The lair was quiet and dark, which wasn't unusual for the 4 terrapin's home at night. Of course, it would be quiet if it weren't for a certain turtle in his lab, pacing back and forth with his hands on the back of his head absolutely taken back by his latest invention's failure. This time there weren't any major repercussions (well, maybe his ego) but he was still so confused at what could have been wrong. He was having more of these nights recently. It couldn't have been because this was his 3rd sleepless night in a row, or the amount of caffeine he had running through his system, no. It was most definitely not because when he could sleep his dreams were anything but comforting. He'd refuse to admit he would do anything just for a few hours of nothing.

It has been exactly 13 days, 7 hours, 36 minutes, and 57...58...59 seconds since the invasion, and every day was another day that he had to give another excuse to his brothers about why he couldn't come out of his solitude, and another day to live through another lost cause of a brainchild gone wrong. He had absolutely nothing of use to provide to his family to show them he's been... worth... worrying over.

WORTH

noun

The value equivalent to that of someone or something under consideration; the level at which someone or something deserves to be valued or rated.

That's a word that's been on his mind a lot lately. Ever since the Kraang invaded their world and his brother was partially lost to oblivion, it's the only word that hasn't been mulled over from his "brain fog". He sighs as he comes to a halt, wishing his youngest brother would be there to make a joke about how if he kept on walking back and forth "he would walk a line in the floor". Unfortunately, he couldn't afford such a distraction because any minute lost is just a minute behind he'll be from... well... he wasn't sure, but his brain said he needed to be prepared and his body shook and sweat when he'd think about the possibilities too long, so it must be legit. His brain never failed him before, and he'd be damned before he would admit it was. His stomach growls and he lets out a groan. Why does he need to eat? Why does he need to eat? Why can't he just work on his tech and feel good about protecting his family? After all, the next time he needs to save the next turtle lost-in-oblivion he needs to have something to save them. He has to. If he can't then... then... then...

His eyes blur as he forgets the rest of his sentence and he gently touches his face to find some sort of liquid on his cheeks. I'm crying. Ugh, this is such a drag. He thinks as he wipes it away. I'm so dumb. I can't believe I'm crying now. Now? After all we've been through, and I cry at a sentence never finished and half-way forgotten? I don't do this. Ever. Not in the history in my life have I cried at nothing, and after almost losing my brother, you'd think I'd be tougher than this. If only I could be strong like them. Before the purple-cladded turtle can realize what he's doing pain erupts from his right fist. He opens his eyes and realizes he's punched the wall. Fuck. The curse slips through his lips easier than it should, learned from years living with his large and red themed brother. So now I'm crying, hungry, and hitting inanimate objects. Great. He looked towards the door and waited for that same brother to walk in, amused at his weak attempt to show his emotions as he does. Thing is, truthfully or not, finding out he's autistic some 6 or so years ago didn't help him get a full grip on how expressing himself works. Other than flapping his arms to show his excitement and the short-lived bursts of anger like now, he preferred his normal self-proclaimed "no emotion bad boy" attitude way of handling things.

Rubbing his fist, it's silently decided that a snack and some more coffee will help him. If he allows himself 15 minutes to do this, he should have some more energy left to last the night and produce something of worth. Oh god, there's that word again. Yeah, maybe a break can be utilized.

The walk to the kitchen seems longer than usual, his mind seeming to be slower than usual. Nothing some coffee won't fix. He thinks as he reaches for the cabinet designated for his dark-brown heaven mix and mugs. In a blink he's standing in the same spot, but the coffee is in his hands already made, and the taste fresh in his mouth. Weird, I just walked in here a moment ago why...

"Bro! What the hell, you've been scaring us for days. You couldn't even..."

His world freezes. His hands loosen around his favorite cup, and he can almost imagine the "world's best scientist" drawn on the side of it one last time before it hits the floor. I'll have to apologize to Mikey about that. He worked so hard on it too. He hears muffled noises, but before he can even think to decipher it his world turns black. It's happening again.

You're fine.

You're at home.

When did he end up on the floor? He forgets the answer the same as his ability to recall why his hands were over his ears. Something touches him.

