Hamato Yoshi didn't ask for this. But this, he recieved. A new life, a really new life, with four new sons to care for. He had gathered all that he could of his old life and had found an amazing abandoned subway station right underneath the sewers and the humans above. The six-foot-four rat now had four baby mutant turtles. And today was naming day. He had let them crawl around with supervision this past week, whilst also learning about his new body, and had decided on the perfect names. The oldest would be Leonardo. Leafy-green in color, with silver-grey eyes, he was the first to crawl towards him, knowing instinctively that he would be the child's caretaker. And as his name translates, he has been, so far, a very bold and fearless little tyke. Twice he nearly drowned, fallen, or cut himself, and thrice was bitten by the sewer rats. Yes, little Leonardo was definately fearless.
His immediate younger brother was the same, though almost twice his brothers' size and twice as aggressive, especially for an infant. Raphael would be this one's name, aptly put, on the one occasion Yoshi had turned away to locate Leonardo, Raphael had protected his younger brothers from -of all things- a crocodile in between infant and adult. Yoshi had come a second too late, however, as Raphael's plastron became cracked on one side. Though, his golden eyes flash every time a challenge is seen. He can tell this emerald-green toned turtle will be a handful.
The youngest is Michelangelo, for he is the smallest, with aqua skin and big blue eyes, he can just see this one growing up to become some sort of artist. Not once has he seen the smile disappear off of this young one's face, though it's been only two weeks since the mutation. He fears that smile will surely fade as time passes. He hopes it doesn't. An attention hog, Michelangelo will use his baby blues to get anyone to obey him. Even if all he can say is baby gibberish. Leonardo and Raphael have taken a protective feel towards their youngest sibling, which Yoshi couln't be happier for.
And the last one... the last one worries him. Olive-green and sickly looking, this child doesn't move around much. Or blink much. Or eat much. It almost appears as if he struggles to think as fast as his bretheren. Perhaps he had less amount of the ooze on him, therefore his intelligence is lacking? Possible. But all the giant rat knows is that the last one is a gift. Donatello will be his name, and he will do his very best to try and help his handicapped son as best as he can.
TIME GAP
"Get up, stupid!" Splinter is startled out of his meditation by his middle sons' fight. If it could be called that. Donatello was coloring quietly on the floor in the living room (the farthest he's been from Splinter, and the only activity he could think of that wouldn't require too much thinking) when apparently Raphael wanted him to move for some reason. He leaves the dojo to reprimand his more passionate son.
"Raphael! What do you..." Brown eyes widen at the sight. Marker was all over olive skin, with the child having a very dopey smile on his eight-year-old face. "Masta Splinta! He drew on hisself! Wat is 'e, four?" the emerald terrapin growls in annoyance. So, it appears that Raphael has given himself the responsibility of being Donatello's caretaker. "So I see, Raphael. Come, help me get him into the bath." Splinter hoists up the dirty turtle with ease, the older turtle child following. "How is the water heater coming, Raphael? Have you and Leonardo figured out how to make it work?" Golden eyes brighten up. "Yeah. Not dat hard, really, jus' had ta find da right metal ta make da coils heat up. Leo should be done installin' it by now." Sure enough, the eldest of the brothers arrive, his hands covered in oil and grease and who knows what else.
"Ready?" the silver-eyed turtle asks. The younger turtle nods eagerly. "Yep. An' we ev'n got a volunteer, right, Donnie?" The olive turtle blinks at his brothers slowly. "Dat's a 'Yes' in Don-speak," the louder terrapin states. Chuckling, the rat gently sets the lighter-toned turtle into a metal tub, making sure the hose is safely tucked inside. Slowly, he turns the water on. Cold water pours into the tub, but slowly starts warming to a comfortable temperature. "Congratulations, boys. We have hot water." The two turtles whoop and holler, giving each other a high-three. Suddenly, Donatello starts whining. Splinter frowns. Is the water too hot? He dips his hand in. No, that's not it. He's probably not used to the hot water. Nodding slightly, he grabs a washcloth to start washing his son. He turns and sees glazed chocolate eyes, staring at him blankly. He swallows back a shudder. He hates seeing those seemingly dead eyes, fearing that one day, they will be truly dead eyes. Olive hands slowly raise up.
Splinter blinks. Only been in the tub for a minute and he already wants out? He shakes his head, "No, Donatello. I must wash the marker off of you." Almost immediately the hands drop into the warm water. Splinter takes an arm and starts washing, watching his slow son skeptically. Why the sudden change of mind? "Oh! Hangan, Masta Splinta, Donnie don' have his bath toy!" The elder mutant turns to see Raphael drop in a wrench. Small smile appears on Donatello's face as he slowly picks up the wrench and starts chewing on it, allowing himself to be washed.
It turned out that the marker lasts longer on skin if bathed in warm water, so Donatello had faded markings on his entire right side for five days. He was no longer allowed to play with markers or crayons, and a brother had to watch him when Splinter could not. More often than not, it was Michelangelo who was stuck on turtle-sitting duty.
