Frustrations


Donatello watched his reflection in the mirror, putting up a secret fight to keep his breathing even.

He didn't want to worry Michelangelo, who had lent him his graceful and necessary support all the way to the bathroom.

The mirror was a full-length mirror, from the unforgivable, cruel type that made him wonder why humans bought them in the first place. Because of it, Donatello couldn't miss that the white spots on his wrists had spread to his upper arms, or that his skin had considerably paled - with the notable exception of the dark rings under his eyes. He was also way skinnier than usual, as if his muscles had melted.

"You okay, Donnie?"

The concern in Michelangelo's voice was unmistakable, and Donatello shook himself up. "Well. Apart from the fact I look like the crossing of a zombie and a ghost - not that these things exist, mind you - I'm fine."

Putting words on it was a relief. He couldn't be in that bad a condition if he could joke about himself, right?

"Ghosts exist," Michelangelo objected. "And I'm pretty sure zombies exist too."

Donatello couldn't help notice that his brother hadn't contradicted him about the comparison. "It's a miracle I'm still standing," he muttered to himself.

Michelangelo nodded vigorously. "And I'm glad you do."

Donatello reluctantly detached his gaze from the mirror to give him a pale smile. None of his brothers or friends had brought up the delicate topic of his recovery yet, but they kept telling him how happy they were to see him awake.

Except Raphael, who had been nowhere to be seen since the day before. Donatello hadn't dared to ask about him. His family didn't seem too worried about him, so he must be fine.

He had to be.


Donatello couldn't sleep. He would doze a few minutes, then wake up and be unable to go back to sleep for half an hour. With a groan, he finally decided to go for a walk - inside the apartment, of course. Standing up, he left the room, leaning on his bō staff as if it was a cane.

Michelangelo, who was sleeping next to him, didn't stir.

Donatello avoided the living room where Splinter was resting, and didn't dare to knock on April's door in the middle of the night. He went for the hallway between the rooms, and soon recognized the arguing whispers of Raphael and Leonardo. Narrowing his eyes, he hid behind a corner to listen to their conversation.

"Easy for you to say!" Raphael's voice sounded bitter. "It's not because of you that he took that wretched substance! Have you seen him lately? How thin he is? How slow?"

Donatello grimaced.

"Of course I have!" Leonardo whispered back, his annoyance clearly coming through. Unless it was concern? "I'm not blind! But he's not stupid, he has noticed that you're avoiding him!"

Donatello heard a door close behind them and realized that they had entered the bathroom. He tiptoed closer, years of practice helping him to lean on his bō staff without making the slightest noise.

"… And that's not helping!" Leonardo was saying.

Donatello recognized the sound of a bandage being wrapped, and frowned. What exactly had Raphael been up to?

"It's helping me!" Raphael counterattacked. "I'm not going to stay confined there while Irma is free to go! Why do you refuse to hunt her down?"

"We need Donnie for that, it's not rocket science!"

Now Donatello heard scissors.

"And when is he going to fully recover, can you tell me that?" The ill-concealed fear in Raphael's voice broke Donatello's heart. "No, you can't. Because you have no idea!"

Leonardo's answer was so low that Donatello didn't catch the words, but Raphael let out a strangled cry.

"I'm not going to let her lay her filthy hands on me a second time, Leo, you can count on that. I'm going to destroy her! Ouch!"

"Sorry. But it's not easy to restitch someone who keeps moving, you know."

Donatello had heard enough. Straightening up, he opened the door to the immediate dismay of his two brothers.

"Donnie!" Leonardo glanced at the needle in his hand, obviously wishing he could have hidden it.

"Raph. Leo." Donatello managed to give his voice a cold and displeased undertone, which he was very proud of.

"How much did you hear?" Leonardo enquired. His sheepish expression clearly showed that he already guessed the answer.

On the other hand, Raphael wasn't even looking at him. Donatello crossed his arms around his staff.

"Long enough. Leo, could you please leave us?"

"Sure," Leonardo said hesitantly as Raphael's eyes filled with panic. "Let me just finish this."

In silence, he worked on Raphael's wound until it was stitched and bandaged, in such an impeccable way that it was impossible to see the difference with the previous bandage. Donatello wondered bitterly how many times Raphael had reopened his wound these last few days with Leonardo covering for him.

When Leonardo left the room, closing the door behind him, an uncomfortable silence stretched until Donatello felt too wobbly to remain standing, even with the help of his staff. Raphael noticed it and moved from the toilet's seat to the bathtub's edge.

Donatello nodded his thanks and sat down. He decided to speak his mind before he was too tired to think. "Raph, I'm really sorry."

This caught Raphael's attention. He raised his head to look at his brother, baffled. "Sorry about what?"

"I know you heard me talking to Splinter," Donatello went on, his throat dry. "It's not your fault if I needed the vial to operate on you. I'm sorry I wasn't able to…"

"Wow, Donnie, stop that nonsense! You did nothing wrong. It's me, I…" Raphael went quiet, searching for his words. "What she did to me… I can't believe I let her. I can't believe I don't even remember."