THEY'RE BACK! I'M BACK IN THE SHIP, I HAVE TO HELP THEM! I HAVE TO SAVE LEO, HOW DOES NOONE ELSE KNOW HE'S GOING TO DIE? I HAVE TO MOVE THE SHIP AND SAVE THEM OR ELSE I'M...

Useless...

That WORD. THAT STUPID WORD. Did I even bring my battle shell? Did I remember to bring S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.? No, no, I wasn't able to rebuild him after he was destroyed by the Shredder. My stupid dumb-dumb brain couldn't "handle" the loss of-

LOSS.

The word sends a new kind of pain through his body, but what felt even worse was the fear that struck him when he felt a foreign limb touch his shell. I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK DONT MAKE ME GO BACK I CAN'T GO BACK PLEASE GOD NO SOMEONE HELP ME I CAN'T BREATHE HELP ME MY BODY IS GOING BACK UNDER I CAN'T GO BACK!

He doesn't even remember striking out at his enemy, but once again his fist is blooming in self-inflicted agony. He doesn't know how long he's trapped in this personal hell, surrounded by the same memories flashing in-front of him again and again, but with his hands gripping his head he opens his eyes to survey surrounding area.

It's a disaster. Tables flipped over, chairs thrown across the room, his favorite mug on the floor, and his youngest brother in-front of him with a mark on his cheek. The smaller doesn't dare touch him, worried it might send him into another fit, he reaches out to point at his older brother's legs.

"Donnie, your legs. You practically slip-n'-sided over your mug. Can I help you clean up?" Thank you for asking permission. A simple nod sends orange out of the room. What happened?

You had a panic-attack. Now take a deep breath and get up.

Ah. Okay. Yeah, I'll do that. Shaking arms release from his head and the tenderness left behind leaves him to believe he was probably hitting himself during his attack. Taking further assessment, he can see the glass mentioned earlier in his legs. Not much, but enough to want to put Band-Aids on them as soon as possible before an infection manages to sneak its way in. A deep breath is taken in and he manages to find the lip of the counter above without looking to pull himself up. As if on cue, his baby brother practically runs in with his med-kit in hand.

"Here, let's get you patched up. Maybe after me and you can get comfy on the couch and relax with some Space Invaders after, yeah? I think me and you need some good old fashioned brother time. Just me and you! I can make-" He's cut off.

"No thank you Mikey. I'm really busy, with... stuff" He's unable to tell his brother he's too busy cleaning up and making failure after failure after failure. To this is answered with a huff. Mikey shakes his head and looks down, unable to meet his brother with eye-contact with the thin sheen of tears filling his eyes. His hands work fast, picking out glass and wiping off blood before he can speak again.

"I'm going to have to get Leo and Raph." Donnie stiffens. If they get involved, he'll never get back to his work. He'll be confined to his room for days being forced to rest. They're the reason why he has locks on his lab door. They can't stop him. Not now. Not when there's so much to do. He tries to get up, tries to run away back to the sanctuary of his cave.

"I'm sorry, D." Donnie's confused. Why is he sorry? What did he-

The room fills with his other 2 brothers, armed with faces of disappointment and worry. There's no way out. It's over for me. A lame attempt at running again makes him dizzy, the lack of food and water (not to mention the energy "wasted" on his most recent spiral) making his eyes cloud with darkness. I need to work. You don't understand what will happen if I don't. He's not even sure if he knows what will happen, but just like in the lab, his brain told him it's bad. And his brain never lies.

The floor never meets his falling body, and he immediately recognizes his largest ("biggest" brother) Raphael's body against his face. His eyes open one last time to see the room moving by and the familiar route to his own bed making it very clear he won't be back in the lab again anytime soon. Before he can even be placed on his purple-satin sheets, darkness takes over.

"Leo, I don't know how to let him continue doing this to himself." A sigh.

"Let's talk to him when he wakes up. He'll probably be out for a while; it gives us time to figure out what to say."

Silly brothers, I can't sleep. I have work to do.

No longer angry or scared or sad, sleep finally takes over Donnie. Leo and Raph look at him for a few moments, wishing to snuggle with him as he wraps an arm around his extra pillow. Mikey meets them at the door and they turn off the light, keeping the door open just in case.

"Okay, now what do we do about Donnie?"