Graffiti
April stretched and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom. It was still fairly early, the Turtles were most likely still on their nightly patrol, but it was late enough that she really should be sleeping. In another month she'd be on summer vacation, then she could join them and show off all of the new skills Master Splinter had taught her.
A light tap at her window made her jump. She stared at the glass, almost sure she had imagined it, when a shadowed, three fingered hand appeared in the corner and tapped again. She sighed at her own nerves and went to allow them in. Something must be up if they were bothering her on a school night.
"What going on, guys?" She asked before her head was even out of the window, but cut herself off with a gasp at the sight on her fire escape. "Donnie!"
The usually purple masked turtle was covered in a rainbow of colored splotches. He was curled with his knees pulled to his chest, head down. The human girl couldn't tell if the red was blood or paint. She looked around frantically for the others but saw no one. "Hi, April," he said, keeping his head down. He didn't sound hurt.
"Oh god, Donnie! Are you hurt?! What happened? Where is everyone?"
"I'll live. I-I just," he raised his head and looked into her eyes with the most forlorn expression before ducking his head again and whispering, "I just didn't want to go home like this. Could...could I use your shower?"
She sighed and nodded, "Of course, will you tell me what happened?"
The turtle sighed and refused to look at her as she stepped back and let him into her room. She quickly turned on the light and got a good look at him. Donatello's arms were crossed tightly across his chest, his head down; his head and arms were covered in paint, but his front seemed relatively clean. "Mind if I get cleaned up first?"
He looked so dejected, she couldn't refuse. "Sure. If you give me your mask, I'll wash it for you while you're in the shower."
The turtle listlessly undid the knot and handed the once purple fabric to her before turning and entering the bathroom.
Forty minutes later, she was sitting anxiously on her bed, the now clean mask, drying, draped on a hanger, when she heard the water shut off. Heavy sadness and guilt and anger had pounded her extra sense the entire time her friend had been in the shower. Steam wafted out the instant the door opened and she was on her feet, ready for the explanation, but hesitated when the now green turtle appeared. His head was still down, his shoulders still slumped and his words were quiet as he stammered, "I...I don't mean...sorry." He shook his head, "I can't," he sighed, "I hate to ask you for more, but," his eyes met hers and they were red, as if he'd been crying, "do you have a scrub brush or something? It won't..." His eyes dropped again.
She stepped closer, trying to read the complex mix of feeling radiating off of the turtle. They were so strong, bombarding her so forcefully she couldn't define them. It was as if she was trying to pick out a specific color in a light so bright, she couldn't look at it. Then suddenly, the only feeling she could read was a deep, penetrating, shame.
He turned, "I can't get it off my shell," he whispered to her wall.
She couldn't stop the gasp that escaped. She hadn't had a chance to really look at his shell when he went into the bathroom, there were what looked to be three different names, along with swirls and patterns covering all but a few patches. "Let me go check. Why don't you fill up the tub? I'll help you scrub it off."
Embarrassment and something else wafted to her before all emotion seemed to shut itself off from her senses, "Okay."
She practically ran to the kitchen, rummaged under the sink for a moment, before finding a square hand held cleaning brush and rushed back to her room. Donnie was sitting on the edge of the bath, one hand under the flow of the half filled tub, staring absently at the tiles. "Hop in," she said softly, trying to sound reassuring, "I promise I'll be gentle."
The turtle gave her a half smile before turning off the tap and sliding in. He folded his arms on the far side and rested his head on them, his painted carapace to her. She dipped the brush into the water and rubbed it on the bar of soap, gathering a large lather before hesitantly bringing it to the shell. She rubbed it back and forth a few times before she noticed Donnie tensing with every motion.
She pulled the brush back instantly, "Does that hurt?" She gasped, "I'm sorry, I didn't think. I didn't know you could even feel it."
"It doesn't. It's more like, I can feel it under my shell. Different type of nerves. It's like when something touches your fingernail. You can feel it, but not exactly. I don't know."
She frowned, it wasn't like him to not explain something.
She started to say something, she wasn't entirely sure what, when he spoke again, harshly, "It doesn't hurt; just do what you have to to get it off."
April's worry returned as she gathered more soap on the brush and went back to scrubbing, this time in small circles. Slowly, the paint started to flake off. Half of his shell was clean before she noticed the turtle had relaxed completely and was snoring slightly. "Oh, Donnie," she sighed and continued scrubbing, "what happened?"
She was on the upper edge near his shoulder when she saw the first of the bruises. They weren't particularly bad, but she knew what they were. Someone had held him down. They were on his upper arms and wrists, deep enough, in the distinct shape of fingers; he must have struggled. How had he gotten away?! She shook her head and her brush must have slipped, because Donatello giggled, still mostly asleep, and clumsily tried to knock the brush away. "Mikey, stop."
