Just wanted to give you guys a little treat while you are waiting for Debts Paid to be ready. I wrote this actually a while ago, but was iffy on posting it yet while I was in the middle of Promises Made. It's based off of 2k14 movie and an image that a friend on Tumblr had posted.
Marks
Donatello had no memory of the event, not really. He just remembered a blinding white pain, a bloodcurdling scream of rage, and loud splashes of water.
The blinding white pain had been when the Shredder's razor sharp claws slashed upward and dug into his plastron, shoulder, and carapace. He had been doing an admirable job blocking the cruel man in armor's attacks. Leonardo had fallen to the ground, writhing in pain from whatever had been sprayed into his eyes when Don took over the fight. A dirty trick, to be sure, and Michelangelo assured him that Don looked terrifying when he flew at the Shredder and actually landed a few good blows that dented the armor that encased their enemy.
The problem with having a single weapon, unlike his brothers who all have pairs, is that he can only block from one angle. He should have twirled the bo, Don thought as he heard the retellings of the event, rather than just blocking from above and leaving his lower half unguarded. It had allowed the Shredder the opening he needed to inflict the wound he was now sporting.
Granted, Don hadn't even been able to fully see the mess that was now his right side. He had been conveniently asleep every time they came to change the bandages and they refused to remove the wrappings just for him to look. It needed time to heal a bit, they said, before they showed him
He knew it was bad. He could feel the missing parts of his shell over his shoulder, where once smooth and dense carapace was now full of sharp edges and brittle. There were gouges that had needed stitching on his shoulder, and they pulled painfully every time he moved his right arm. The worst damage, though, was his plastron. He could feel the deep clawed marks starting from his middle plates on his right side and moving up. The marks got deeper as they went higher, until the top of his plastron. There, around seventy-five percent of the top plate was now gone. What the Shredder hadn't taken with his claws, Master Splinter had taken to reach the ribs and part of his lung that had been nicked during the attack.
Gone. Part of his plastron was gone, leaving a gaping hole that would take forever to heal. Don wasn't sure how he felt about that yet. It wasn't like he was trying to win any beauty pageants or actually took much pride in his looks. He had been the least scarred of his brothers, and he felt that his lack of marks was a testament to his skills. Now he had probably the worst scar out of all of them. Most definitely, he had the most painful one. He remembered each and every nick and cut his brother's gained in their almost sixteen years of existence, and they may have been bloody or gross, but his, he knew, had raised the bar.
The bloodcurdling scream of rage had been Raphael, not surprising. Also not surprising, is that Don learned that they had left that rooftop with one less sai, because in their rush to get him home for repair, his hot-tempered brother had left it in the neck of the monster who caused Don's injury. He learned that were no celebratory words spoken at the downfall of their greatest enemy, no boasts that they ended up the victors. Instead, Raph had lifted Don up as much as he could and immediately brought him down on the street level, leaving Mikey to guide the still blind Leo down.
They had left without the Battleshell when they went to confront their ninja master, so they had to hoof it on foot, and time was of the essence. Mikey told him how Leo had immediately brushed Mikey off as soon as they got underground and quickly grabbed Don's legs, keeping his eyes closed as he listened to Raph's directions and footsteps. Mikey had been chosen wordlessly to take point and make sure that there were no obstacles in their path and to warn Splinter of their emergency.
That must have been the splashing he had heard, Don thought. His brothers carrying his tall, lanky self through the sewers to get him home.
His next memory was waking up either hours or days later, asking for water. After he had gotten his fill, he'd inquire about what happened, but had been out before an explanation could be made. This continued on for days, with each time he opened his eyes, there was always a different person there with a cup to his lips. It was mostly his father and Raph, but each of the people he considered his family took their turn, even April, who had tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips.
Recovery was going to take a long time. This, no one had to tell him. He had been studying medicine and his body since he was able to obtain those medical journals from a box that had been tossed carelessly down a drainage pipe. Even with the wondrous effects the mutagen was doing to his body, it would be a while before he would feel like normal again. Perhaps he never will, now that he had a visual cue of the event. That was mental rather than physical, but it was still an injury, a wound that would take time to heal.
Part of him knew that he would never truly heal from this. He was going to be a changed turtle whether his family wanted him to or not. Don didn't even know if he even wanted to be the same turtle he was before. He fingered the bandage that covered his missing plate gently, making sure he didn't press down on it. Before he was unmarked and unknowing. Now he had a scar that was lasting, but it wasn't the only thing. He also knew that his family had seen his blood, his scar, and not backed away. He gained the memory of pain and suffering, yes, but he also gained the knowledge just how far his family would go for him and that's one mark he would bear with pride.