Hello! :) This is my first real attempt at writing Ninja Turtles, so hopefully it goes okay. I wrote this a while ago, actually, and I wasn't sure whether to post it, but I figured there was no sense letting it rot on my computer.

I wrote this with the 2003 cartoon in mind, since I actually wrote it before the 2012 one started airing, but whichever continuity you want to mentally set it in is fine by me.

Constructive criticism is definitely welcome, since, like I said, this is my first legitimate attempt at writing these guys.

I guess that's all I have to say. Enjoy! :)

Medic

Donatello is the family medic.

It's a job he takes very seriously. He does his best to keep the supplies stocked (which isn't always easy for them, but they manage) and he tries to learn the best ways to treat whatever they might face.

When things go well, it's the best feeling in the world. When he has just what he needs close at hand, when the injuries are minor enough that time isn't of the essence, when the fixes are quick and relatively painless.

It's the same feeling he gets when he has all the parts he needs to make a repair, plus the time to spare, and he's finished in under an hour. He once fixed the TV in about twenty minutes because he happened to have access to everything he needed- and much of that time was spent figuring out what the problem was.

There are times when he loves being the family medic. It makes him proud to be so dependable, to be the one his family turns to when they run into some trouble.

If only everyday could be a good day.

When things go wrong, it's the worst feeling in the world. When he runs out of medication or gauze or even tape, when the injuries are extensive and they're far from home, when the fixes are as bad as the injury itself.

Sometimes he thinks it's a wonder they've all survived this long, but he doesn't like to dwell on it.

It's the same feeling he gets when the lair begins to fall apart around him and he just can't find the time or the spare parts to fix everything. Sometimes things like the security system just have to take precedence over stuff like Mikey's video games. They once went almost six months without a toaster because all of the necessary parts had to go to other, more essential things. He doesn't like having to choose what gets fixed and what stays broken.

There are times when he hates being the family medic. Everyone is counting on him to make the right decisions and remedy all the problems around them, and sometimes he just can't.

Luckily, everyday can't be a bad day.

But one of the worst things, he thinks, about having medical knowledge is that sometimes he seems to be the only one who understands the severity of the situation, and he hates having to be the bearer of bad news. That the cut went deeper than they thought, or that this illness could very well be life-threatening...

Or that there's a very good chance he might bleed out on this rooftop.

He's slumped on his side, fighting valiantly to gain control of his fuzzy vision. It's cold out here and he can see his breath fogging in front of his face. Blood surrounds him on all sides. A good portion of it is his.

To be fair, he did get in some good hits of his own. He hates fighting, and he's not as good at it as his brothers, but he's certainly not one to be messed with.

His brothers are on their way. He knows this because he called them, and true to form, they left before the conversation was even over. Leonardo- the brother he'd chosen to call, feeling the calm, level head would be his best option- had reassured him he'd be fine and that they'd be there soon.

He isn't entirely sure soon will be soon enough.

He'd been distracted, his thoughts off on a tangent, as he tended to get when he was on his own. Leonardo has mentioned it to him before, and he knows he needs to work on it, but it's a habit he can't seem to break. The Foot used it against him, swiping him across the shoulder with a sword before he even realised he'd been surrounded.

He mentally chewed himself out for his mistake, but decided that as long as he could defeat them without major damage it wasn't too big of a deal.

So much for that plan.

They left before too long, and he isn't sure whether they had just intended to scare him or if they had perhaps decided not to push their luck (he was still fighting relatively well, after all, and from their view there was a pretty good chance the other turtles were on their way). Perhaps they thought he was as good as dead. He decides he doesn't much care.

He coughs, and his mouth tastes a bit like blood.

He's mentally assessing all of his injuries, even though he can't bring himself to move to examine them. He's still bleeding and he's still cold and his brothers haven't yet arrived. He can feel the cuts stinging and bruises forming, and all he wants to do is go home and sleep.

He realises he must have closed his eyes for a moment, because suddenly there's a gentle, familiar three-fingered hand turning him, and his brother's voice saying, "Come on, Donny, wake up, you're okay."

He doesn't feel very okay, but he doesn't argue. He forces his eyes open.

"Hey, Donny," Leo says once he can make eye contact, and Michelangelo and Raphael are standing behind him. Raph has a bag slung over his shoulder, and he's already reaching inside it to pull out some bandages and tape. Leo asks, "How do you feel?"

He takes a moment to draw a breath and says, "Alright."

They're already bandaging up some of the more major wounds. Nobody mentions all the blood surrounding them. He knows he's lost a lot, but he can't bring himself to tell them how serious it is. He wants to believe he'll be okay just as much as they do. "I'm sorry to be a bother," he says.

Raphael snorts from where he and Leonardo are bandaging a wound on his thigh. "You're not a bother, Donny. Shut up." Michelangelo is examining his arms, and the grin on his brother's face is reassuring.

Safe now with his family, he gives in to his exhaustion and falls asleep.

He wakes up an unknown amount of time later, lying in his bed. He first processes that he must not be dead, and then he sees Leonardo sitting nearby, watching over him.

"How do you feel?" his brother asks him quietly.

Don takes a moment to clear his throat. "Better," he says. After a pause, he adds, "Thanks, Leo."

Leo smiles gently. "Don't worry about it, Donny. Get some rest."

As Leonardo leaves the room, Donatello lets himself fall back into sleep. For once, he's quite content to let someone else be the medic.