Part four of a series of sorts.
A/N: This particular little pest took me forever to even get on the drawing board, and I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it so it may or may not be taken down at a later date to be cahnged around a bit. The ending in particular seems kind of like a cop-out, and extremely corny so I apologize for that in advance. Let me know what you think, reviews are always appreciated. :) A huge thanks to everyone who reviewed on the last story, and a huge cyber cookie for Dawnwhisper for giving me the inspiration for finally getting to work on this and reading it over.
It's not necessary to read the other stories before this one, I use the word series very lightly. Enjoy!
Disclaimer- Nope, I don't own them. Though just like everyone else, I wish I did.
Potential
Don loathed that word.
At first it seemed like a trophy or a shining beacon to be treasured, admired and shown-off. You should wear it proudly like a medal they'd say while offering you dazzling smiles, praises and encouragement until you were so high up on approval that you thought you could do anything.
So when the pressure and stress finally hits you, it knocks the wind out of you and pushes you down so far you can't even see the light anymore. It's there among broken remnants of dreams and hopes you realize how the paint and seams are peeling, tearing, falling. Through the warped glass of false ideals and cracking paradigms the truth emerges.
An excuse; that's all it really was.
More reasons for why others should come along piled high with problems and burden his shaky shoulders with their expectations.
It wasn't fair.
They slapped him with that word, a giant label that brought with it many sleepless nights and empty coffee pots, and then gallivanted off into the night, free to do as they pleased. Of course they each had their own venom- their own 'potential' to deal with- but it seemed as though they could wear theirs easily, without worry.
And he was stuck.
It wasn't necessarily the constant building and creating that bothered him. He could shoulder that part of the deal easily; with a smile if it was required.
It was the constant fixing.
Fixing that wore him down each and every day with its vitality and pressure. Fixing that was causing his far-too-young hands to shake, and his eyes to become dark and ringed. All because he had no choice.
No one else knew what he knew, thought like he thought, or could do what he did.
It occurred to him that he could teach one of them, possibly even pass on the duty. But why should they learn? After all he had the 'gift', he had the 'potential', right?
Fix my toy Donnie! Fix my bike Don! Fix the TV Donatello! For crying out loud, fix my broken bones while you're at it too!
They were ninja's; it was an inescapable fact that there would be blood at one point or another. He knew that, they knew that, and yet they were always so caught off guard when it did happen. They panicked and straight away looked at him to solve it all with a wave of his hand.
It was so unfair.
Unfair that he should have the weight of a brother's life resting in his hands. Unfair that because of one single mistake or choice he made, he might wake up staring at a grave. Unfair that he should be the one that stood between deaths in their small, tightly knit family. Unfair that he should even be facing these questions so early on; a child in another life.
And he wasn't ready.
The world around him was spinning, fading, shattering and repairing at random intervals. There were hands and panicked gestures, a flurry of motion and unfocused stares. A blink was all it took for his world to come crashing down around him. A second for things to change from easy laughter to panic stricken grief. Time had been slowly trickling through his fingers, just waiting for a single slip or stumble to cut it all off.
None of them were ready.
A hand touched his shoulder. Wild, panic-stricken, chocolate brown met reassuring, trust-filled gold.
They didn't have to be.
With a snap like a rubber band there was focus.
It was like he had just woken up from a nightmare; like the he was a fish out of water that had finally returned to its bowl.
He just knew.
It wasn't about labeling, or pressure or anything. It never had been and none of it mattered.
What mattered was that he could do something. He could save his brother when no one else could. He could fix the heater or the toaster or whatever else that possibly could be broken and they knew that.
They trusted him.
His brothers and father had seen what he was capable of; what his potential was and they trusted him for it. They'd given him the perfect opportunity to prove himself time and time again and all he'd seen was the prospective baggage; missing the brilliant golden lining all around him.
Warmth, like liquid sunlight filled him, and a spark of determination lighted. Just being able to do something was better than anything else he could ask for. He had his family's courage, trust and the potential to do anything, including save his brother.
Even if he didn't so much love the word, potential was still an amazing gift. One he would use over and over again if it meant keeping his family together and whole.
Potential may be great, but family was even better.