I love the new series. Enough to forget about school for a moment and finally write something out, despite every bone in my body telling me to finish my homework. So here it is. I hope it's all right; it is my first time ever working with the turtles, but I did my best!
Set in 2012 series, no swear words, rated for mentions of violence.
Thank you for reading. Feedback is appreciated.
Truth comes to Donatello shortly after he and his brothers' tenth birthday, in the form of a badly sprained ankle for Raphael and a blackened and quickly swelling eye for Leonardo. Young Donatello knows that eventually they'll be going up to the surface.
Eventually, the injuries will be far worse than this.
Excitement still bubbles inside his stomach; they are all one year closer to freedom. But Donatello cannot deny the danger of the surface, and Master Splinter is only so versed in how to deal with wounds and injuries. He will not admit it to his overprotective father, but there are reasons not to go topside.
"Come now, Raphael," Splinter says, adjusting the red masked turtle as he squirms on the couch. "You must stay still while I wrap it up."
"But it's not that bad, sensei! Come on, I'm fine." Raphael peeks over Splinter's shoulder, catching Leonardo's eye. Leo presses an ice pack to his right eye, narrowing his left at Raph. Raphael only grins, but quickly hides it when Splinter glances at him again.
"I know you're strong, my son, but injuries are best dealt with immediately." A shine reaches Splinter's eyes. "If you learn to handle these, you'll be that much more prepared for the surface."
"Really?" Mikey throws himself on the side of the blue couch's arm, grinning from ear to ear. "Does that mean we're going soon?"
"Not yet, my sons, not yet." Splinter looks to the side, nodding at Leonardo before his eyes settle on Donatello. The tall, thin turtle's eyes are clouded, switching between Raphael and Leonardo, then focusing on the floor. He does not realize his father's eyes are on him, and Splinter looks away before one of his other sons can comment.
Donatello brings his fingers to his chin, biting his lower lip. We do need to be better prepared. I mean, our arms could wind up broken. Or we can get some pretty bad cuts. Or...well, worse. He shoves what worse could be from his mind, despite his brain racing to grab the stray thoughts.
As Splinter winds down Leo and Raph's treatment, Donatello heads for his room, picturing the stacks of books shoved to the walls, threatening to become as tall as the room itself. He runs through the titles in his mind, absently pulling them out as he reaches the stacks.
A pile of thick medical books begins to pool in the center of his room, some brightly colored with gold writing, others grungy and dated. Topics range from medical jargon to emergency aid, survival situations, basic procedures, and even an advanced textbook of performing surgeries, no doubt leaving a college student frustrated and several hundred dollars short.
Donatello sits crossed-legged in front of the pile, a lump growing in his throat. He swallows it down, ignoring the quickening of his heart and gently pulling the top book away.
I should have started this sooner. How much can I learn in a few years? I have at least three; there's no way sensei will let us out before we're teens. But is three years enough to learn everything?
He narrows his eyes, flipping through a few pages and scanning the small black print. "I don't even have enough of them. And some of these are way too old."
"Too old for what, Donatello?"
Barely managing to suppress the jump, Don snaps the book shut and turns to his father. "Uh...just, these books. Studying." He looks around, trying not to meet Splinter's gaze. "I mean, it's best to study with the most recent information as possible, right?" Don swallows, shaking his head. "Not that I don't love them all, sensei! I mean, thank you for getting all these books for me-"
Splinter walks into the room, a small, wry smile on his face. His eyes are dim as he kneels down and scoops up one of the books, skimming the front. "1963 does seem rather old, doesn't it?" Donatello shrinks back, his hand clutching the book tighter. Splinter eases to the floor, setting his cane to the side and watching the genius turtle with an even gaze.
"Come now, Donatello. It's all right."
Silence stretches between them until Donatello finally takes a breath and says, "I-I was just thinking about-about once we got topside. And how someone is going to need to know a lot about first aid and treating injuries and stuff like that." His voice grows quieter with each word, and he's unsure how to take Splinter's silence.
"I figured, maybe I should look into it," he says, tongue unconsciously swathing the gap between his teeth. "And the sooner I start..."
