A/N: Wow, I cannot believe its been nearly a month since my last update :( Unfortunately, RL health issues have kept me away a lot longer than planned. Anyways, thanks for your patience, hope you enjoy!
P.S. Novus Ordo Seclorum: if you're reading this chapter the first little section has an inside joke that I'm sure you'll get ;)
Chapter 11
The last sprinkles of sunlight drip into the horizon like paint from a canvas as the city lights start to buzz into glow from a distance. I toss a rusty angled pipe into my crate. I glance over at Donnie as he limply chucks a combat boot into his crate.
He's been pretty bummed out lately; I guess the whole growth spurt thing's getting to him. I don't know why he's so upset. Wish I had body freckles, it would totally amplify how adorable I am. And how cool are his feet! I would obnoxiously stomp around, because…why wouldn't you stomp around with big feet? Well, on the bright side, at least he's not tripping over….
There's a small clatter of metal and a muffled thump to my right. I look, but only see a mound of junk where my brother was standing, "Dude, are you—"
Donnie's arm pops up and waves tersely, "I'm fine."
Okay, at least he's not tripping over his feet as much.
I figured getting back to our prank would put him in a better mood. I've been begging him all week to go to the junkyard. I think the combination of my signature puppy-dog eyes and a perfectly timed lip-quivering you promised finally made him give in. It's one of the many perks of being the cute one.
So, here we are finding parts for Operation 'Pink Love Gloves'. This is so exciting! I look around at the piles of junk, or as I like to call them, stacks of endless possibilities. Oh man, this prank is going to be so...Oooo, shiny!
"Hey, D, can we use this?" I wave my new discovery at Donnie, who's a few yards away from me.
He glances up from his less than enthusiastic plundering, "Mikey, that's a micrometer."
"Oh...so can we use it?"
"I really don't see how a micrometer will be very useful with-"
"Aaarrrrrrrrgh, ye scallywag!" I run and leap on top of a junk pile in front of my brother. Holding the micrometer thingy like a metal hook, I squint one eye, "This be me land yar trepassin' on, aarrrgh!" My foot almost slips on the wobbly sheet of metal I'm standing on, but I quickly recover and strike a very piratey pose, "Well? What've ya t'say fer yerself, Bucko?" I sneer at him the way any fearsome pirate would, but he doesn't look the slightest bit amused as he stares at me with half-lidded cynical eyes. "Aaargh, ye be walkin' the plank if ye don't-Oooo, what's that?"
My pirate game is quickly forgotten as I drop my play hook and jump down to the mound of scraps behind my brother. He mutters something behind me about squirrels and attention spans as I yank out a cool thingamajig from the pile of whatchamacallits. "Yo, Donnie, check it out dude! It's a mind-control blocker helmet!" I demonstrate by putting the cone-shaped metal hat on my head. "We can totally use this against the Kraang!" Donnie stares at me. It's obvious he's been rendered speechless by my ingenious mind. "You're welcome." I politely yet smugly answer before he can actually thank me. He groans as he slaps his palm over his face.
"Mikey, the Kraang have never used mind-control on us." His tone is surprisingly calm.
"But they could..." I let my voice linger as I arch a challenging brow.
"That's true, but...technically, it wouldn't…its just…." He makes a sort of frustrated wordless noise, before his voice starts getting pitchy, "That's beside the point! That's not a mind-control blocker it's a barrel funnel!"
"...Well it could be a mind-control blocker..." I mutter smartly, getting the last word in. Donnie's face pulls into a twitchy frown as his shoulders hunch up to his neck and his fists tighten at his sides.
Irritable remark coming in 3, 2, and…
"Will you just hurry up so we can go back to the lair?" He says right on cue before turning his shell to me and roughly searching through another pile. Lately, Donnie's attitude changes quicker than a mood ring with only two settings: Irritable and slightly less irritable. I think it's because of the dark clouds in his headspace.
I can still see auras from the spiritual plane. Master Splinter eventually figured it out when he noticed me zoning out more than usual in conversations. Sensei said the 'aura vision' wasn't something he could make go away, so I'll always be able to see auras even when I'm not meditating. He said seeing auras in the physical world was a gift that many, including him, were not able to do without being in a meditative state. I'm still learning, but my eyes are getting better at blurring out and zooming into auras when I need to.
Right now, I'm zooming in on Donnie's headspace; it seems to be where his spiritual energy hangs out the most. Over the past few weeks, I've noticed specks of dark clouds in his headspace, and it's getting worse. The normally colorful image of purple gears and wires in his mind are getting harder to see with that growing haze in the way. That emotional darkness is what's causing his sucky mood. I can't really explain how I know this, but I just know. Luckily, he has an awesome younger brother who specializes in lifting nasty moods.
Walking around the junk stack, I stand beside him, but he's ignoring me. "Dude, I'm just messing around with you," I say with a smile as I nudge him playfully, "Come on, bro, I dragged you out of the lab to have some fun, not tick you off. You are having fun, right? Ya know, just the two of us hanging out...devising a sinister plot of tantalizing revenge and delectable pleasure." I drum my fingers together and arch a mischievous brow at him. He stops rough-handling scrap metal long enough for his expression to change from explosive annoyance to something more apologetic. The dark haze shifts and his purple-colored aura is slightly more visible.