"It's not your fault. She might have used a sleep-inducing gas. And she had been spying on us. And well, she used a syringe, it must have been a quick process. I don't know if she sank it at random or if she used medical imaging, but…" Donatello realized that Raphael's face had turned very pale and stopped, his face enquiring.

Raphael shook his head. "Thank you, Donnie, thank you very much, but I really don't need that level of detail," he said wryly. He crossed his arms and glared at the wall in front of him.

Donatello didn't dare to talk in case he upset his brother more.

After a while, Raphael rubbed his face, clearly tired. "Listen, Donnie, I'm sorry you had to go through all this, okay? And we're not even sure that you… I don't want you to…"

"You don't want me to what?" Donatello prompted him.

But Raphael had obviously had enough talking for the day. "Nothing. You've done enough for me, okay? Take some rest."

Donatello narrowed his eyes, suspicious, but Raphael said no more.


Leonardo was waiting for him in the hallway. When Donatello came out, he outstretched his arms in a gesture of peace. "I didn't eavesdrop. Promise."

Donatello glared at him a few seconds longer for good measure before allowing Leonardo to support him on the way back to his bedroom.

"So. Everything alright between you and Raph?"

Donatello rolled his eyes. "I guess so."

"Good. I don't think the first-aid kit could take much more."

Donatello shook his head. "Why didn't you tell me about it? Or anybody else, for that matter." As his brother opened his mouth to answer, he went on. "And don't say that you didn't want to worry me, or I'll hit you with this bō staff on the spot."

"Theeen I won't say anything."

Donatello grunted.

Leonardo sighed. "Donnie, is there any way I can help you? I won't be able to cook you any foul-tasting medicine, but if you have other ideas…"

Donatello couldn't help smiling at the memory. "Don't feel bad. That's probably better that way."

Leonardo let out a strangled chuckle. "Yeah. Right."

Donatello walked in silence for a few more steps before talking again. "And what have you been up to?"

Leonardo shrugged. "Planning. Scouting for new places to live in. Trying to convince Raph not to rush into a trap."

"Stitching. Worrying," Donatello completed.

"Like you see, nothing out of the ordinary." A small smile played on Leonardo's lips.

"Any luck with the scouting?" Donatello asked, curious.

"Not so much. Any wishes for our new home?"

Donatello thought about it. "Well, I would like something wide enough so I can experiment to my heart's content without hearing complaints about the noise, or the smell, or the explosions."

"We'll try to find this rare gem. No promises about the complaining part, though. Especially in regard to said explosions." Leonardo raised an eye ridge.

Donatello smiled. "Fair enough."

Right before they reached his bedroom, he turned more serious. "And what about Irma? Raph is right, you know. I mean, not that I want him to rush into a trap. But she's dangerous."

"I know. I'm especially concerned about the fact Raph doesn't remember anything. That's why we need you onboard before we try anything against her."

"I'll do my best," Donatello whispered.


The next morning was a difficult one. Donatello had a headache, and his hands wouldn't stop trembling, which made using April's laptop impossible.

He was thinking more and more about the vial, and how it would feel to swallow some of its content, and how his body would respond like it used to…

He was conscious that his mind was playing tricks on him, of course. But that knowledge wasn't helping him, and nothing Michelangelo did to cheer him up could either.

In the end, he decided to call Dr Rockwell and ask him to bring the vial back, under the pretext of wanting to talk to him about his own experiments with it. He asked Michelangelo to ask Kirby for coffee, and quickly dialed Rockwell's number while his brother was gone. Rockwell immediately answered his phone, and categorically refused, deeming the vial's content too volatile and dangerous, and pointing that if Donatello had survived days without it, then his body could learn to work without it again.

Donatello almost threw the phone across the room in anger, and he would certainly have if Michelangelo hadn't come back with the coffee, and Kirby.

"Michelangelo told me that you could use some company," Kirby offered. "Besides, coffee tastes better with other people."

Donatello shrugged. As his plan had failed, he could as much enjoy the coffee.

Kirby put it on the bed, and added a giant straw so Donatello wouldn't have to hold the mug. Donatello looked at his shaking hands in shame, but there was nothing he could do about it right now.

The coffee tasted good, and Donatello had to acknowledge that Kirby's conversation was good too. Michelangelo, who had another opinion about it entirely, left them fifteen minutes later in the middle of a heated discussion about quantum physics to play videogames.

"And that's why I don't think quantum entanglement will allow teleportation," Donatello finished.

Kirby nodded. "I agree with you, Donatello. You really have a brilliant mind."

Donatello smiled. "Thank you, Mr. O'Neil. And thank you for your help, too. I don't know what we would have done without you."

Kirby smirked. "Don't worry about it. My daughter seems to like you very much."

Donatello blushed. Hard. "She does?" Then he sighed. "I hate that she has to see me like this." He averted his eyes. "I don't know what to do. I can't help thinking about the vial all the time - I had no idea that it would be such a drug. Not that it would have changed anything."

