I do not own TMNT.
Donatello awoke with a gasp. He drew in a huge lungful of air and coughed it out again. It felt like his whole body had burned from the inside-out. He rolled onto his back, and bit his lip to stifle a scream, almost passing out again right then and there. His shell was absolutely killing him. It felt like someone had poured acid down it. He pulled his arms to his plastron and realized that they weren't chained. Not only that, but his cell was never this dark. They always kept it bright, even in the dead of night. He didn't know what was going on. He couldn't see or hear anything at all. Terror coursed through him, as he realized that whatever drug had been tested on him must have robbed him of his senses.
Donnie attempted to calm himself. He didn't want to make a scene in front of the guards that he knew must be watching. Surely all his senses couldn't be gone! He tested them one by one. Smell - much to his relief, he could still smell. It smelled like a sewer with a hint of burned hair. And, he could still feel the pain in his body and the moist, gritty floor below him. Why was the floor gritty? It was cement and hosed down daily. And, maybe there was a light after all, just a small sparking one. And, perhaps it wasn't really all that quiet. Now that he had had a moment to gather himself, he was aware of a far-off dripping noise. None of this made sense. Of course, he was used to things not making sense. Years of experimental drug testing had that effect on a person (or turtle in this case).
Suddenly, it all came back to him in one fell swoop - the raid, the escape, the last few days on the run. That's right! He had gone and electrocuted himself. Well, that had been a monumentally stupid move! Donnie now realized that he was crumpled in a graceless heap beneath the sparking wire. He had no idea how much time had passed. There was still a singed smell to the air, so hopefully it wasn't long. He was lucky that no one had found him here. Heck, he was lucky he hadn't killed himself. At some point, the sewer workers would likely come to repair the lights. It would be best to move out now.
Realizing that he wasn't going to be able to walk quite yet, Donnie stubbornly dragged himself to where he had concealed his few possessions. Without giving himself time to overthink things, he reached out a trembling arm and turned off his trusty signal jammer. He gave it a little salute before letting his head and arm crash to the ground with a moan. His whole body hurt. That was nothing unusual, but it hurt far more than it had in a while now. This was sheer agony. There were burns on his feet and he was sure there were some internal burns as well. He was plagued by muscle spasms. His shell was killing him. He had a splitting headache. His leg hurt, as always. His shoulder was still in the socket, but it felt like he had been lying awkwardly on it. The jolt seemed to have cleared his sinuses though. At least that was a silver lining.
Donnie felt like he should peak his head above ground to check the time, but there was no way he was capable. Instead, he let himself recover for a few hours, forcing himself to remain conscious and listen for signs of unwanted visitors as he lay quivering on the ground. Fortunately, he was safe, and after a while he was feeling well enough to get dressed and venture away. It was important to him that he stay on the surface for the next two weeks. He was confident that he had destroyed the tracking devices, but any good scientist is never truly 100% certain about anything. If he was being followed, he needed to know before he tried to go home. The sewers would interfere with any remaining tracking signals, so he was going to need to avoid them whenever possible.
It was dark when Donnie emerged, which was great because he was still feeling weak and disoriented. The first thing he did was rummage for something to eat and drink, then he attempted to explore the block in the hopes of getting his bearings. Walking on burned feet was challenging, but he had wrapped them as best he could for now. The burns were small, just two little exits wounds from where the burst of electricity had blasted its way out of his body and into the ground. They hurt like the dickens, but they'd quickly get better if he kept them clean and took frequent breaks.
The best thing about being on the surface was that Donnie was able to take in the sights and look for landmarks. By the end of the first day, he had figured out exactly where he was - on Long Island, close to eastern Queens. It took another day to mentally map out the journey home. As the crow flies, he was only about twenty miles from the lair. That meant that if he meandered on the city streets, he could be home by his target date if he covered a mile and a half per day. To the old Donnie, twenty miles in two weeks would've been a cakewalk. Heck, twenty miles in a day wouldn't have been a challenge when he was in his prime, but given his current state, the distance was daunting.
He tried to rest during the daylight hours - sometimes in dumpsters, sometimes in alleys, sometimes cleverly hidden away somewhere else, but always above ground. He didn't sleep nearly as much or as deeply as he should, his bodily aches and pains and his anxiety attacks constantly hampering him. At night, he dragged his sorry shell out of whatever hiding place he had found and scrounged for meals, gradually working his way towards home. Every step was a struggle. His illness was slowly getting better, which was a huge relief, but his poor physical condition made any movement difficult.