His shoulders slump with a sigh as he rubs the top of his head, "Sorry, Mikey….I just have a lot on my mind."
I swat away his apology with the flick of my wrist before continuing, "Dude, the only thing that should be on your mind right now is Operation Pink Love Gloves!" I wiggle my fingers for emphasis.
He studies me for a moment, "Well, this still isn't a mind-control blocker," he reiterates as he takes the funnel off my head and puts it in one of the plastic crates with the rest of our collected items, "However, it will make the perfect transportation device for the marbles." He offers a lopsided smile. My eyes brighten at his suggestion.
"Sweet! Now we need a flamethrower!"
"Why on earth do we need a flamethrower?!" He stares dubiously at me as he starts digging through the same mound of garbage as me.
"How else are we going to melt the marshmallows?"
"To avoid treating third-degree burns, let's just use marshmallow crème instead." He compromises. I think for a moment and nod, deciding this will be a suitable alternative.
I test the waters further , just to make sure he's in a better mood, "Gee, Donnie, what do you want to do tonight?" I ask in my best British accent.
He doesn't hesitate, responding without missing a beat, "The same thing we do every night, Mikey, make bad impersonations of old TV shows." His face twitches into a light smile.
We continue our small game of impersonations with me doing the impersonating and Donnie guessing the TV show, or occasionally completing the quotes. We manage to pick through a few more piles and find some mattress springs, an old car horn, and a rusty click-clack ball knocker (Donnie calls it a 'pendulum').
Donnie looks at the screen of his T-phone when it rings. There's a smile on his face that you only see in those cute teen romance movies….you know, where the guy's all funny, weird, and awkward around his crush.
"Hey April," his voice is suddenly deeper than it was just moments ago, "…No, no, I don't have a cold…just a little tickle in my throat," He coughs with embarrassment trying to play off his macho façade as he goes back to his normal-speaking voice. I smirk. Sometimes watching him talk to April is better than a teen romance movie. "…Oh, really? Like right now? That's great...fantastic! Take pictures….awesome, even better!"
"What? What's fantastic? Is April scuba diving in the Caribbean?" I'm instantly at Donnie's side reaching up to pull the T-phone from his ear so I can hear too. Scuba Diving! I'm so jealous right now!
Donnie yelps, pushing me away with the palm of his hand over my face, "She isn't scuba diving….We just saw her last week, why would you think she was in the Caribbean?!..." I give a muffled protest from behind his hand as he moves the phone to his other ear, "…Sorry about that April, I-Ack, gross!...No, not you April. Mikey just licked my hand…..don't ask." I give him an accomplished smirk just before he wipes saliva-coated hand on my plastron. He sighs, knowing I won't stop until he gives me the 411. "The turtle eggs hatched," he turns to me and says, "except for one."
"Too cool! Tell April I'm in charge of naming them!" I exclaim, only half-joking.
"You hear that, April?...She said the job is all yours, Mikey." I fist pump the air, "….I wouldn't get my hopes up on the last egg….well, yes, I suppose it could be just a late bloomer….okay, just keep me posted. So we're still good for Operation PLG, right?...Sweet. We really appreciate the assistance, April…."
They chat for a few more minutes and I can't help but notice the activity in his aura. Wow, April really has a way of chasing those dark clouds away. The aura of gears and other mechanical gadgets in Donnie's head are happily turning, whirling, and clicking into action again. There are a series of codes running at light speed across my brother's mindscape that I can't even begin to understand; all I know is that April is the cause of it.
There's a distracted grin on his face as he ends his call with April.
"Congrats, how's it feel to be a daddy?" I give him a cheeky smile.
A blushed look of shock covers his face and his aura is going crazy with activity. "I only educated her in taking care of the eggs which has no paternal applicability…." He stops his fast-talking serious explanation after seeing my impish face, "….Stop it," I laugh at his indignant tone, "or I won't show the video April sent."
"Aw, Come on, Donnie, I wanna see!" I clamor to him, pulling at his arm to see the screen of his T-phone.
The video is a little wobbly and blurring at first but then comes sharply into focus. Donnie and I watch as four of the hatched turtles are trying to climb the sides of a ceramic bowl as they continuously slide back down to the tiny puddle of water at the bottom of the bowl. I wonder if we were this cute when we were regular turtles? The camera suddenly shifts to a plastic square container. The fifth turtle has hatched…sort of. It still has a large piece of egg shell on its back. We watch as April's petite fingers come into view and gently removes the debris to reveal its little turtle shell underneath. It starts padding its little legs as fast as it can towards the last egg….I bet its waiting for its brother or sister to hatch, how sweet! It doesn't get far as April's fingers quickly pluck it up and place it in the bowl with the other turtles. After a few more moments of watching baby turtles eagerly crawl the sides of the bowl, the video ends.
"Pretty, neat huh?" Donnie gives a small toothy smile. I nod in agreement as he tucks the phone back in his belt pocket. I can't wait to meet the little guys in person the next time we go to April's.
Donnie's head is still a workshop of activity since his phone conversation with April. Maybe talking about her more will totally get rid of those doom and gloom clouds for good. "So, you and April have been talking a lot lately." I casually observe.
"It's mostly about her homework," he dismisses the possibility of anything more, but I dig a little deeper.
