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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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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?"

"Don," he says slowly. Panic swells in his stomach, a swift undercurrent that he stills with a single breath. "Slow down; take it one step at a time. What about Raph? What didn't I tell you?"

Don rubs his head, in the faint hope that his passing hand might magnetically align his thoughts, make them easier to speak.

"Raph told me that Bishop and Stockman engineered some fake aliens," he begins. "That their genetic material escaped into the environment and infected animals. Those animals, then, they would have had two, maybe three sets of DNA. And Raph told me that I was stung by something that was part human, part cockroach, so that's four, five sets of DNA, and I'm already recombinant... no wonder I got sick. An immune reaction. I must have been delirious..." He bites his finger softly, thinking again. "How... how did you ever cure something like that? Organ rejection is hard enough; I've never even heard of acquired mosaicism..."

His first feeling is betrayal. That Raphael would go and tell Don about everything that happened to him - no conference, no organization, no warning.

His second is relief. Aching and livid, the weight of such burdening secrets leaving only scar tissue behind. It burns and is snuffed before Leonardo realizes what a selfish thought it really was.

This is not quite their Donatello (scars are wrong, a little softer a little younger) but they still love him and it will happen, in the end. It can't be helped by anyone except Leatherhead. Leonardo makes a note to thank him again when they get home. For now, he averts his eyes.

"We made a deal with the devil."

Horrible visions flash into Don's mind. His brothers, taking him to a hospital, begging for help. Leo, selling himself to buy the doctors' aid, their secrecy. And the doctors, with their careless curiosity, taking a piece of his shell...

And Raph, not technically lying.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry..."

"No, Don." The words are quick and he feels like he's playing a record worn by use. "It's not your fault. We found the cure and you recovered completely."

It feels wrong to tell him like this, like he's talking about someone else. Donatello is Donatello no matter the time period, and this one is terrified of what he hasn't even done yet. "April and Casey are fine. We're fine. You're fine. We get through it, Donnie.""

Don is beginning to hate the present tense. Leo and Raph are using it the same way, trying to erase what happened by only talking about what came after. "We're fine." As if only the final outcome mattered.

He stands abruptly. Where had Raph gone?

Dinner.

Kitchen.

He heads in that direction.

By now, Raph's been watching the pot boil for what feels like eons, his mind still playing on the same dark track of thoughts. Time passes, the record skips, and he moves to take the pot off the stove, dumping the steaming water in the sink.

Behind him, the door flies open and Don is marching in with an angry expression. Raph can't help but feel relieved. He's back. They lucked out this time.

"Almost done," he says absent-mindedly, giving the noodles a final shake free of the water. Then he puts the pot down on the counter and reaches for the jar of sauce.

Don's hand gets to the jar before Raph's does. He stands like that, blocking Raph's progress, so Raph has to just listen, so he can't hide behind rote actions and pretend everything's fine.

"The middle," he says. "Tell me the middle."

"Bishop," Leonardo says when he catches up. He studies the jar clenched in his brother's hand and pretends that this is the right thing to do. "And Stockman. We cut them a deal: get them a certain artifact they'd been looking for, and they'd find the cure."

His head rolls back onto the wall before he continues. "It was supposed to be a simple infiltration job. Turns out Karai had the artifact."

"So we got the artifact, got it to Bishop, and Stockman gave you the cure. The end." Raph shoots a thankful look at Leo. Yeah, this's be a lot easier if he's here to help do some of the talking. "I told you Donnie. Nothing happened. I ain't lyin' to you."

He makes a swipe for the jar. "Gimme that."

Edited 2010-04-24 20:37 (UTC)

Don lets Raph swipe the jar from under his hand. He's forgotten about it. He's too busy listening to what Leo and Raph just said. Listening to it again and again, replaying it in his head, making sure he couldn't possibly be misunderstanding them.

Then:

"You let Stockman give me a cure? Are you out of your minds?"

Leonardo feels it. The anger boiling in his chest that he almost cannot control - he takes a step forward, hissing through his teeth.

"We had no other choice. Make them a deal, or lose you. It was an easy decision, Donatello."

Even though it really wasn't; there were risks. Always, risks.

Edited 2010-04-25 18:15 (UTC)

Don doesn't often feel the urge to smack his brothers. It's even more rarely that he wants to smack Leo. But right now, the desire is almost overpowering.

Stockman could have given him anything. Asking that madman for help was only giving him carte blanche to do whatever sick experiment he had been fantasizing about since their paths had first crossed. And none of his brothers were nearly competent to inspect his "cure" and make sure it was safe.

"Who watched him?" Don demands. "April? The Professor?"

They had no other choice. The anger reaches its peak then quickly recedes; Leonardo turns away briefly, guilt picking at his mind. To Don, this must sound like they just handed him over to the Devil - especially since Stockman was involved. "You were going to...it was our only -"

He looks back at his brother. "Master Splinter was involved. So was Leatherhead - we turned to him before Bishop was even an option, but he just...it wasn't enough." He presses the heel of his palm into his eye. "Don, I'm sorry. We didn't know what else to do."