"Sorry, Donnie," she whispered through her smile. She resumed her small circling scrubs and Donatello hummed contentedly.
"That feels nice," he slurred, still not awake.
"I thought you said your shell was like fingernails, you couldn't really feel it?"
"Turtle shells. Specific...carapace...spine, ribs...tissue ossification. Dermal plates," April had to laugh, he was explaining what she had asked earlier, "covered in scutes, made of keratin. Similar to...nail, hair." He yawned. "Feels nice...relaxing." His voice was slurring as he drifted deeper asleep as he added, "Shell massage from April."
April sighed, that probably wasn't something he'd have said aloud if he was awake. She didn't want to risk hearing something he'd rather keep private, so she whispered, "Don't worry, Donnie. I'll take care of you; just get some rest."
He hummed his affirmation and returned to snoring lightly.
She had finished cleaning all the paint from his shell and was drying her hands when she heard the tune of the TPhone. It was Donnie's, Mikey's picture lit he screen. She answered the call, holding it to her ear, and was drawing a breath to say hello when Mikey quickly said, "Dude! You finally answered! Are you-"
She didn't have a chance to say anything before the phone was obviously snatched and Raph's voice boomed through the tiny speaker, "Where the fuck are you?!"
She started, "Raph?"
The tone instantly changed to confused and his voice sounded far away, as if he'd pulled the phone from his ear to check the screen, "April?" There was a growl and the anger returned, "We've been worried sick thinking something happened and he's visiting his girlfriend?!"
"Raph, calm down," she started, but he was cursing over her. She looked at her alarm clock, surprised to see that she'd been trying to clean Donnie's shell for nearly two hours.
After a few sentences that were nothing but expletives, Raph grunted, "Give the phone to my idiot brother."
April sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "He's sleeping right now, but I promise I'll make sure he gets home before sunrise. It took longer to clean him up than I thought."
There was a pause and she could almost feel the change in Raphael, "Cleaned up? Is he hurt?"
She heard Mikey squeak in the background, "Donnie's hurt?!"
"No, I mean, he's okay," she didn't even know what had happened, how was she going to explain?
A hand on her shoulder startled her, "It's okay, April," Donnie said, taking the phone and holding it to his ear. "Hi, Raph." He winced and pulled the phone away as Raph's screaming cruses nearly blew out the small speaker. He tentatively brought it back to his ear, "J-just some scrapes and bruises. Maybe a slight concussion." The turtle hung his head and turned slightly, giving her a clear view of a dark bruise on his temple. "I'm fine. Her place was just closer." He sighed, "No, I'll leave now, I'll be right-"
He pulled the phone away from his ear again and April clearly heard Raphael yelling, "You stay right there! Leo! Get the ShellRaiser ready. We're picking him up!"
"No, Raph, really. I'm okay."
"Shut up! We're on our way."
The red bandana clad turtle must have hung up, because Donnie lowered the phone with a sigh.
She opened her mouth to say something, but the turtle cut her off, "Thanks for helping me. It's late, and you've got school. I'm sorry I made you stay up."
"No, Donnie, it's okay. I want you to know that you can come here if you need help. No matter what time it is."
The turtle nodded, "It was so stupid. I-I got distracted."
April tentatively reached up to cup his cheek, turning his face to get a better look at the bruise on his temple. He winced and his eyes searched for anywhere to look that wasn't her face. The bruise was darker than she'd first thought, God, what could have made that? A pipe?!
She must have questioned aloud because Donnie sighed, his eyes finding hers for a moment before responding, "Aluminum baseball bat."
She quickly pulled her hand away and covered her mouth in disbelief. The turtle's shoulders slumped and he stepped around her, plucking his mask from the hanger and tying it in place, effectively covering most of the contusion.
"Distracted? What could have distracted you that much?"
He crossed his arms, suddenly resembling Raph, "I was angry."
"So angry that you didn't notice someone about to hit you with a bat?!"
His shoulders sagged, "No, that was after they tackled me."
The red head didn't have a response, she gaped, opening and closing her mouth a few times before her brain finally restarted and formed words again, "They tackled you and then hit you with a baseball bat?"
"Not...exactly?" He sank slowly into a sitting position on her bed, pulling his knees to his plastron. "I don't think he really meant to hit me as hard as he did."
She was still finding it hard to form words, "Okay, start at the beginning. What happened? Why were you so distracted?"
He sighed and was hardly audible, "They were laughing at me."
"Who was laughing at at you?"
He jumped up suddenly, animated and angry. "First my brothers going on and on about how I'm not as good a fighter as they are! Every time we spar, they always get me out first! Take out the weakest, because it's the easiest! Then, those stupid punks! They were at least two years younger than me! I know I'm not Raphael, but I'm still a giant mutated turtle! I should be intimidating to a fourteen year old kid spray painting a wall!"