"She's helping us with Operation PLG and that is definitely not homework, bro."
"Well, involving April would be the most logical course of action; she's the key to us not being slaughtered before we actually enjoy the fruits of our labor. Her accommodating nature is exactly what we need to aid us in our little hijinks and—"
"And you like her."
"Of course I like April…she's my friend…uh, our friend, what's not to like?" His passive expression never changes, but I see a tiny stir of affection from Donnie's aura at the mention of April's name. Nice try bro, but I'm not giving up that easily.
"D, everyone knows you like April as more than 'just a friend'," I emphasize with air quotes, "You should totally share those squishy feels with her, cause I bet my last pizza slice she feels the same way."
Just when I think I'm getting through to him and that maybe this foreboding haze will leave my brother's aura, something else happens instead. All of the soft squishy good feelings of April are crammed into that pesky metal box at his core. I frown thoughtfully. After weeks of watching, I think I finally figured out how Donnie's aura works. All of his emotions go through an assembly line in his aura headspace where he pokes, prods, and analyzes them like one of his science projects, and then he just dumps it into that metal box. He never gives himself a chance to really take in and embrace those emotions; they just—voosh!—go in the box.
Has he always done this? Before this whole drifting and aura-reading happened, I took it for granted that Donnie was just secretive about his feelings; I didn't realize he was completely ignoring them. I gotta show him there's a healthier way to deal with his feels.
"She's totally into you, bro, and not because you help her with homework." Donnie's face is like a blank slate—unreadable, and the dark haze is now occupying the forefront of his headspace, but I press on, "Don't you see the way she looks at you? Trust me, dude, I've got a sixth sense about these things, and I know April's got a lot of squishy feels for you. Can't you feel it…here?" I tap his metal box in hopes something I say will unlock his captive emotions.
He pushes my finger away from his plastron, "No, I can't feel what someone thinks about me, and neither can you. Emotions are fickle and unpredictable. You can't read people's emotions to know what they think, you have to analyze their words, behaviors, and reactions to come to an accurate deduction." He says it with such certainty and I almost believe him, but I shake his inflexible logic from my mind.
"Yes, I can, and so can you, if you'd just try." I pause a moment as something in the back of my conscious warns me to stop, but I ignore it and take a chance, "You should talk to Master Splinter about the metal box!" I blurt out before I give myself a chance to take it back. His posture stiffens at my words.
"….What are you talking about?" He plays dumb and it just makes me that much more passionate to prove my point.
"You know what I'm talking about. The metal box, your aura! Dude, you've got some bad vibes hanging around it, you really should—"
"Michelangelo, stop!" His demanding tone and the use of my full name makes me clamp my big mouth shut. Maybe I brought up the metal box too soon.
"I don't know what Sensei told you, but I'm fine. I don't have bad vibes or any other alchemy nonsense that Sensei's putting in your head." The calm of his voice is touched with a shocking bitterness that catches me off guard.
"Dude, Sensei didn't tell me anything…I can...I can just see it!" I let out my concern as I gesture passionately to his plastron. "Look, bro, sometimes feelings are squishy and gross like cottage cheese, or super hard like week-old pizza crust, but it doesn't mean you throw them in a dumpster! You gotta open the lid get a good smell, ya know?"
I'm hoping my poetic words of profound wisdom will give my brother a much needed revelation, but I have no such luck. There's a moment of silence as Donnie blinks at me in confusion, "…...Okay, now you're just making things up."
"Well…so what if I am? That doesn't mean I'm wrong." When I actually try to be serious, he dismisses me like my words are meaningless gibberish. I try not to pout at his patronizing remark as I tug on my wrist wrappings.
"Mikey, please, I have to hear this abstract babble at least 3 times a week from Master Splinter," his quiet voice is almost pleading, "Just drop it, okay?"
I silently reply with a nod. I really gotta start listening to that tiny little voice in the back of my head that sounds like Raph and says 'Shut up, Mikey!' In just a matter of minutes, I manage to make things worse in Donnie's aura. The gloom clouds are weaving in and out, and over and under his aura like a tapestry of bad news.
He studies me for a moment and then shakes his head with a sigh before picking up his crate of collected junk, "Come on, Mikey, I think we have enough items to work with, let's head back to the lair."
Before I can object, my eyes widen at the growl from the beast that lives in Donnie's stomach, "…After we stop by Murakami's." He gives me a sheepish look before leading the way. I pick up my own crate of treasures and jog to catch up beside him. "We can split a box of pizza gyozas."
"No thanks, D, I'm getting my own box." I answer him with a warily smile. Last time, I got too close to Donnie's feeding range, I almost pulled back a stub instead of my hand.
My stomach is somewhat appeased after eating a box of gyozas and half of Mikey's box, which he claims he was too full to eat. I know it was a lie but I appreciated the gesture anyway. The walk home from Murakami's is pretty uneventful. Mikey fills in the void of silence with his endless chattering. I don't mind his idle words as we walk through the sewers. He is more or less just talking for the sake of talking and not necessarily expecting verbal responses from me, for which I am immensely grateful. I really don't trust myself not to snap at him if our conversation starts to veer toward the nonsense of spirits and auras again.