Splinter nods and Donatello's voice trails off. The young turtle brings his knees up, still cradling the book like a stuffed animal. The back of his mind begins to filter what little he managed to read:
"Remember the ABCs of CPR: Airway, Breathing, and Circulation."
"Is usually used in cases of cardiac arrest (absence of heartbeats, blood flow, pu-"
"Are you sure, Donatello?" Don blinks slowly, shaking his head and meeting his father's gaze. "To put such a burden on yourself." Don's chest tightens at the rasp in his father's voice, and his eyes switch to the floor.
"But I can learn it the fastest. And, someone needs to be able to, right?" He's not sure whether he's asking his father or himself. "I mean, what if something happened?"
Splinter nods, eyes growing darker with every word. Don's muscles tense; he has no idea what that something is, and he isn't sure how eager he is to find out. The thought of one of his brothers' hearts slowing to a stop and he, Donatello, having to get it started again, forms a large, pulsing stone of fear in the center of his stomach.
Blood too-I bet there'll be blood. I'll need to figure out how to treat wounds like that, and I'll need to keep them from dy-
Slamming his eyes shut, he swallows the whimper threatening to fall from his mouth, but Splinter hears its whisper and wraps his arm around Donatello. He leans into Splinter's touch, keeping his eyes shut and willing away the image of one of his brothers on the ground, bleeding and looking up at him with blank, unfocused eyes.
Not doing so great, though.
Don's hand trembles and his father places his paw on top of it, shaking his head. "I don't know, my son. You are so young. To even be thinking of this."
"No!" He says it too quickly and he knows it, taking a deep breath and saying in a more even tone. "I know I can do this, sensei. I just-I need to stop thinking about some things." He won't say what those things are, unable to shake the feeling that his father already knows. "I mean, someone has to take care of them, right? And Raphael is so hot-headed, I don't think he'd be able to sit here and read through-"
"It's not that I don't think you're capable." Splinter pats his head and Donatello calms, easing into his father's chest. "I know you can learn it, Donatello. I just don't know if I want you to this early. You're still so young, and to even be thinking of this now."
Splinter sighs and Donatello shuts his eyes. It's one of those moment Don hates. His father is so close to him that he can feel his chest moving against his shell, but Splinter's mind is too far from him. He can't reach his father's thoughts. Can't yet comprehend why Splinter wouldn't want him learning this.
Instead, he presses further, "It's not like you'll be with us when we fight, sensei." His little hand curls around his father's arm. "And I want-I want to be able to protect them too. I mean, Raph's already pretty good at beating us up, and half the time he doesn't mean to. Or at least, he says he doesn't," Donatello mutters the last part, pouting a bit.
Splinter hums and Don falls silent again, closing his eyes and listening to his father's breaths. His hold on the book loosens, tipping to the floor and falling open. Pages of text reveal themselves, as well as several diagrams of the human body. Donatello opens his eyes and glances at the pages.
I'll need a few more books about turtles, now that I think about it. Donatello's eyes widen. But we're mutated turtles...how similar are we to them?
"You're far too bright for your age, my son." Don looks up at Splinter, shaking himself from his thoughts. "I should have known you'd come to this sooner or later-I suppose I sort of hoped, though..." Patting his shoulder, Splinter stands up, lifting Donatello with him.
For a few moments, Splinter merely stares at the pile of medical books on the floor, his shoulders sagging slightly. Donatello feels his stomach and chest curl, and he shifts his feet, mouth dry. Splinter smiles, placing his paw back on Don's head. "I suppose if I was there to help as well. And as long as you let me guide you for the first year or so, it couldn't hurt. There are some things I want you to wait on before you learn about them-"
Splinter's words are lost in a puff of breath as Donatello hugs him around his middle, burying his face into his father's stomach. "Thank you," he whispers, voice low. "Thank you, sensei."
Splinter nods, leaning down to hug his brilliant son, who reaches so far for his age; who Splinter fears will grow too quickly.
"Of course, my son. Of course."
Splinter ignores the hot pain in his chest.
Donatello ignores the cold stone in his stomach.