Lost

"What the heck happened—"

"This is all my fault—"

"Donnie, April needed to talk to you—"

The words bounced off the doorway plate, not a sound or peep to be heard. Mikey's cheek pressed against the cold steel, his fist pounding lightly, "Please, D…you gotta make things right with April. She needs you!"

"Whoah, hold up. Mikey, update. What's goin' on with April?"

"Sh-She didn't get to tell me! She just got here when this all went down, but she said it was super important a-and that Donnie could figure it—"

"Ugh…alright, plan B." Leo huffed, pulling out his ōdachi and swiveling it along his wrist, "Donnie! Open up!"

Nothing, as expected.

The slider sliced a portal through and leaped in.

The newest safety measures were eager to greet him.

The blue clad mutant blasted back out of the portal, skidding across the floor.

"…I don't think he's in a talking mood." he uttered wearily as Raph lifted him to his feet.

No. He hadn't been. And he wasn't going to be. Not after all that went down.

Raphael sat in the largest chair available in the lair, his forehead clasped within his massive mitt. This was what he got for playing leader when he should've just…been a brother. He didn't know what he was supposed to be doing…all he knew was that his little brother was hurting, and in turn, it was hurting him. He just wanted to do right by him. Figure things out. Figure him out.

Donatello had always been an enigma to the family, whether it was his fascination in things beyond their attention spans, or his abilities far beyond their capabilities. His rationale could be questionable at times, finding the immediate answer to theories a grander reward than waiting for a more humane approach.

Sometimes it took a firm hand to keep him steady, least his experiments take the Victor Frankenstein approach, but it was Donnie's heart that always kept him on the straight and narrow path to make the ethical choices…especially when it mattered most.

And when they couldn't get him to see the light…April always could.

Come heck or high water, she'd make him see it whether he wanted to or not, and like an old tv, sometimes a good smack or two was required to see the full picture.

But April was gone. Donnie had locked himself in the darkness. And none of his brothers carried a torch strong enough to signal through the pitch.

The lair had been quiet for a while now…Michelangelo desperately texting between April and Donnie and even Sunita, sending his frantic pleads into the void in fragile hopes that someone —anyone would answer.

The airwaves were silent.

'hey shelldon…how's he holdin up?'

'…not great, my dude'

Leo had paced, and poked his sword about, and paced…threw himself onto a bean chair before messing about with his tablet. Restless. Aimless. Wanting to do something, but uncertain what that something was. Reaching out to Donnie wasn't working. April was done for the day. And they were no closer to understanding any of it than the day they saw her at the pizzeria with that guy.

Brows knitting softly, Leo crossed his leg and tucked his arms in, staring at the bricks above.

"…I'm not trying to solve all her problems. As a friend, I'm simply stipulating the red flags—"

"That you've been replaced?—OW!"

The slider's eyes closed tightly, firmly shaking the echo from his head. This wasn't the time for a guilt trip. He needed a cool head…clear thoughts…and an ever so slight lack of conscience concerning the past. The past was the past, but the future still had hope. His family needed him…or at least someone to keep it together.

Mikey was riddled with anxiety, on the brink of tears.

Raph was having a silent melt down.

And Donnie…

Shoving his knuckles into his cheek, Leonardo pouted, and hummed, and squinted, sinking further into his chair as the stress kept building, his eyes roaming about the room until finally, they locked on a new target, disjointed and unsuspecting as he entered,

"Ahh…so peaceful in here —I had an excellent nap," the elder's voice yawned calmly, falling flat and heavily suspicious hardly a moment after, "…What are you boys up to?"

Trouble seemed to come in all shapes and sizes when it came to four teenaged sons, but Splinter had learned something long ago when it came to the most irresponsible of his boys.

Cockiness was a poor trait for a ninja to harbor, yet, Leonardo wore it like a badge of honor, always a smug grin curved along his face. But things had certainly been left to fester, for never was Leo smaller or more humble when he knelt before his father and flung his arms about him tight, no different than the child he had been years ago, "D-Dad…"

Quiet.

It was haunting.

Too quiet to focus. Too quiet to think. Too quiet to read, or mend, or play.

It smothered him, encased him like a prison with an eternal loop of the same horrid film playing over…and over…and over.

But unlike a true theater, he could not leave.