Usually, I don't mind indulging Mikey's imagination into the realm of paranormal fantasies; I just treat them as silly 'what if' hypotheses. But this evening, Mikey wasn't just goofing around; he seriously believes in this aura business. Actually, it really shouldn't surprise me. Mikey's always been more susceptible to believing whimsical notions without questioning the rationality. It's one of the things that intrigues me, yet leaves me completely perplexed about my little brother.
I still can't believe he tried to lecture me on feelings. He has a few meditation sessions with Sensei and suddenly he's a self-proclaim psychic? The idea of it is absolutely ridiculous! How I feel is irrelevant to how I act. It's all about actions and reactions; regular versus irregular behavior. April and I have an understanding of our relationship based on our logical actions toward one another, not flittering emotions. What difference does it make how I feel? It won't change anything. She will always see me as her science buddy and….I'm okay with that.
No you're not, but it doesn't matter because she doesn't like you like that anyway.
It's an unnecessary waste of energy to dwell on emotions. They require so much effort to concretely articulate, it's just more efficient to rely on direct words and actions instead. I've never been comfortable with sentences that start with 'I feel'. My words and actions are solid, tangible; I can always find logical ways to prove them. With logic, I always know what to expect, it never fails (unless of course it's a logical fallacy, then that's a different case all together).
Emotions...I can't help but frown at the frustrating thought of them. Nothing more than a useless byproduct of our behavior...or maybe it's the cause of our behavior?...Ack! See?... it's impossible to draw any concrete conclusion from emotional concepts.
Furthermore, what gives Sensei the right to divulge our confidential sessions to Mikey? Mikey of all people! Its irritating and I can't help but feel a sense of betrayal from the act.
He told your brother what an incompetent student you are.
I take a slow quiet breath to calm the bubble of anger expanding in my chest. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what Sensei tells Mikey, me, or anyone else for that matter. This whole theory of spirit worlds and auras is fictitious. Meditation is all about focus and concentration—a state in which my mind practically lives in. My brain is the epitome of meditation….give me a telescope, sandpaper, a mouse trap, some mothballs, and little cleaning fluid, and I can make a pretty impressive harpoon gun….and maybe even a bit of mustard gas on the side. I don't understand what Master Splinter expects me to learn that I haven't already proven myself capable of accomplishing.
If I can just wait out these sessions with Master Splinter, things can go back to normal. Eventually, Sensei will see reason and drop these pointless sessions….and if he doesn't, I'll just keep mentally working through calculus problems until he feels I've 'learned' my lesson.
Excited chatter wafts its way to the outskirts of the Lair as Mikey and I approach the turnstiles. We exchange a look, both wondering what our brothers are up to now. The octave of their voices hasn't dropped, so at least we can rule out a potential fight taking place.
Immediately, I tense at the sight of my brothers and Casey fraternizing in the den. Whatever Casey is talking about has their undivided attention. Great, maybe we can slip into my lab without being—
"Yo, Case-man, what up, bruh?" Mikey loudly announces our arrival. Curse my little brother and his social butterfly tendencies. Dropping his crate of supplies beside me, Mikey immediately joins the others. I sigh. Now I have to go over and make nice, and act like I don't want to kick Casey out of our home. Using my knee, I heft the crate in my arms to maintain a secure grip as I trudge over to the others.
"Oh look, Jack and the Beanstalk are back." Raph taunts with a smirk from the armrest of the couch. I roll my eyes.
"Well, then you must be the ugly troll." Mikey retorts smugly, sticking out his tongue at Raph.
"I think you mean giant. It was a giant in the story 'Jack and the Beanstalk', not a troll." I dully correct him.
"Nah, Raphie's too short and stumpy to be a giant; troll suits him better. Ah!" Raph doesn't waste any time putting Mike into a choke hold.
Casey chuckles at my brothers' antics, "Hey Mikey." He eyes purposely pass over me, and then finally make contact with mine, "Oh, hey Don, didn't notice you there with all that junk."
No one ever notices you, do they?
"Hey guys, Casey was just telling us about a new movie," Leo intercedes when he sees me cut my eyes at Casey, "What's the name of it again?"
"Die Hard: The Final Destination of the Fast and Furious Hidden Dragon."
"Please tell me your joking." I can barely contain my non-existent excitement beneath my apathetic tone.
"Dead serious, the movie is stupid sick!"
"Stupid and sick? Sounds absolutely riveting."
"Better than the nerd-fest movies you watch." Raph takes up for Casey as Mikey pulls himself out of the headlock.
"Secret agents, ninjas, car chases, hot chicks, and explosions out the ying yang! What more could you possibly want in a movie?" Casey shrugs with that stupid lopsided smile.
"A plot…." I mumble.
"You guys should come with," Casey offers ignoring my current disdain, "For real, I could slip you guys in through the side door."
"We can stealth our way into a movie theater; ninjas, remember?" Raph boasts with a smirk I've grown to despise these past few weeks.
"Well, I suppose it will be fine; it gets dark earlier now, so we'll be less likely to draw attention to ourselves," Leo agrees without much hesitation.
"Sweet!...Ooo! I bet April will want to come too!" Mikey squeals as he plucks out his T-phone to start texting.
"Already asked Red when she came to watch me at hockey practice," he shoots me a sly look that makes my hands tighten their grip on the crate I'm still holding, "said she was having a girls' night or something," Casey says with a shrug as he looks at his cell phone, "the next showing is in twenty minutes, so we better get moving."