Kirby nodded. "I understand. There is nothing I wouldn't do for my daughter. But maybe you could ask for your family's help?" he suggested. "It seems likely to me that they would do anything for you too."

"Hmm," Donatello mused. "They don't really have medical knowledge. But maybe…" He crossed his arms. "Mr. O'Neil, can I ask you for something?"

"Of course, Donatello."


Donatello stood tall and proud in front of his whole family, his left hand firmly grabbing his bō staff. His right hand was pointing a stick at his new masterpiece, drawn on the whole area of a paper board - courtesy of Mr. O'Neil.

"Is that a flow chart?" Casey whispered, looking baffled. "Why did he make a flow chart?"

"Of course he made a flow chart," Michelangelo whispered back. "Everything important in Donatello's life has to be flow-charted. It's a rule."

Donatello cleared his throat. "Thank you for coming. I've been giving this a lot of thought…" He pointedly ignored the amused glances his brothers exchanged. "…And I do mean, more than usual. As in 'I don't have anything else to do'. Because people here don't want to let me out."

"Indeed." Splinter nodded, unfazed by his son's accusation.

Michelangelo tilted his head to better read the flow chart's title, written in capital letters on the right border. "Donnie's… withdrawal?"

Donatello nodded curtly. "It has become obvious that what I've been drinking contained a drug of some sort, which induced an unwelcome dependency inside my brain. And my body. I'm counting on you to help me fix that."

"Of course, Donnie," Leonardo immediately said. "Just tell us what to do."

"It's easy." Donatello pointed the stick at the upper part of the chart. "Follow this chart closely."

His family came closer in order to decipher said chart.

Raphael raised his eye ridges. "Why does it have a solution ready for the case where you build an airplane to fly out of this apartment?"

"You never know," Donatello answered with great dignity. "The point is, don't let me come anywhere close to that vial as long as my body isn't fully independent of it." He had deliberately left out of this particular chart the case where his body never did. They would cross that bridge when - and if - they would come to it. "Also…" He took a deep breath. "I'm going to hate you for it. Nothing personal, don't take it wrong."

To his surprise, it didn't seem to upset his family. Raphael even offered him a smile. "Don't worry about it, Donnie. I rarely listen to what you say anyways."

"This is such a relief," Donatello said wryly.

And somehow, he meant it. It felt good to take charge of his own destiny again.


His family's endurance was tested no later than four hours later, when Donatello's treacherous brain finally decided to sneak out to see Dr Rockwell and the vial he currently had in his possession.

Or more precisely, and because he was in no shape to go anywhere alone, he guilt-tripped Michelangelo into accompanying him.

Their plan was flawless. They waited until the middle of the night. Alone in the bedroom they shared, they came closer to the window - it led to a neat fire escape - and opened it.

Which is when Donatello had the uneasy feeling that they weren't alone anymore, and knew he was busted even before he heard Leonardo's distinctive cough. The lights switched on, and sure enough, Leonardo, Raphael and April were there, grim expressions on their faces.

"Mikey, no." Leonardo crossed his arms.

"But he said he needed it!" Michelangelo, who had been grabbing Donatello's arm in support, tightened his grip as if he was the one needing the support now.

"He told us not to yield, remember?" Raphael shook his head.

"Raph, he looked so sad!"

Donatello nodded to emphasize how sad he had looked.

"You can't give in so easily," Leonardo went on, unfazed.

"What was I supposed to do, then?" Michelangelo watched them with big, unhappy puppy-dog eyes.

"You follow the chart. I'll show you." Raphael cracked his knuckles and carefully approached Donatello. He lifted him with ease. "You bring him back to his bed, like this."

Donatello hammered on his brother's shell, furious. "Put me down!"

"As you wish." Raphael gently, delicately lay Donatello down on his plastron, and gently, delicately sat down on him.

"That's not what I meant." Donatello crossed his arms and pouted.

Raphael patted his shell in a very self-satisfied way. "I know."

Michelangelo still looked sad. "I just want him to get better."

"We all do, Mikey." April put an arm around his shoulders. "And that's why we're doing this."

Still sitting on Donatello's shell, Raphael nodded gravely.

Leonardo sighed. "How long?" he asked, taking in Donatello's determined expression.

Raphael shrugged. "If I believe his own chart, three weeks."

Leonardo sighed again.


In the sewers near the turtles' former lair, a robotic shadow was pacing.

There had been no indication of the turtles' whereabouts for days - but Kraang Subprime, aka Irma, couldn't believe that they had all died in their lair's explosion. They were too difficult to eradicate, like a particularly resistant species of cockroaches.

Even the case of the denominated Raphael was uncertain. Kraang Subprime had triggered the bomb he had implanted inside him, but due to a whim of this world's star, the Sun, he couldn't be sure that the signal had been received.

It didn't matter. He knew they would come, sooner than later, and he would be ready for them.

And then he could look for the final results of his little experiment by dissecting Donatello's body.