Prompt: Needle
He would never admit it, but Donatello hated needles. Not because he was scared of them. With him being the doctor of the family, that would be a quite inconvenient issue. The reason he hated them was because they meant his brothers were severely hurt.
It was ridiculous, he knew that. And he also knew that the needles were a necessity to keep his family from greater damage. But he couldn't help himself, every time an injury required a needle, Donatello's hands quivered. It was upsetting and Donatello cursed himself for his sensitiveness, but there was nothing he could do about it. So, every time one of his brothers' was hurt so badly that Donatello for some reason required a needle, he would hand it to his father. Donatello hated the worried and compassionate looks he earned for doing that, the looks that acknowledged and forgave his failure, the looks that seemed to say "It's okay, little Donny, it's okay to be weak for you. We don't expect anything else."
It was pathetic but it was an inner barrier he was not able to surmount.
So, when Master Splinter was lying on the sickbed, in the need of morphine due to the terrible injuries he had received after encountering a bunch of Foot ninja, what was Donatello to do? The syringe was clasped by his shivering fingers and his eyes were helpless as he eyed his father.
"Donatello, my son."
Donatello winced. His father sounded so small, so breakable. He had never heard the elderly rat talk like that before and he hoped he would never have to again. Master Splinter lifted his paw. The fur was sticky with blood. Donatello winced once more when his father softly took his hand in his own.
"I know you are scared. But you have to be strong."
Donatello knew that. He had known from the very moment Master Splinter had dragged himself into the lair. But he what if he could not?
"Donatello."
Don's eyes had filled with tears. He could not do it. He would fail. Don knew he would fail. His whole body was trembling now, the syringe in his hand felt unbearably hot, as if it was filled with lava instead of the alleviating morphine.
Master Splinter sensed his second youngest son's distress and it broke his heart to demand something like that from the gentle turtle. He rubbed his thumb softly over Donatello's hand.
"I believe in you."
Donatello's tremors became more severe, his sight began to swim due to the tears. His heart clenched inside his chest. He felt as if he was on fire, the flames slowly eating away his heart and his soul.
"Donny."
He felt the syringe slowly slip from his hand. He watched as his eldest brother did the job he failed to do. Would always fail to do.
But that was not the worst thing. The worst thing was not his inability to treat his family with needles.
The worst thing was the looks.