The guys are chatting as they start to migrate toward the entrance.
"You guys go ahead, I need to work on a few things tonight."
It's not like they want you to come anyway.
"What?! No way, D, come on!" Mikey whines as he shakes my arm almost making me drop my crate. "You can miss one night of lab work for a guys' night out, right?"
"You could use a break, Donnie, come with us." Leo chimes in with a head nod.
They are all standing, waiting for my response. I'm really not looking forward to this latest monstrosity that Hollywood is calling a smash hit, but I know I should make an effort to be more 'social', to at least try to enjoy a movie outing my brothers are so eager to go to with Casey.
"Um, yeah, oh-okay. Let me just put this away," I give a small smile as I gesture to the crate in my hands.
Mikey gives me a huge grin that I'm afraid may split his face in two, before he runs to pick up his crate, "I'll help!"
We both hurry to my lab putting the crates near the garage area where I keep the patrol buggies. Mikey makes a beeline for the door and gives me an impatient groan when he realizes I'm not behind him, "Donniiiiiie, come ooooooonah! I wanna see the previews!" He skips from foot to footbarely able to contain his excitement. Group outings like this tend to overexcite him.
I start to follow, when I hear a small beeping noise coming from my computer. "Sorry, just give me a second." I set a reminder to unthaw the mutagen I was working on. If I take it out of the mini fridge now, it will be ready for further manipulation when we return from the movies.
"MIKEY! DONNIE! HURRY THE SHELL UP!" Raph bellows to us.
"WE'RE COMIIIIIINNNNNNG!" Mikey screams back as he sprints out the lab to join the others.
After a few more minutes of prearranging a few items, I shut the door to my lab.
"Okay, I'm ready. I hope this movie is better than it….guys?" I look around and find myself in an empty den. I assume they're at the entranceway waiting, but my face drops when I turn the corner and see the area unoccupied. Surely, I didn't keep them waiting that long. "Mikey?" I can't keep the hopefulness out of my voice. If no one else waited for me, surely my younger brother would. Unfortunately, I'm sorely mistaken.
They left without me. I press my lips together as my tongue subconsciously rubs over my diastema. A familiar feeling of loneliness shrouds me. I assume in their excitement, they didn't noticed I wasn't with them.
Why would they want a wet blanket like you tagging along?
It's not a big deal. It isn't the first time this has happened, and probably won't be the last. As kids we were pretty much inseparable, until we all developed our own interests and hobbies. Even with their differences, somehow Leo, Raph, and Mikey still manage to relate to each other, to form a kind of faction. A fraternal faction that I seem to invisibly flicker in and out of without them noticing or caring.
They don't care about you or your nerd hobbies.
Even though they never take interest in my intellect and knowledge, I still try to bond with them, I mean, they are my brothers.
Brothers who would rather hang out with a human boy than with you.
Sometimes, I feel like a hodge podge piece that doesn't fit in their mix anymore.
If you're honest with yourself, have you ever really fit in? Ever? That's real sad. A freak among freaks.
I tear my gaze from the turnstiles, and look down. My enormous feet are unavoidable as they come into view. I loosely grip my forearm with my opposite hand. A freak among freaks.
"Donatello? Is everything alright?"
My posture stiffens at Sensei's voice. My back is to him. I compress my thoughts of dejection until it is nothing more than a mild discomfort at my center. Keeping my face as dispassionate as possible, I turn to face him, "Everything's fine, Sensei." I do my best to reassure him by offering him what I hope is a believable smile. He looks at me curiously, both hands behind his back.
"You did not wish to socialize with Casey and your brothers?"
"No…they didn't, I mean, I still have lab work to finish." I mentally curse my incompetent tongue.
"Hm. I see." He strokes his chin three times with his right hand. His eyes are attentive as they roam over my body and then meet me with a piercing stare. My shoulders curve forward as I stare at the floor. I hate when he looks at me like that.
It's because you reek of disappointment and uselessness.
"A meditation session will be a good use of this time." My head jerks up as I stare at Sensei with wide eyes. Twice in one day?! He just force me to sit through a session this morning! Once a day is more than enough meditation for me. A sudden indignant anger takes over me at the thought of him telling Mikey about our sessions.
"I think a better use of my time would be to finish the retromutagen." I can't keep the audacity out my tone. Technically, I can't work on the retromutagen right now until the mutagen unthaws, but I will find anything in my lab to do if it means I don't have to meditate.
Sensei raises a stern brow at me. He doesn't look pleased by my remark, "It was not a suggestion, Donatello." Without another word he points to his left. With a small disgruntled huff, I sulk toward the dojo.
I give a low hum as my son begrudgingly sits in lotus position under the dojo's tree. Donatello is second only to Raphael in his temperament. However, unlike his older brother, Donatello's temper does not explode within seconds of ignition. His anger caves in, simmering for days at a time before the slightest shift in the air causes a short burst of anger to erupt from him. The flare of anger is here and gone before anyone has time to dwell on it. It is always vital after those quick outbursts to confront him, otherwise he will harbor the issue and never speak of it again. Over the years, through trial and error, I learned this the hard way about my most reserved son.