It was a strange couple of weeks. He felt like he was trapped in between dreams and reality, but he wasn't sure which future would eventually rise up to meet him. While it was clear that the world had continued turning while he was away, that didn't mean that his family was safe and intact. For all he knew, they'd been dead for years now. He was tempted to make a detour and check in on his old friends. April, Casey, or even the Professor would undoubtedly be able to tell him how his loved ones were doing. That didn't seem fair, though. Family was family, and if they were alive, they deserved to know first that Donnie was free. At this point, he suspected that he had long ago been given up for dead. He wasn't mad. He just accepted it.
The idea of mentally reaching out was also tempting. Donnie had repeatedly tried to do that in the past, but he had never been able to avoid the explosion of pain in his head, and the resulting period of unconsciousness. He was too scared to try again. He couldn't afford to be so helpless when he was out in the open like this. Moreso, he was terrified of finding nothing once more. He didn't know how he could go on if he was met with emptiness. It was one thing to be worried, but he wasn't sure that he could handle having his worst fears confirmed.
Standing on a precipice was a good way to describe things. It was simply impossible to tell what loomed ahead. It could be something approaching his old life - movie nights, pizza, tea with Splinter and sunny summer days on the farm. It could be a nightmare - confirmation of his worst fears, a lifetime of desolation, loneliness, and unending mourning.
If it was the latter, what would he do? He'd had plenty of time to consider the possibilities. He would be lying to himself if he didn't admit to having occasionally contemplated just ending things. Maybe if he had the means while imprisoned, and if he had really believed his family to be dead, he would have just done it. But now that he was free, all he could do was move forward. Whatever may come, he would face it head on. He'd been through too much to give up on himself now. He didn't want to be alone. He couldn't imagine a future without his clan, but he knew without a doubt that they would want him to live on and try to be happy.
Even if they were gone, he could still invent. He could still study. He could make a new home, perhaps in the woods somewhere, or even on some other planet. Maybe one of his old friends would take him in. He could meet new people online and find something of a community. He could wholly devote himself to his studies and inventions. The things he could build and discover would make the world a better place. His broken heart may never mend, but he would honor his family and most treasured memories. He would have a purpose.
At least that's what he told himself. In actuality, he feared that a broken heart would destroy him. He was just so fragile right now. He was dangling by a thread.
As he got closer and closer to the heart of the city, where the turtles had built their lair, Donnie began spending some brief periods of time below ground again. By that time, it had been over a week and a half since he turned off his signal jammer, and there had been no signs of anyone following him. He just couldn't resist the siren call of the tunnels that he had been raised in.
He made it a point to visit a few of the older lairs. Although he denied it even to himself, he was hoping to find signs of his father or brothers. Sadly, it was clear that no one had set foot in them in years. While he was disappointed, it was still nice to reminisce about good times that they had spent together.
One afternoon, Donnie even took a picnic lunch of expired canned goods and bruised fruit and ate it in the remains of his old subway car lab. It was mind boggling. His life had once revolved around this place, but now it had been so long since he had been here. Even before his kidnapping, no one had ever visited. Since their home here had been discovered and raided, they considered it too risky. Once the necessary items were removed, they had never looked back.
Sitting in the old, converted subway car made him feel like he was surrounded by ghosts. He'd expected to be reminded of fond memories, but instead it just felt eerie, empty, and way too silent. What if the next lair was like this - just another lifeless, abandoned home, left to crumble? Once Donnie was done eating, he immediately scurried back out.
Now that the two weeks were almost up, he would have welcomed a chance encounter with his brothers, or with anyone, really. Keeping himself away from the last known lair for those final few days was the hardest thing that he'd ever had to do. Donatello had never handled the unknown well. When presented with a mystery, he wanted it solved. When faced with a question, he'd do whatever it took to find the answer. This was the most important question that he had ever struggled with. Was his family okay? He needed to know that they were. Most of all, he needed their arms around him.
The next Chapter is my favorite one in this whole story, and the very first part that I wrote. The idea of posting it is a little bittersweet, although I can't quite put my finger on why. Maybe because once it's up, it's officially finished, and I can't go back and tweak it anymore? Maybe just because it's close to my heart? Who knows? Anyway, thanks for reading, and thanks to those of you who have followed, favorited or reviewed!