TIME GAP
"Guys! Guys!" Fourteen year old Leonardo and Raphael stopped in their arguement and turned to look at Michelangelo, who was beaming like a fool. "I figured out what we can do to help Donnie!" The red-banded ninja raised an eye ridge, "Oh yeah? An' wat's dat?" A devious smirk splays itself on the youngest's face. "We give him sugar." Leonardo blinks. "That's brilliant." Raph turns to look at him. "Why ya say dat? I tink it's stupid." "Because sugar speeds up all of your cells... including brain cells." Golden eyes widen incredulously. "Wow. Dat is brilliant. Only, how are we suppose ta get sugar?" Mikey grins, "No worries there! I have some candy stashed from the last time we went to the junkyard for parts. It was unopened, and probably thrown away because of the flavor, but we need the sugar, so it's okay." The eldest turtles nod, "Okay, Mikey, give it a shot."
"Guys! GUYS!" Leonardo and Raphael look at each other. "Deja vu much?" Leo asks. They turn to see a frantic MIchelangelo, who is on the midst of tears. Immediately, any joke that was going to escape from their mouths, die on their lips. "He's not moving! I don't think he's breathing!" In the blink of an eye, all three turtles rush to see the limp form of Donatello on the floor of his bedroom. Raphael rolls the olive turtle onto his back, seeing the blank eyes. His blood chills in his veins. Those eyes are the same as ever. Glazed, unmoving, unblinking. He places his hand inches away from Donatello's mouth. He feels faint puffs of heat. "He's breathin', Leo." A small sigh of relief eases the tension in the room, somewhat.
It's been two weeks, and finally, Donatello moved. Life was returning to normal, though now Michelangelo kept anything sugary away from his purple-banded sibling, and Leonardo now watched him like a hawk. Raphael helped Don in daily activities: feeding him, bathing him, helping him use the bathroom. A heavy sigh escapes leaf-green lips. How are they supposed to head above ground on their fifteenth birthday if Don can't even take care of himself?
TIME GAP
Sixteen year old Raphael Hamato was nervous. He had surprisingly made friends with the masked vigalante, Casey Jones, and now Case was going to meet their father and Donatello, who had never gone to the surface before, and has only met April once. It wasn't meeting their father so much as Casey's reaction to the handicapped turtle. Raph swears if any slow turtle jokes are made, he will hurt the man.
The meeting of Casey Jones and Splinter went surprisingly well. Turns out they are both a fan of some television drama. Who knew? After the pleasant chat, Raph slowly lead Case to Don's room. "Okay, before we go in dere, dere's sometin' I gotta tell ya about Donnie-boy. He's...off." Casey gives him a look. "What, like he's missin' a leg or sometin'?" Raph shakes his head. "Nah, nuttin' physically wrong. He's... not right in da head." Blue eyes flash in realization. "Oh, okay. Dun' worry, Raph. I'll be nice." Nodding, he grips the handle of the door. "Oh yeah, an' don' touch his stuff. He's really picky on that, even if it's like, a month later afta ya touched it." The human blinks rapidly at the almost barren room. There's a small bed tucked into the corner, alongside a desk covered in markers and blank paper, with a small stack of notebooks on top of it. The rest of the room is littered in what one would call almost-gadgets. The pieces seem to be just the bare minimum of appliances that would become useful in the future.
And the olive turtle sitting in the middle of it all, staring at nothing. "Hey, Donnie. Dis is Casey, a friend of mine." Casey was surprised at how slowly the turtle turned towards him. Don blinked at him once, a small, slow wave, then the turtle starts chewing on a wrench. "Erm, hi." The human looks around, seeing the drawings and scribbles on the table. He stops and stares at the desk for a moment, then backs up and tilts his head to the side. "Raph? Ya sure he's retarded?" He glances back at the turtle, whose eyes flash dangerously. "Don' say dat! ...Yeah, what about it?" He points his index finger to the desk. "Because he's got da blueprints ta da fastest motorcycle engine I've eva seen."
TIME GAP
"So, you're saying that Donatello is actually a genius, but can't function properly... because his brain is going too fast?" Raphael runs a hand over his head, "Dat's EXACTLY wat I'm sayin' April. Can ya get us da drugs or wat?" She taps her finger on her chin. "I think so. But we don't know if human drugs work on you guys, let alone what the proper dosage would be." Raphael rolls his eyes, doing his best to keep his agitation in check. "It don' got ta be alot, we just gotta see if it works." She sighs, "Well, alright."
Donatellovaguelythinkshissouptastedstrangethenthet houghtwasgone,replacedbyanotherthoughtofwhatexactl ythesoupwasmadeoutof,thusconfirminghispreviousthou ghofhissouptasingstrangesomeoneaddedsomethingtoitb utwhy?Heknowswho,ithadtohavebeenRaphael,he'dbeensa yingsomethingaboutfindingadrugtoslowhisbraindownen oughforhimtofunctionproperly,ohwouldn'tthatbeajoy? Beingabletousethebathroomwithouthisbrotherhavingto helphimwillbegloriousifthedrugdosagewastherightamo untanddoesn'tkillhim,orworse,doesn'tevenwork,andth enhe'llhaveanunknowndruginhissystem- wait.
His thinking process is slowing down. The drug is working! He needs to get more, or find a chemical replacement in his body that would do the trick. But what? Sex is the obvious choice, but who would he be able to have an orgasm with without it being weird? Raphael. He's bathed him for the past two years, for Christ's sake, a little handjob should be no problem. Now all he has to do is find his red-banded sibling before the drug wears off. After that, his brain should have slowed down enough for him to prioritize his gadget list and find himself enough medicine to keep his brain slowed down to functional purposes.