As a child, Donatello had very few 'outbursts', but when they did occur, they were horrid. I assumed he was merely throwing tantrums, and I regret not observing my timid son more carefully to understand the reason for his upsets. He always had a way of melting into the background, making it difficult to know what feelings were bubbling in his brilliant mind until an unexpected outburst ensued.
I hoped our meditation sessions would help him better understand his most inner emotions. So far, these sessions have done nothing more than test my patience.
There is air of a condescending challenge within my son that grows stronger with each of our sessions. Conscious of this uncharacteristic behavior, I do not pry into his spiritual being in fear of pushing him further into this rebellion. I encouragingly try to guide him to his personal spiritual exploration.
Donatello fails to realize even though I am an old rat, I am not a stupid one. He thinks I do not notice his looks of over-concentration or the way his lips move ever so slightly to recite a math equation. I do not know which wears my patience more, his insult of my intelligence or his disregard for his spiritual well-being.
Breathing out a slow and purposeful sigh, I mentally prepare myself for our session. Sitting in front of him, I cannot help but take in his full appearance. This secondary growth spurt has been a taxing experience for Donatello. He hides too much of himself as it is without having the self-consciousness of his appearance plaguing him. During practice, I see his determination to adapt to his larger feet and keep up with his brothers; I also see the self-loathing when he fails miserably to do so.
I patiently wait for him to meet my gaze, but he continues to scowl down at his crossed legs. His foul mood rolls off him in dangerous waves. Instead of going straight into meditation, perhaps a different approach is in order.
"We will start this session a little differently," his dispassionate eyes meet mine. I remain unmoved by his blunt display of boredom as I continue, "define the word 'self'." He stares at me, no doubt analyzing my intent, but my expression gives nothing away.
Unable to determine my purpose for such a simple question, he sighs, "It's an individual's typical character or behavior."
"Define 'aware'."
"To have knowledge of what is happening around you." His previous irritation is replaced by curiosity. I can imagine the wheels in his mind turning, trying to determine where this conversation is leading.
"So, then would you agree the term 'self-aware' can be defined as having knowledge of what is happening inside one's character?"
"I suppose it would be the primary definition of the word…" He pensively makes an effort to follow along.
"Good, we can agree on this. Now tell me, Donatello, what makes you 'self-aware'?"
"Well, I have an ample amount of knowledge on a variety of subjects ranging from—."
"I did not ask about your awareness of things around you. Tell me your awareness of things within you."
"I understand your question just fine, but I can't possibly explain the awareness within me without first telling you about the things around me," he speaks as if he is addressing a pupil and not his Sensei, who is trying very hard to be patient with him , "Everything here," he points to his temple, "is a concise duplicate of the things I learn. It's my knowledge and understanding of the world around me. It's what makes up my…'self' so to speak."
"This knowledge does not make you fully self-aware. The things you learn from your books only make up a fragment of who you are. So tell me, what else makes you aware of your self?"
He doesn't have an immediate answer as his brows furrow in thought. It is a relief I still have the ability to make my brightest student stop and think.
"…Self is the typical behavior of an individual…" he mutters to himself more than me as the logical wheels of his mind begin to dissect my question more than necessary, "applying the definition to the question translates to what makes me aware of my behavior." He is pleased with himself, because he thinks he on the verge of answering my question. "Well, my behavior is a conscious decision, so I'm always aware of it, unless of course a chemical compound is introduced to my blood stream affecting my usual behavior, then –"
"Donatello," The sigh of his name is enough to stop his lengthy explanation, "You overthink the simplest of questions." I thought appealing to his intellect would help, but still he does not understand. I really should know better. Matters of the heart cannot be explained with book knowledge alone. I close my eyes a few moments before trying a simpler approach.
"What brings you joy, my son?"
He blinks a few times with a rather puzzled expression, "…what brings me joy?"
"Yes. It is not a difficult question and does not require scientific analysis." He huffs at the light correction in my tone. "What brings you joy," I repeat.
"I...well, I…um…I suppose building multifaceted machines gives me…joy?" He answers in a very rare tone of uncertainty. Perhaps his arrogance will subside long enough for spiritual understanding to penetrate the logical walls of his mind.
I nod at his response, "What makes you angry?"
"Unforeseen obstacles…" He frowns as he absently rubs his thumb over the wrappings of his foot. My son, he is so enigmatic with his words, but I sense it is more than his growth spurt that has triggered his recent moodiness.
I attempt to dig a little deeper, "And what brings you pain?"
"Electric jolts from the fuse box, MIG gun burns, sparring with Raph—"
"No. Tell me a pain that is not physical."
"Pain is a result of a physical action. Damage to any tissue of the body activates signals in the nociceptors which connect to the spinal cord and travel to the brain relaying the message to the somatosensory cortex, therefore, making pain a physical sensation."
His response concerns me. Has he immersed himself so deeply in his intellect that he no longer recognizes the pains of the soul?
"Donatello, surely you understand pain comes in other forms? A broken heart can be just as painful as a broken arm."
"A broken heart?" He scoffs at my sentiment, "That's just a metaphor. A heart attack is more realistic and preventable. Physical pains are symptoms, symptoms can be traced to physical problems, and physical problems can be fixed."
"So you feel emotional pain cannot be fixed?"
"The fact of the matter is emotions hold no empirical or measurable value so how can you determine a proper diagnosis on its obstruction alone?"