He could not stop. He could not change.

The marathon ran as his punishment, for whatever reasons he had predicted her jilted rejection of him, he certainly deserved them now. He had whole heartedly decimated what little redemption he possibly had left.

He rested silently on his bed, seeking comfort where it could not be sought, buried in a batch of blankets, and at one point, completely encased within his shell. Only the ambient lights offered any luminance, barely enough to read a word by, but just enough for the eyes to focus.

He had always found matrixing the worst kind of trick…the mind doing its best to analyze a shadowy image to something the brain could recognize. At times, that was worse than a simple nightmare. At least with a nightmare, one could wake up. Matrixing played off the psyche, utilized fears, thrived off of emotion.

But the ambient lights could not answer the waking damage that had been done.

The foolishness that had barreled out of his mouth.

And all for what?

This was Raphael's fault—

—and how did Mikey manage—

—why did Sunita—

—and it felt beyond bizarre to find Leo innocent in all of it, just—

The blankets pulled further, trying to shut out the noise, but when it did calm down, just a little bit, her voice sliced through, shuffling the loop once more. The voice he had longed to listen to, and feared he had misplaced, only to realize he had driven it away.

Not Raph. Not Mikey. Not Leo.

This…was his doing.

There was no one else to blame.

Her eyes had held such revulsion toward him. Such contempt.

Such a gaze that should have never graced those sweet brown eyes so often filled with light. There was something truly wonderful about the way she looked at all things, as if everything mattered. But nothing more wonderful than when they were directed at him.

Such moments felt all too far away now, past memories, the only access he had.

His brows knit sourly, pressing a palm across to alleviate the building migraine.

Why had she come now?

Without warning…without a sign? A simple call or text and he would have jumped at the first message. Prepared a seat at their table. Awaited her presence with reckless abandon. But, no.

She had reached out to Mikey.

Donnie took a slow inhale, refusing to succumb to the bitterness that lingered. If April had sought Michaelangelo…it was with good reason. Mikey was a seasoned listener. A patient soul. In tune with the fluctuation of chemical reactions—feelings.

…Mikey was good with feelings.

Pinching between the bridge of his eyes, a rumble of frustration vibrated from his throat, brow bitterly knit as he stared at the curve above his bed.

Something so simple. So antiquated and primitive.

It was shameful to think like mysticism, the puzzle of sentimentality had remained unsolved and bricked. For a great mind like his…it should have been child's play. And yet, the most childish of them all mastered it like a king, bending it to his will and manipulating the concept at his beck and call.

Mikey had always claimed owning your feelings was a form of empowerment.

Donatello had always felt otherwise.

Why feel stupid when you could be wise?

Emotions were chaotic and fluctuated at the drop of a hat, held the owner by the throat, and dictated their next moves. If not kept in check, they could single handedly decimate the world around them.

He supposed they served their purpose on occasion, but they were such unstable elements to work with. Raw and energy driven. Unpredictable. Strong.

And perhaps, it was the concern of their strength that intimidated him…for there was no way to protect one's self from the damage of emotions, except to disregard them. To ignore, and shove, and push them away whenever they grew too close, for surely there were ways to utilize such a stronghold weapon against an enemy, and his would be no different.

But to ignore emotion was nearly an impossible feat.

Regardless of his acting indifference. Regardless of his stoic grit.

It was easy to lie to the world. It was much harder to lie to yourself.

Because when his brothers were thrilled over the dumbest things…he found happiness in their delight. When his father uttered a casual compliment, his self worth soared. When his family was in danger, he withstood fear. When Shelldon came online for the first time, he glowed with pride.

And when April chose him for anything over anyone else…the thump in his chest pumped just a little bit harder.

His fingers pressed along his eyes as he sighed out, kicking off the restriction of the twisted blanket.

"…It's okay if you like April."

His hands slid down revealing his flatlined gaze, capping his nose and the breathing within.

Go away, Mind Raph.

The voice of his consciousness sounded just as sharp as his own, the muscles in his body tensing in response. He just…wanted to be left alone. Alone to process. Alone to fester.

"…It's okay if you like April."

The secondary punch felt less merciful, but Raphael's tone held no contempt. No anger. No ill will.

There was no face to carry the message, nor image that passed through the darkness. Only a soft tune: warm, comforting, and understanding.

