Hello ladies and gents. I've had some rough days in the past while and I just so happened across the new TMNT show on TV. I found it to be quite amusing and filled with nostalgia, so it appears I'm now making my way into this fandom, in addition to my Star Wars fics. This is my first TMNT one, so let's see how I do.
Summary: If Donatello has learned one thing, it's that the most vital lessons can be the most painful. Donnie takes his future job very seriously.
Disclaimer: I don't own it. Only my little idea. 'Kay? :)
Enjoy all. Read, review, constructive criticism please. No flames. Feel free to PM any time dearies.
Happy Writing,
~Eliana
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It was a strained hiss that whistled through the small gap in twelve-year old Donatello's teeth as he paused for a moment, releasing the needle and moving the fingers on his right hand before grasping the sterile instrument again. He hesitated above his half-sewn wound, fingers shaking as he grasped the needle and breathing deeply to try and calm the stinging pain that erupted from his abused left arm. It had been a small accident in practice, Raphael had always had a slight trouble when it came to controlling himself. A four-inch splayed open section of flesh on the inside of his lightly muscled left arm was the cause for his pain, and the cause for him to learn the most painful, but most invaluable, lesson of his life. Standing under the glow of an old florescent bulb young Donatello stood with his wounded arm upon the table, the contents of the medical kit strewn haphazardly all over the piece of furniture to his right hand side.
The wound itself had bled fiercely at first but had ebbed down a bit when the young turtle had shot to his small lab, grabbing the medical sheet his father had found and laying it over the table to gather the blood. He had always known to be ready for the worst and had in consequence set up the small table and medical supplies – but it wasn't until now that he somewhat appreciated his forethought. Since the age of about seven Donatello had an odd understanding far beyond his years when it came to needing to have the knowledge how to fix anything that medically went wrong with his brothers. His father was quite knowledgeable when it came to bumps and bruises and colds, but when it came to more in-depth needs such as setting bones and stitching wounds the best any of them had was the washed-out first-aid books that lay untouched a few feet away from where Donatello was right this moment. He had dutifully memorized all of their contents and practiced on old t-shirts and cloths that had washed through the sewer, but he had spoken with his father on his unspoken new responsibility and fully understood the possible consequences.
He was in charge of helping them all get better. If he was ever going to do this to his brothers, he needed to know exactly what kind of pain it would cause, how he could avoid causing more suffering in his attempt to help... in addition to being a turtle, he was his own self-appointed guinea pig. Without any form of practice he would never have even gotten within three feet of a wound like this, not wanting to cause any kind of pain at all to his brothers – but if it was being done to himself, he didn't have much to complain about. It just so happened that things had arranged themselves perfectly today. Even so, the pain was far more than Donatello had counted on at any time before and he had to wallow the slightest bit of bile in his throat as he eyed his arm, only half of his wound was still splayed open but it was enough for him to study the inner workings of his own appendage. It was both fascinating and gruesome at the same time and it stretched his pain tolerance to its limit, allowing stinging tears to bite at his young eyes.
Splinter's words echoed in his mind. Calm. Peace. He drew in a deep breath and relaxed his muscles again, carefully aiming to once again pierce his abused skin to pull the wound further closed. He had a bit of a photographic memory and used it to his advantage, deftly scanning over the open wound and cataloging with scrutiny the exact points that caused him the least amount of pain to pierce and pull the sterilized fishing line through. It wasn't exactly hospital-grade but it was all he had. It would have to do. It would have helped had his father been there with him, but he had three other hysterical pre-teen turtles to juggle and had given the silent faith to his most intelligent son to handle the situation on his own.
Grabbing the spare clean piece of gauze he had set a few inches away he gently dabbed at the already finished section of his stitches and gave the slightest whimper before swallowing harshly, effectively silencing the cries that fought their way up. There was no time for tears, that could be done later in the safe confines of his blanket cocoon away from everyone else. Right now he had to finish this – the more knowledge he had to work with the better. He hardly registered the new occupant of the room in the corner of his eye as he picked up the needle for the last time, passing it through the flushed and angry olive skin of his arm, carefully puling the fishing line to draw the wound nearly completely closed.
"...you should probably let one of us do that," his oldest brother whispered, azure eyes crystalline with tears at the sight of the blood-soaked blue medical cloth and the crimson stains on his second-youngest brother's olive fingers.
In all honesty it wouldn't have mattered who else tried to help his younger brother – he knew Donatello had the best shot in helping himself.