Filled with pity for my wayward son, I shake my head, "Emotions are not an obstruction, Donatello; they are the gateway to self-awareness. You continuously seek to understand yourself through logic and textbooks, yet you fail to see the true lesson comes from the teachings of your own heart. You must learn to connect with your aura." His face hardens as I mention his aura.
A fiery spark of defiance ignites in his eyes, "Emotions are illogical and a constant array of unnecessary confusion. I don't need erratic emotions to determine my self-awareness. Logic and reason are the key to being emancipated from ignorance, which is clearly evident in this topic of auras. "
My fur bristles and my whiskers twitch at the blatant disregard of my words. My lack of patience is transparent as I resist the urge to smack this conceited and insolent child over the head with the end of my walking stick. These off-handed remarks and disrespectful commentary have gone on for weeks. I will not stand for it much longer, but I must not succumb to my anger. For the sake of his spiritual well-being, I try to peaceably put an end to my son's rebelliousness.
However, the time for soft words has passed. Bluntness may be the only way to make him understand. "You use logic as an excuse to hide from the things you are afraid of," I uncover the truth that is clearly written over his countenance, "Fear is twice as powerful when we call it by other names, Donatello."
"Afraid?" He resentfully raises his voice, "Afraid of what?"
"You are afraid to acknowledge your aura, your emotions, your insecurities; afraid to give them a voice because you do not know how to handle the intangible. It is why you are so defensive when we have these sessions."
"I'm not defensive!" He blurts out as his fists slam against the concrete on either side of his seated position. My brows raise slightly at his outburst but I do not stop it, "Dwelling on emotions won't fix anything; it won't make the things they do hurt any less."
He is still trying to use his logic to find discrepancies in the lesson I am trying desperately to teach him. Nevertheless, his outburst reveals a sliver of his true feelings. I try to grasp at what he inadvertently let slip in his moment of frustration.
"Yes, it is true, dwelling on emotions is not always profitable, but it is vital to acknowledge its existence in our lives. Anger, hurt, love….these are all healthy emotions to embrace. Do you not value your own emotions?" This gives him pause as his shoulder curl inward and his head bows slightly. His body is tense, still as a rock.
"It doesn't matter." I barely make out his quiet response, but hear the stubbornness behind it.
"Yes, it does matter. You matter, Donatello. You matter not for the knowledge you have or the things you do, but for who you are. Do you understand?" I receive no response so I continue, "Who you are, is not here," I brush my fingers against his temple, "but here," I gentle tap the center of his plastron. "The sooner you nurture your spiritual self, the easier it will be to accept your emotions. A true ninja finds balance with his mind, body, and spirit."
I think I am finally getting through to him, that he finally understands, but I notice his breathing quickening. His eyes are screwed shut consorting his face into a distressful grimace. Then he looks up, staring at me with indescribable disdain.
"Stop trying to force me to believe in this stupid spiritual nonsense," he sneers through grinding teeth, "It's a bunch of malarkey. Spirits don't exists, auras don't exist. They're just ridiculous notions people make up when they can't deal with reality."
"My son, I am trying my best to help you, to understand your plight, but your sharp tongue is uncalled for."
"No, you never try to understand me, I'm never enough! You're supposed to be a master in the art of Ninjutsu teaching us things we'll actually need in combat, not filling our heads with fictitious fables of ghost realms!"
"That is enough, Donatello!" I rise to my feet, walking stick dangerously in hand, "I will not be insulted by a child who thinks himself wise."
"I'm wise enough to know this is hogwash."
"Hashi, now!" My voice booms throughout the dojo. I tightly grip the head of my walking stick as my chest tightens and burns with barely contained fury. Donatello's eyes widen, whether from my command or the realization of his disrespectfulness I do not know, and at the moment do not care. I fear I will strike him if he does not leave my sight.
"But I—"
"Since physical attributes appear to be more logical to you than spiritual growth, your meditation sessions will be spent in the Hashi instead." I am too furious to hide the bitterness in my tone. I watch my son recover from the initial shock of his punishment. I wait to see if he will apologize for his insolence, or show any form of remorse, but he does neither.
With steely movements, he stands and glares coldly at me; challenging me with the arrogance and stubbornness of a boy who has smelled the scent of manhood too early. He mutters something as he turns on his heels toward the Hashi corner.
"If I hear another muttered remark from you, I will add Randori to your session as well!" I shout at his retreating form.
I massage my temples as Donatello sets a wooden board across two cinderblocks, retrieves a small ball, another board of plywood, and then sandwiches the ball between the two pieces of wood. I lost my temper. In my frustration, I nearly hit my son. A small part of me wonders if a more physical reaction to his condescending words would have been more effective. I sigh as I once again take the lotus position watching as he balances himself upon the wobbly plywood that is poised precariously over the small ball. I do not understand this new demeanor of my second youngest. Never did I fathom Donatello would challenge me in these teenage years. Raphael, yes. Leonardo, potentially, but never Donatello.
Closing my eyes, I take soothing breaths as the rhythmic sound of ping-pong balls encourage my meditation, calming my frayed parental nerves.
"Dude! That movie was AWESOME!" Mikey shouts for the tenth time tonight as his squealed voice echoes through the sewer passageways.