Shut up. It'll pass. Like all things, it'll pass.

Donnie closed his eyes, his forehead thick with ridges at the frustration he chose to battle, but his shaky inhale was showing signs of fatigue —something his tech could not protect him from.

Emotions were dangerous things.

It was something denial could not protect him from.

Because no matter how many mindless hours he could throw away on keeping himself distracted—

"—you like April."

His body lurched forward, his sharp gaze sullen and tart.

The pit in his gut had soured immensely, flattening his feet against the cool floor. It was grounding. But only barely.

Ignoring it wasn't working. Lashing out wasn't working. And all that was left was the impending doom looming over his every action, every word, every thought…

—a horrendous, tumultuous admittance that shook his very core with fear…

His shoulders jolted as a firm fist banged against his door, and the tension building within his muscles released as his pulse knocked against his chest. Hand curled into a fist, Donnie leaned forward against his lap, propping his head.

Maybe if he ignored it, they'd go away.

Maybe one day he'd appreciate the efforts. But today was not that day.

"—Purple."

The hazels opened wide, and slowly, his neck sank between his shoulders.

They had sent the cavalry.

Eyes skimming weakly about, Donnie estimated he had roughly seconds to react before things got worse. If this was going to happen…it might as well be on his terms. The tiniest bit of control provided a strange sense of comfort as he stood, adjusting his bandana before resting his hand on the door. The subtle beeps of the keypad would not be missed by rodent ears.

The pocket door cracked open only a slice, revealing the darkness the teen had been stewing in, but there he was —Hamato Yoshi, oddly patient and inquisitive.

It was in those brief moments that Donatello wondered if his father ever witnessed the similarities between them, able to see himself in his distant son, but the reflection was short lived.

The Master's tail slipped between the opening and slammed it open with a flick.

"Yeah, sure, come in why don't you…" Donnie uttered bitterly as he stepped to the side, an arm scooped out.

Splinter shuffled in, ignoring the tone altogether, and his beady eyes assessed the room.

Crisp. Rank. Desolate.

It seemed Leonardo had a right to be concerned.

The energy within was foul with fatalistic apathy, not an ounce of hope to be sought. The Master's brow knit thoroughly, claws combing through his goatee,

"I knew this day would come, but I never imagined it would be so soon."

Donnie's eyes winced in confusion at his father's mulling. What was that supposed to mean? But the curiosity broke away just as quickly.

The tension was creeping its way between the bridge of his eyes, and slowly pinching the pressure back, Donatello sighed.

He really wasn't in the mood for this.

"…What are you talking abou—"

The rat's hand extended out toward his gamer chair, then tucked behind himself, "Sit."

There was no point in arguing. He hadn't the energy. And so sighing in defeat, Donatello slumped onto the chair, leaning back as comfortably as possible. This was going to go one of two ways. Either quick and painless —like a bandaid, or, scathingly regretful…like pulling teeth.

And Splinter was not known for his subtly.

But Donnie was ready.

His hands crossed along his gut as he arched a brow, and his father paused his shadowing pace, lifting a lone, crooked finger,

"My son, you are no longer a boy—"

Eyes popping wide, Donnie lunged forward, wiping away any further transactions. He was not ready.

"Gah—Dad! No! We had this talk already!"

The shove back had been stiff, but merciful.

"—You are grieving."

The rapid anxiety simmered into a quiet emptiness, and he soon found himself unable to hold the gaze his father maintained, falling back into the curve of the lumbar.

Splinter's ear flicked at the whirring of a charging motor, but his eyes never left his son,

"And that is normal. But it is unhealthy to wallow in your grief."

Donnie's arms crossed numbly, eyes skimming the floor. He wasn't…wallowing.

It was just…a big distraction, that's all…If he could just—

"—I don't like April O'Neil, I don't need April O'Neil—"

No, no, no —his eyes began to dart, the dead weight of sinking dread bearing down on his soul,

"—my life is exponentially better off without the likes of April O'Neil!"

His eyes scrunched shut, the cross of his arms growing tighter.

Not now. Not now.

But his father's palm rested along his shoulder, the grip steady and strong,

"You cannot allow your suffering to fester in the mind. Your talents lie further than physicality, and by the look of things, you haven't touched a technical doohickey in ages."