The anger drained from him as suddenly as it had appeared and he slumped back to the bed. "I wasn't paying attention. There were four others, older, bigger. Two of them tackled me. Once I was down, they held my arms, one grabbed my legs and the last one, the biggest, the leader...he kept tapping the stupid bat on my shell. Saying he was going to break it open and see what kind stuff aliens were made of. I tried to get away! I've fought Foot and Krang and mutants, I couldn't fight four kids?" He curled his legs back up to his plastron and rested his head on his knees, looking defeated. "I was so scared."
"But you got away," She put her hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him.
He snorted, derisively, "No. I didn't. One of the younger kids said his mom would be mad if he ruined his jeans with blood. So, they decided to paint me instead of the wall. This," he pointed to the nasty splotch on his temple, "was so I wouldn't chase after them. Left me stunned enough I couldn't. Probably a grade two concussion. I don't think I lost consciousness."
She whispered his name and pulled him into an embrace. He was stiff for a bit before he relaxed and returned it. She hadn't realized she was crying until he pulled away and she quickly swiped the sleeve of her pajamas across her face. "I'm glad you came here. I'll always help you, Donnie. I will." She leaned forward and very gently brushed her lips against the bruise.
The turtle blushed and had a hesitant smile when she pulled away. It drooped slightly and his brow furrowed, "Don't-please don't tell my brothers."
She shook her head, "I won't."
He relaxed and the smile returned, "Thanks."
He turned toward her window barely a moment before a knock sounded, making her jump. She shook her head, now who wasn't paying attention?
She opened the window and Raphael pushed passed her without even a "hello." He towered over Donatello's seated form, scrutinizing and obviously cataloging every scrape and bruise. "Who?" The word was ground out, a harsh growl.
Mikey and Leo both greeted her with a tight nod. Mikey looked to her, projecting a barely controlled panic; Leo was simply frowning deeply. "Donnie's okay, right, April?" Mikey asked.
She smiled at the orange masked turtle, "I think so," both Leo and Mikey sighed in relief. "But he's got a bad bruise on the side of his head. I think he's got a concussion."
Raph's growl grew louder. "Who?" He repeated.
Donnie didn't look at his brothers, "I don't know."
Raph was clenching his fists so tight, his hands shook. "What do you mean you don't know?!"
Donnie grit his teeth and yelled back, jumping right into his brother's personal space, forcing the red masked turtle back, "They jumped me and hit me over the head! I'm sorry I didn't pay attention to their faces while I was face down on the pavement in an alley!"
Raph's eyes were wide and he was still shaking, but the fury had completely drained, his expression replaced with something akin to horror. He quickly snatched his taller brother into a crushing hug. It lasted barely a moment before he pushed away gruffly and swiped the back of his hand under his nose sniffing. "Right," he said tightly, "concussion. We know the drill. I'll take first watch. Let's get you home." He started to push Donnie toward the open window. His eyes were almost glassy as he finally acknowledged April, "Thanks for taking care of our brother. We've got it from here."
As Raph forced Donnie out of the window, Mikey hugged her, "Yeah, thanks, April," his voice was trembling slightly. "We were crazy worried when he didn't meet up back at the lair. I called and called his TPhone like two hundred times, but he didn't answer."
Guilt pressed tightly in her stomach, "I'm sorry, I should have called when he showed up. I didn't even think."
Leo put his hand on her shoulder, "You should have, but you took care of him, and that's more important. Thank you."
"I'm here whenever you guys need."
Mikey gave her a tight squeeze before releasing her. "Yeah, thanks April. You're awesome."
Leo gave Mikey's shell a firm pat and they both moved to leave, "Tomorrow is Friday," April started, "mind if I come over? Make sure he's okay?"
Leo smiled, "Of course." He turned back to his youngest brother, "Come on, we've got a long night ahead."
As soon as they were gone, April relocked her window and went back to her bed, if she went to sleep now, she might get four hours of sleep before class.
A/N: While I was looking up some information on turtle shells for another fanfic I was attempting to outline, I came across a little note in one blog that said box turtles seem to enjoy having their shells rubbed with a toothbrush. I have no idea if it's true or not, but I thought it would be a cute fluffy thing to have April do to Donnie. And as is always inevitable with me, cute and fluffy meant hurt/comfort-y and angsty as I torture my favorite character. I did write out why the turtles were all separate and what happened with the horrible little punks as a flashback, but as I wrote, I didn't feel like it needed it. I guess if I have someone who really wants it, I could combine it with what the other turtles were doing while they panicked for nearly three hours, and add it as a second chapter. For now, I'll just let this chill as a simple one shot. I do love overprotective Raph almost as much as I love everything Donatello, so of course that had to be a thing. I apologize for his language, because I know he won't.