I wanted to write a few one shots to get myself back into the swing of fic writing. So here's this completely random thing that I wrote that came form nowhere. Enjoy!
Summary: Donatello just wants to relax for a minute. Is that too much to ask? Oh wait, yes it is.
Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, Gerber Baby Food, Heroes, or John Cena.
Frustrated nearly to the point of fratricide, I unceremoniously threw my tools into their case and stalked away. Raphael and I don't fight very often, but when we do I am usually the one who walks away. He was still yelling at me about the proper way to replace spark plugs (like there's a difference between my way and his!) when I slammed the door to the work area, effectively cutting him off.
I could hear him laughing like a madman as I stormed off, and I knew he'd been a pain in the shell just to get me all riled up. What did I do to deserve this?
I deposited my tools in my bedroom and wandered back into the main living area, positively seething. Mikey was seated on the couch, watching some inane program, but I felt that I needed the company of someone who wasn't as annoying as Raph at the moment.
I sighed. Who am I kidding? Mikey is way worse than Raph. Oh well, I needed a break and I figured zoning out in front of the tube for a while would help me a great deal. I vaulted over the back of the couch and seated myself beside Mikey, who wordlessly offered me the bag of chips he had been steadily grazing on. I took a couple and leaned back, quirking an eye ridge at the action on the screen.
"Mikey, what the shell is this?"
My orange bandanna wearing brother looked highly affronted before responding "This, oh brother mine, is just about the greatest show ever!"
I considered the television. It was a cartoon. But that's typical Mikey, so I wasn't too surprised. Heck, truth be told, I'll watch the occasional cartoon, as long as it has some level of intelligence.
Unfortunately for me, this cartoon seemed to have none.
The drama that unfolded before me was thus: a young boy and a strange blue blob (named Bloo, I quickly discovered) ran around an enormous house in what appeared to be frustration, all the while pursued by some yellow creature that said strange things. Every time this yellow creature (apparently named Cheese) uttered one of its convoluted sentences, by baby brother would laugh hysterically.
I was confused, to say the least.
When the credits rolled, I looked a question at Mikey. He noticed and looked puzzled for a moment, before grinning wide and chuckling to himself.
"Its called Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends," He supplied.
"Okaaaaaay…" Was my response.
"It's about this kid named Mac, and he-"
"You know, Mikey, I don't think I want to know," I replied, snagging the remote using every ounce of ninja skill I possessed. Mikey didn't notice until I changed the channel, making an irritated and slightly panicked noise.
"But Donnie, it's a marathon!" He whined.
"Then you can watch it again when I'm gone," I replied.
Mikey grumped for a while, but then settled down again when I stopped on an old episode of Heroes on the Sci-Fi channel. A nearly fanatical love of this show was something special that I shared with this particular brother.
We sat in companionable silence for a while, until halfway through the second commercial break. Some new cell phone store was opening up, and they joyfully proclaimed that the first fifty customers to show up on Saturday would receive a free gift.
"What is a 'free' gift?" I grumbled. "Aren't all gifts free?"
Mikey seemed to consider this in silence for a moment before regarding me with wide eyes.
"You are so right, dude," he breathed, seemingly overcome by the simple truth of my statement.
"People really need to choose their words more carefully," I mumbled, still slightly annoyed from my encounter with Raph.
"True that, Donnie," Mikey agreed, before turning his attention back to the show.
During the next commercial break, a relatively nondescript ad for baby oil came on. My mind wandered, thinking about all of the productive things I could be doing right now, when Mikey's voice shook me from my musings.
"Hey Donnie," he said, trying to sound serious but failing miserably. "If olive oil comes from olives, where does baby oil come from?"
I just stared at him for a moment before cracking up. Leave it to my brother to make observations such as these.
"Not from babies, Mikey, if that's what you're thinking. Although I read somewhere that some people from another country were repulsed by Gerber baby food because they thought that it was made of actual babies."
"No way! Why would they think that?"
"Because there's a picture of a baby on the front of the jar," I responded, grinning.
"That's sick, dude!" Mikey stuck out his tongue and shivered in an entirely overdramatic way to illustrate his disgust.
"What's sick?" Leo queried, appearing out of nowhere like he tends to do.
"Foreign people think that we eat babies!" Mikey all but shouted, wheeling around to stare wide-eyed into our eldest brother's thoroughly confused face.
Leo glanced at me. "Donnie?"
"Never mind, bro," I responded, my eyes drawn back to the exploits of the Heroes.
Leo, however, would not be denied. "Who eats babies, Donnie?"
"I do," came Raph's voice. The turtle in question sidled into my line of vision, covered in grease with a towel draped over his shoulder.
"Are you all calmed down now, Donnie?" He asked, smirking.
Rolling my eyes, I nodded. "Yeah, yeah."
"Good." He then turned his attention to the TV. "Aww, you're watchin' this geek crap again?"
"It's not geek crap, Raph!" Mikey exclaimed. "It's the best show ever!"
"I thought that the foster home for the whatsit-thing was the best show ever?" I mocked.
Mikey just stuck his tongue out at me.
Leo flipped over the back of the couch and settled in beside me, and Raph seated himself next to Mikey. I smiled, all traces of annoyance fading away as I enjoyed my brothers' company. I was content.
That is, until Raph changed the channel to wrestling and a shouting match broke out between him and Mikey. I heard snatches of an argument over who would win in a cage match between John Cena and Peter Petrelli. Leo rolled his eyes and got up to break up the fight, only to be tackled from behind by an uncharacteristically playful Raphael. I sunk down into the couch as low as I could, but unfortunately Mikey spotted me. I was hauled bodily from the couch and flung into the fray.
It was a friendly fight, and I was enjoying myself until there was a resounding crash and Raph held up the twisted remains of what used to be the DVD player. Everyone looked at me and I couldn't help giving a frustrated sigh.
"Aw, shell."