willing to accept it as possible.

"Raph, I want to believe you. I do. It's just..."

Just what?

And then something else his brothers have been reluctant to explain to him clunks into place.

"Raph. That scar on Leo's back. Was... was that me?"

Raph startles at his brother's revelation. "No. That's got nothin' to do with you."

He reaches out and puts a firm, steadying hand on his brothers shoulder. "Look at me." He pauses, waiting for his brother's eyes. "No matter what happens, we'll get through it, just like we always do. We're still standin', and we're still in one piece. You gotta trust me on that one."

Raph couldn't fake that reaction. Don relaxes, just a little. Leo had been hurt very badly, but at least it wasn't because of him.

"I..." He drops his gaze as soon as Raph's eyes burn a little less intensely into his own. "I want to go inside..."

"Yeah." Raph's hand drops off his brothers shoulder as he moves to his feet. "Let's go."

Don follows silently, and lets Raph open all the doors for him. There's too much happening inside his head, for him to pay attention to anything outside.

As they enter the apartment, Raph's arm snakes around his brother's shoulders in a rough, one-armed hug. "You gonna be okay?"

He's seen that look in Don's eyes before. Like his mind is somewhere else, leaving the rest of him behind. He doesn't like it one bit.

The question has to stand in line for a while before making it to Don's consciousness, and some vital part of it seems to get lost in the half-life. "Sorry, what?"

Raph frowns and doesn't repeat the question, searching his brother's face. "Maybe I'll go make some dinner."

Don mirrors Raph's expression. The ungraspable sense of the earlier question is somewhere in his mind, and this new statement doesn't match.

He lets it go.

"Dinner sounds good..."

His heart gives a squeeze, and he can't help feeling guilty. "All right. I'll uh... call you when it's ready."

He moves to leave the apartment for the kitchen, fighting against the primal need to be attached to his brother like a blood-sucking leech until he's sure he's okay. But he wills his feet to move toward the door, even as his eyes don't leave his brother's face until the last possible second.

Don sits slowly on the couch, and stares at the carpet. In the neutral-toned pile, he sees timelines, possibilities, causes and effects, truths and falsehoods. He unknots them one from the other, unfurling his future from pieces of Raph's past.

The road is paved with fear and guilt, but along the way there is hope and courage and love. They shine brightly through the gloom of uncertainty, lighting his path.

A path he has no choice but to take.

In the kitchen, Raph fills a pot and sets it to boil. He's not much of a cook, but spaghetti with sauce out of the jar he can do.

As he waits, he takes a seat at the communal table, burying his face in his hands. His headache is still going strong, but he doesn't move to get some aspirin. Every throb smothers another pang of guilt.

He can't stand when Donnie gets like this. It scares him to death to see him so empty. But every now and then it happens, and they all do their best to help him pull himself through. But this time he's to blame for his brother's little vacation. He can't help but feel he's done a horrible thing.

The gentle waft of cooking food pulls Leo from his room, promising the possible return of his brothers. He expects to find them off in the kitchen - with messy cookware and spoons dripping spaghetti sauce over the wiped floor-tiles - but Donatello sits on the couch, and Raphael is nowhere in sight.

Leonardo cranes his neck for a sweep of the apartment before approaching his brother. Don's pallor has faded to that of a ghoul, eyes staring blankly at no particular spot on the floor. Very quickly, Leo knows that something is wrong.

"Don? What happened?"

"Ooze. Ooze. Non-essential particles. Recombinant... double-grafted, triple... breakdown. Infection, rejection... fugue... fugue..."

He blinks hard.

"Leo."

And blinks again, glancing around the room as though he's expecting something to have changed while he wasn't looking.

"How long were you standing there?"

"Not very." Leonardo gives a light shake of his head, treading carefully - it isn't at all uncommon for Don to space out for hours at a time. But tonight there's a distinct horror in his brother's eyes, and it tells him that Donatello's mind is going to dark places.

He glances around the room one more time, verifying that Raphael isn't there. It's disconcerting, but if something actually happened, Donatello would have come to him immediately. Leonardo clenches his jaw and moves to sit down on the couch. Time to repeat the question. "Did something happen?"

"Raph..." Don starts, and isn't sure where to go from there. "Wait, do you mean today?" Time is muddled in his head, events seeming to take the place of their own retellings. "No, we just talked about some things... Leo, why didn't you tell me?"