"Shell, Mike, would ya shut your face hole for five minutes? Geez…" Raph gripes as he swipes at Mikey's head; he ducks under the swipe and walks in front of Raph and me.
"Come on, you have to admit the car chase was epic!"
"Yeah, I guess that third car explosion at the end was pretty cool." Raph admits with a smirk.
"And the ninjas….Ooooi-ya!" Mikey emphasizes his point, with a well-timed backflip and a few forward punches in the air, "Did you see that one guy who did a 360 wall run with a matrix back bend? You think Master Splinter can teach us that?"
"I don't think so," I say with doubtful smile, "I'm pretty sure those were special effects."
"No way, bro, I totally bet it's doable." I shake my head at my little brother's antics.
"Yeah, and you'll be makin' a trip to Donnie's medbay, too." Raph snorts.
"I wish Donnie came with us. He would've got a kick out of the corny one-liners." Mikey says wistfully.
We thought he was right behind us as we left for the movies, but when we reached the manhole near the theatre, he was nowhere in sight. We figured he had opt to stay in his lab instead of joining us at the movies, which is pretty typical of him.
"Ya know how that Brainiac is; work, work, and more work. He'd probably sizzle and burn if he's outta his lab for more than an hour." Raph says with an eye roll.
I can't help but be a little concerned. Donnie spends way too much time in that lab. I know he's working on the retromutagen but he's been a bit extremely temperamental lately. Between growth spurts and lab work I know he's stressing out. It's a miracle Mikey managed to drag him out to the junkyard earlier this evening. I guess one outing was enough for my reclusive brother.
The light in the dojo is still on when we walk in the lair. Usually Master Splinter is in bed at this time, so we all exchange curious glances as we ease our way to the dojo entrance.
"Donnie got the Hashi?...whoa." Mikey says in a loud whisper. I gasp hardly able to believe the sight before us. Low and behold, Donnie was indeed in the Hashi teetering haggardly on a board of plywood balanced on a ball while bouncing two ping-pong balls on paddles in both hands.
"Didn't think the Beanpole had it in him."
"I don't believe it." I can't contain my disbelief.
Donnie never gets sent to Hashi (unless, Raph is involved, then we all get the Hashi). I can't imagine what my timid younger brother could possibly have done to be rewarded with such an intense form of punishment.
Master Splinter is sitting under the dojo's tree. His ears twitch at our hushed chattering.
"Yame! Your brothers have returned; you may stop now."
"Wait, he had to do Hashi until we came back?...We should have walked slower." Raph snickers. I elbow his arm and glare at him to be quiet.
Donnie collapse into a heap unable endure anymore. Mikey is the first to step into the dojo to help our fallen brother, but Sensei puts his hand up stopping him in his tracks.
"Stay where you are. Donatello will put everything away by himself."
Mikey obeys but is obviously just as worried as I am about Donnie.
Raph shrugs his shoulders before wandering off to his room, "Better him than me."
Mikey stares at Donnie before casting a worried glance at me. Crossing my arms I jerk my head toward the doorway. With a small pout, he also heads for his room, but not before looking over his shoulder once more to see Donnie gathering the plywood in his shaky arms. With my two brothers gone, I walk over to Sensei and quietly stand beside him. We watch as Donnie struggles to place his Hashi items against the wall with the rest of our training equipment. He grunts as he attempts to move the cinderblock that his taut arm muscles are no doubt too exhausted to lift. From across the dojo, he looks up at Master Splinter; his misery evident in his tired eyes. Sensei is completely unmoved by my brother's silent plea for help. My fingers clench and unclench at my sides as I curl and uncurl my toes.
"Do not assist him," Sensei's tone leaves no room for disobedience, "this is your brother's punishment and he will take it in full." I don't understand what's going on, but I nod anyway, dropping my gaze from my brother to the floor.
After what seems like an hour, Donnie finally manages to drag the twin cinderblocks to the corner. Head bowed and shoulders hunched, he takes wobbly and painful-looking steps out of the dojo. When I hear his lab door shut, I turn to Master Splinter.
"What happened, Sensei?"
"Everything is fine, Leonardo." He says in his usual calm demeanor as he stands.
"Oh….it's just that we're only sent to the Hashi if it's really serious, and well, Donnie never gets in trouble, at least not that kind of trouble."
"Your brother's defiance is troubling to say the least. His stubbornness has caused a simple lesson to be learned the hard way."
Sensei doesn't go into a lot of detail as he tells me what happened, but apparently Donnie hasn't been very receptive to his meditation lessons.
I feel like I'm treading on a raw and sensitive incident that maybe I shouldn't have stuck my nose in, "Sorry, Sensei, I did not mean to pry. I was just concerned about Donatello."
With a weary sigh, he straightens his posture. Maintaining the lotus position, he places his hand on his knees, "You will lead practice tomorrow morning, so I suggest you prepare your body and mind with adequate rest. Good night, Leonardo." And with those final words, he closes his eyes and presumes his meditation.
"Good night, Sensei," I quietly return the response as I bow before leaving the dojo.
TBC
A/N: Thanks for reading. If you have time, please leave a review! I'd love to know what you thought about this chapter, hopefully it was worth the unexpected wait. See you next chapter! :)
Oh, also to AgentB anonymous: Thanks for reviewing and hold tight because next chapter is going to be so much fun XD
Later,
Poetique