The dust spoke a stronger case than Donatello could defend. He had always been the neatest and most organized of the four…the disarray broke the norm of his color coded organization, his astute focus, and his hyper fixations. Such things had lost their priority in these past weeks…

He had been…distracted. Focused on…other things.

Splinter's fingers pinched clean the grit he had gathered, the forgotten chessboard just out of reach,

"Your brothers are also grieving, but theirs is a grief doubled."

His eyes locked with Donnie's, "Leave this room. Socialize with those who understand. Only then will you properly heal and clear your mind and soul. The future remains unwritten."

His brows knotted as his son held the mask steadfast, stubborn and desperate to dominate the situation his way. To handle it the way he knew best. And perhaps the only way he knew how.

Had this been any of the others, the process would have proven much easier, but Donatello was not like the others. He was headstrong…adamant…and clever. Traits that a young Hamato Yoshi had paid for dearly with his pride—

For it was pride that had driven him off the beaten path.

Pride that had betrayed the family name.

Pride that delivered nothing…but loneliness…

—when the world was filled with so much more.

"Your brothers are worried about you, Donatello." Splinter noted softly, and with a quiet nod, he held his palm to his own chest, "I am worried about you."

Poking aimlessly about his arm brace, Donnie bounced his knee, "…I'm fine, Dad…"

Beady eyes squinting through the darkness, they closed for a moment as Splinter rubbed along his nose in thought, "Mm…I see,"

It was quiet.

Uncomfortably quiet.

To the point of torturous quiet.

The hazels grew in anticipation, the uncomfortable tension riddling his gut, knotting his form, clenching his throat—

"GAH! Oh —whoops."

Donnie's heart had nearly stopped, fingers gripped onto the armrests as Splinter chuckled sheepishly, prodding away a further disassembled project with his foot, "It's so dark in here, I can barely see a thing. You can fix that."

Sighing out heavily, Donnie rubbed the tightness from his jaw, "—Yeah."

It wasn't like it was on the top of his list, anyway.

Taking a step to his left, the rat's tail sliced at the collection along his son's desk, barreling everything over, "My sincerest apologies, clumsy me."

Brows lining flatly, Donnie clicked his jaw. Fool me once—

But he froze as his father spun a heel toward his system set up, whiskers twitching curiously, "This looks completely replaceable, unlike my son and those important to him—"

Launching himself forward, Donnie was no match for the nimble perfectionism of a Master, slamming backward into his chair as his father stood dangerously over the controllers, his headset, the TV he had lugged into his room on his lonesome—

"N-No, don't! Dad! Please!"

His voice broke, desperation lining every syllable as the truest threat lied not toward the items themselves…but everything they were. The gateway of normalcy. His own personal window. And the brief moments in his life he had cherished the most.

He couldn't remember when he had latched onto his father's arm, knowing any other limb could just as easily decimate the intended targets, but his face had mashed into his father's shoulder, and Donatello found himself regressing to some part of his psyche where everything felt so small, "P-Please…just…don't…please…please…"

Words barely whispered, but they were all that could form.

"I just…lost my best friend…"

And with that, Donnie swallowed his pride, unable to voice any further speculation through the knot that choked him shut. Misery could no longer be hidden from the rich glassy hazels as the strength in his grip dissipated, sliding down to his knees.

Absorbing his own words.

Allowing them to sink in.

Because if he hadn't been sure about it before, he was certain of it now.

April was gone.

And there was no one to blame, but himself.

Resting a palm along his boy's head, Splinter settled back with a quiet sigh, observing the realization in real time.

Life came with many lessons. Not all of them merciful. Not all of them complete.

Some lessons were quick to acknowledge, and just as quick to forget. Others were chaotic and accidental, but came with time and experience. And some came in fragments, bits and pieces to be reassembled in order to see the whole picture.

The pat was gentle, and soothing, nostalgic, and warm. And regardless of how stubborn his son was to keep the waterworks in, the timid tremors had already proven everything else had cascaded.

If there was one thing Donatello had always been decent at…it was fixing that which was broken. All he ever needed was the right kind of tools, and the right kind of mindset. And now…he had them.

Simplicity.

It took little else to earn the pride of his father.

His fist tucked under his boy's chin, forcing their eyes to level,

"Then go find her."