"Won't make it hurt any less," Don answered with his voice tight, giving the evidence through his facade that he was in an incredible amount of skin as he pierced his skin for the last time, "Regardless of who holds the needle and completes the sutures, my nerves will react the same way to being pierced by a needle and being pulled unnaturally. On the upside it gives me invaluable insight on the inner workings of our bodies and grants me first-hand experience in the terms of how much discomfort this can really cause."
His voice was strangely level, though tight, as he worked, his fingers somehow tying the end of the line taunt before retrieving the spare pair of scissors from the flung-open medical kit beside him and snipping the excess clear strand from his wound, tossing it without care a couple of inches away. He had long ago become a master of compartmentalization and this moment was no exception. Without a second thought Donatello grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol, using it to pour some of its contents on the drying blood on his fingers, allowing the sterilizing fluid to run off his skin and onto the absorbent medical cloth. Setting the bottle aside and allowing the alcohol to quickly diffuse into the air he reached out to grasp a sealed, sterile packet of gauze. He froze.
How was he going to wrap his arm with one hand? It was an instantaneous reaction that his muscles went taunt under his oldest brother's gentle touch as the blue-masked turtle touched his shoulder and reached past his brother's chest, grabbing the packet of gauze and the roll of bandages that sat on the disheveled table.
"Hold your arm out," Leo ordered softly and Don obeyed with his head bowed, eyes staring off at the wall in front of him.
Leonardo took it upon himself to tear open the packet and place the sterile cloth on his brother's wound. It was with a lot of scrupulous care that he began to wind the white medical bandage over the gauze and around his brother's forearm, not missing the fact that one olive colored lip became grasped between his younger sibling's teeth in what he assumed was either a struggle for control or a reaction to the pain he was undoubtedly causing without purpose. The extra bandage on the roll was wound up once Leonardo had severed the end, but the blue eyes never left his brother's face.
"Donnie?"
The question hung in the air, marked by the fact that Donatello hadn't yet lowered his still throbbing arm back down to his side. Instead it stayed suspended in the air lifelessly, as if held up by some invisible force and not by its owner's will. Then finally, after a deep breath Donatello finally brought it back down to his side, his eyes sliding closed for the briefest of moments before he centered himself through his pain and embarrassment. Four seconds later the young genius was carefully packing away the destroyed medical kit, making a mental list of every item to its exact amount that he had had to use for the four-inch wound and telling himself that he would have to write it down later so that his father would know what he had to collect. He packed it all back neatly into the old tin box save the used needle, the soiled medical cloth, the waste, and the extra bottle of rubbing alcohol.
Without a word he sealed the tin box and placed it safely back into its place before gathering all of the waste, tossing it into a spare plastic bag next to the table. Popping the cap on the rubbing alcohol bottle he poured a good amount on the metal surface of the table, allowing it to lay fallow for just a few moments before wiping it up with one of his designated "rag shirts" (he had simply torn apart old t-shirts to make cleaning rags) and tossing it in the bag as well. With more force than was necessary he tied the bag closed, not missing the shaking of his hands when the red tinge of his dried blood peaked through the sealed plastic.
When he stood he went completely rigid – more out of shock than fear – when he suddenly found himself pulled tightly against his eldest brother, his flushed face gently pushed into the safe haven of his brother's neck. It was a rare show of full-on physical affection from Leo but for the first time in a long time it was eagerly welcomed, that much being illustrated by the relaxation of the olive colored body melting warmly into the fond embrace. It was so inviting, so hypnotizing, but so steadying. Leo rested a hand on the back of Don's skull, applying only slight enough force so his sibling could feel it.
"You okay, little brother?"
A curt nod.
"Are you sure?"
Another bob of the purple-masked head.
"I love you Donnie."
That time there was no response at all and that immediately concerned Leonardo. His heart sank slightly.
"...Donnie?"
A hum into the flesh of his shoulder.
"You DO know that I love you, right?...I'm so proud of you, Don."
He felt his skinny brother swallow harshly and his only reaction was to tighten his grip, pressing his cheek to Donatello's. He whispered the sentiment in Japanese and pulled away, relieved to find the toothy smile alight on his beloved brother's face.
"C'mon, it's lunchtime," Leo told him, slinging an arm around Donnie's taunt shoulders, pulling him closer as they slowly made their way back out of the room, "And if I know Raph, he's gonna have something to make this up to you."
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Not a bad start to what I hope to be a prosperous career in the fan writing on TMNT I believe. Creative criticism please.
Happy Writing,
~Eliana