Hello all. Here's a new oneshot. A very short oneshot. If you don't enjoy it, I don't care. If you do, then yay!
Do I really need to say I don't own TMNT? Fine. Idontowntmnt. There.
Promises
Donatello was an inventor, and as an inventor he knew how to fix things. He was always fixing things. It was his life, something he'd always been accustomed to. If something was broken, he jumped at the opportunity to fix it, to put it back together, to restore it.
And he enjoyed restoring things. It was one of his favorite pastimes. Building put his vast mind at ease. Relaxed him. It lead him away from his hectic life, if only for a little bit, and allowed him to focus on something other than all the hardships he and his brothers had to deal with.
He fixed things. He thought that making promises would be similar. He was certain that he could fix other people's problems, repair what had been broken, find what had been lost, take away the suffering.
He didn't know how different it really was.
It was so, so much harder. Promises weren't simply a machine you could put back together. Promises involved the lives, and sometimes deaths, of other people. Promises were meant to be kept and carried out. They weren't meant to be taken lightly.
Donatello had taken them lightly, and now, as he sat isolated in his dimly lit lab, he was starting to feel the immense pressure he had put on himself. He had assumed he could fix everything, and he had taken too many burdens upon himself. Now... now he wondered if he could carry out all the promises he'd made.
At the time, he didn't have any doubts. They were just more problems to fix. It was something he did everyday. Now though... now...
There were lives at stake. Innocent lives. His decisions, his mistakes, could hurt so many people. In fact, because of his lack of responsibility, someone was already hurt. Maybe even irreparable. Not only that, but someone close to him was suffering because he had yet to keep his promise.
His shoulders were heavy with all the stress and pain. All the intense guilt he had brought down on himself.
He glanced over at the large glowing canister in the corner of his room. Grotesque mutated eyes stared back at him through the glass. They held sadness, confusion, and fear. He broke contact with those eyes, unable to look into them anymore, and looked towards his laptop screen. A picture of a beautiful red head teenager reflected in his chocolate orbs.
His dam of feelings collapsed, and all his emotions flooded out as salty tears. His shoulders shook, and he put his head in his hands as he openly sobbed, his cries echoing off his lonely lab walls.
There were some things he just couldn't fix.