Genesis

Turtlecest, raphxdon – Because everything has to start somewhere…

Disclaimer: If I owned the turtles, it wouldn't be a kiddie show.

Warnings: turtlecest, yaoi, turtle on turtle action, slash, mature: are you sure you are in the right place? Be weary or your brain might implode.

Chapter 14 – Purple, Crunch Time

He definitely overreacted.

Donatello leaned against his bedroom door, just knowing that in a matter of minutes, Leonardo would be pounding on it, seeking explanations and perhaps finally, 'the talk.' The visit was virtually mandatory. No doubt, Leonardo had a lecture stored away for when one of them finally threw their brother into a cement wall.

Raphael was being so… infuriating. Donatello had just lost it. He closed his eyes, replaying the scene in his mind, over and over again. He had never been made to feel like this before. Like there was something truly wrong with him.

They were paired together during practice, a common event that happened three or four times a week. It should not have been a big deal. No matter what was happening in their lives, this should have been the least of their worries.

Raphael refused to touch him. He would not attack and so Donatello took the offensive so that their practice could go seemingly normal. And Raphael refused to touch him, like Donatello was sick or infectious; like his skin was made of napalm.

He never fought back. Raphael just kept dodging. He did not block. Never swung or kicked. Defied tactics and avoided contact at whatever cost. And it released something Donatello had no idea he even had.

The moment was so built up; he just started reacting in ways out of his control. Not only was Raphael refusing to even graze his skin as if he would catch the repulsive disease infecting Donatello's brain, but he acted so pompous; so greater-than-thou with his fighting moves, like Donatello could never actually touch the turtle if Raphael did not want him to. Donatello proved him wrong.

He had instantly regretted his retort.

Donatello never knew the power of anger until recently, and Raphael had now driven him over the edge twice. Never in his twenty or so years had he felt anything like it, and now two times in the last week he had absolutely lost control of himself. He was disappointed.

Strangely, he was also intrigued by the realization that Raphael lived like this every day. Donatello had no idea how the hothead could ever see past the clouds of built up rage. Or how the haze was there on a constant basis in the first place. He felt nothing but empathy and guilt for the turtle, as he finally understood what it was like to be on a teetering edge. And he now knew what it was like to fall; how it felt afterwards, when he did something so stupid, common sense, had it had anything to say, would have instantly stopped it from happening.

But the moment was over. His deed was done. And all he could do now was apologize, and hope Raphael would actually believe he was sorry.

Upon pondering the circumstances, Donatello realized Raphael was shutting the door on his involvement with him. He wanted a clean cut, and that meant a long time without any interaction. Donatello could not blame him. Raphael was freaking out, and trying to run like he always did. But Donatello was caught off guard, too, and he was attempting to handle the situation to the best of his ability. If they would only work together, then they were bound to get somewhere.

They could end it together? That was Donatello's lamest thought all week. It did not take a genius to realize that if Raphael and Donatello were experiencing a chemical connection, they could not solve it by being so close. The issue was illuminated right in front of them, and decisions had to be made, separately.

Morality seemed to be in the top slot, simply asking if this was right. Donatello had to make the choice for himself, no matter what Raphael thought of it. And the same went for Raphael. Donatello knew every fact he could about the case. And they most certainly affected his decision. But he could not move on without knowing what Raphael truly felt. And it was not his place to pressure.

Donatello took a deep breath and realized that no one tried to chase him down. Leonardo never came to lecture him on his vicious outbreak. That was unacceptable from Donatello's point of view, as he knew he deserved some form of punishment. No, it seemed the house was more thrown in a loop than he had ever realized.

It was only an hour or so later when he cracked open his door, peering outside to see if anyone was actually waiting for him to emerge. There was no one. Donatello bravely stepped out with renewed strength to face the entire ordeal head on. His mission was to find Raphael, apologize, make him talk, and stand back and see what happened.

But Michelangelo caught him first. Right on the staircase, Michelangelo was preparing the interception, with a giant plate of food. The baby was getting involved, and Donatello did not like that. He preferred that poor Michelangelo be left out of this mess.

"Don! Donnie!" Michelangelo tried to get his brother's attention, rather loudly, he might add. "I made breakfast." The turtle shoved a plate upward for the descending turtle to see.

Yep, it was definitely breakfast. Donatello smiled politely at his little brother. It would take a ninja's skill to get around eating that, but he would have to, to remain on his mission. "That looks pretty good, Mikey." Donatello complemented in a low voice. Even if Michelangelo was naturally loud, Donatello did not want to scream his presence across the lair.

"Ya gotta try it." Michelangelo seem thrilled someone was finally talking to him. Donatello, unfortunately, would have to disappoint the turtle. "I made your favourite!" The turtle pointed at a pile of peeled potatoes to the left of the eggs.

"Mikey, I promise I will eat it. Later." Donatello sidestepped his brother at the last possible second, but could not help but to look back with a sympathetic smile.

"It's cool, Donnie." Michelangelo still sounded cheery, but Donatello knew better. He definitely would have to eat something to make amends with his brother. His stomach did not protest. It was actually delighted with Donatello's decision.

"Where's Raph?" Donatello quietly asked. Michelangelo simply pointed towards the back corner of the lair, where, around an awkward bend and half level staircase, Raphael had set up his punching bag. Donatello could have easily guessed. At least Raphael had not stormed off. "Thanks." He declared to Michelangelo and he set course for his new destination.

Michelangelo's footsteps crept back into the kitchen. If he knew his little brother well enough, he was in the middle of cooking everyone's favorites, in a small attempt to fix the mood. Donatello doubted it would work.

Approaching Raphael was going to be a challenge. If he marched up like he had a pair, Raphael would run away. If he seemed angry as before or in any way like he was there to get answers from Raphael, he would run away. Pretty much every scenario Donatello could imagine resulted in Raphael's vaulting. What a terrible start.

He made his presence known through slow but steady feet. He wanted to be heard and alert Raphael. Meanwhile, the hothead was abusing the stuffing out of his punching bag, sweat pouring off his body like he had been there all morning. Donatello's timid approach received no response from his brother.

Donatello knew he was sensed and after a minute or two, Raphael dulled down his punches and eventually slowly turned towards his brother. He was taking deep breaths to make up for all the work he was doing. And Donatello noticed a slight fidget in his features. The guy was nervous, but knew this was coming. And he was willing to face it.

"How are you doing?" Donatello cautiously questioned. What he was really asking was 'How is that ten foot wall I'm trying to beat down?'

"Fine." Raphael answered, gruff and abrupt as usual. All Donatello heard was 'It's a twenty-footer now.'

A few silent, agonizing seconds past. Neither of them moved. Raphael was looking to the side, towards another wall. Donatello was staring at Raphael, but more like through him.

"Raph, I'm sorry."

"S'ok." And Raphael immediately returned to his punching bag, like that was the end to their conversation. Apparently an apology was all Raphael was really waiting for. That was Donatello's cue to leave.

But Donatello did not go. Instead, he stood there for a minute or two, watching Raphael. This time, the hothead kept at his punching bag, pretending Donatello was not there. And he could not help the way Raphael made him feel. As Donatello realized before, he knew his answer and he needed Raphael's. He was not leaving until he got it.

Donatello just blurted it out. The only way Raphael would truthfully listen to him. And he was heard. The punching bag swung back and then forth, knocking Raphael onto his butt.

"We're not related."

Short... But does the size really matter?