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crowsandturtlesandbatsohmy · 1 day

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ROTTMNT Bad Future

so uh, I had an idea today about how I imagine future Donnie went out. This isn’t the whole story btw, just what I would consider the first chapter.

Warnings: Undisclosed illness, blood, mentions of death, self-worth issues, quarantine, Leo deals with problems by ignoring them, mentions of Leo and Raph arguing. If there are any I missed please let me know!

—————————————————- Everything ached. A shudder ran throughout his body. He went to sigh and wheezed instead. A hacking cough forced him to sit up, blankets falling away and leaving him even colder than he already was.

Red. Drop, drop, drop.

A slow breath, then. In and out.

What was that buzzing?

He swung his legs over the side of his cot and got up on shaky feet. He leaned against the wall as he staggered along towards his chair.

Oh. The buzzer. That was what woke him.

The buzzer.

Clarity.

He launched himself away from the wall, lurched across the room, tripped, and caught himself against the abnormally-sturdy glass door, trying to catch his breath whiteout inhaling too deep.

Everything ached.

Mikey stared back at him from the other side, eyes wide and concerned.

“Dee… you have blood on your chin.”

Donnie grunted and wiped it away with one hand. Breath after breath. A wheeze, another hacking cough, and then he lifted his head to meet Mikey’s gaze. He pressed the button to talk.

“…G’morning—“ another wheeze. He dropped his volume, drew shallower breaths. “…’morning Angelo. Status report?”

Mikey hesitated. “Donnie—“

“Status report, Michael.” Too loud. Hurt. Cough, cough—stop—more coughing— hurtstoomuchstopit— finally a break. Finally air, finally he could breathe.

He met Mikey’s gaze again. Fixed him with an “I’m older than you, do as I say” look. A look that had gotten so much practice since the invasion. Since everything went wrong. And even more since he got sick. Stupid, stupid, stupid stupid stupid dumb-dumb-Donnie with your dumb-dumbness getting yourself sick—

“Donnie!”

Donnie’s attention snapped back to Mikey.

Oh. Oh no. The ‘kicked-puppy-meets-Dr.Feelings’ expression, as April called it.

He looked away. “Report?” He pleaded in a whisper.

A beat of silence. Static, then, “April isn’t getting any better.”

Donnie slammed a fist into the wall with a grunt.

Mikey didn’t even flinch. Instead he looked for all the world like he wanted nothing more than to pull Donnie into a hug and not let go for a long while.

Donnie ignored it. Shoved the thought to the back of his mind.

April.

She’d been caught in the trap meant for him, had the same illness he did.

I should have known. It’s my job to know.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He met Mikey’s gaze again.

“Donnie. Don’t blame yourself.”

Donnie scoffed. Bad decision. He squeezed his eyes shut against the wave of pain and nausea, opened them when it passed.

“It’s not your fault.”

“The trap was meant for me, Michael,” he said quietly. “And I can’t fix it. I’m the science guy. I have to fix this and I can’t. I’m useless—”

“DONALD!”

Donnie’s mouth snapped shut and he looked up at Mikey again.

“April doesn’t blame you. Casey doesn’t blame you. Leo doesn’t blame you. I don’t blame you. The only one blaming you is you, so knock it off before I razzmatazz your shell.”

Donnie snorted at that, deciding against pointing out that Mikey couldn’t get near him without exposing himself. For Mikey’s sake of course, and so they didn’t argue longer. Not because the reminder was painful. He was an emotionless bad-boy after all, and isolation was a bad-boy’s dream.

“Casey Junior?” He asked instead.

“Leo’s keeping him busy, or else he’d come visit more. I’m talking to Leo about it today. Casey needs more time.”

Casey needs more time with you and April before you go. Donnie could extrapolate. He knew what Mikey really meant.

“Appreciated. He has been reluctant to leave and I dislike having to be the ‘bad uncle’ and send him away.”

I need more time with him too.

Mikey understood. Mikey could extrapolate too. He offered Donnie a sad smile.

“And ‘Nardo?” Donnie asked after a moment.

Mikey frowned and looked away. “He’s… taking it hard, Dee. He’s losing you and April all at once.” A pause. “He hardly lets Casey out of his sight, unless it’s to see you.”

Donnie’s heart sunk. “He’s mad.” The words were bitter.

“He’s scared,” Mikey corrected gently. “He doesn’t know how to handle this, so he’s ignoring it. If he comes to see you, that makes it real and he has to deal with it.” Another pause. “I’m talking to him about that too.”

Donnie snorted. “No rest for Dr. Feelings, huh?”

Mikey smiled again, weary beyond his years, but said nothing. A brief pause, and then he shrugged. “That’s my report.”

Another pause. Donnie frowned.

“‘Angelo?” Donnie’s voice was quiet.

“Yeah Dee?” Tension in every line of his body. Forced cheer. ‘Everything-is-fine-because-I-have-to-be-fine’. The same tactic he used when Raph and Leo argued.

“You forgot yourself.”

“Oh.” Mikey’s smile dropped.

Silence.

A long moment. Then another. A sniffle. At last Mikey met his gaze, placed a hand to the glass as though maybe, just maybe, he could reach through it and get to Donnie.

“‘M scared, Donald.”

The same words he used to say when the arguing reached its height for the day, back when they were still kids living in the sewers and Leo had been recently promoted. The arguing had gone on as they grew up and faced the apocalypse, but Mikey had become numb to it. Just like Donnie.

But Mikey didn’t need Donnie right now. He needed Donald.

“I know, Angelo,” he replied quietly. The same soft voice he’d learned for Mikey’s sake back then and later adapted for a very very— two very’s— small Casey Junior. A beat of silence passed. He drew a shaky breath, set his hand over Mikey’s on the glass.

Palm to glass to palm. “I’m scared too.”

“What am I going to do without you?” Mikey whispered, still not meeting Donnie’s gaze.

Donnie didn’t know what to say. Neither did Donald. “You’ll keep fighting. And you’ll look after Leo and Casey Junior, like you always do.” Logic. Facts. Donnie or Donald? Donnie couldn’t tell anymore.

“I need you.” Mikey looked up at last. “I can’t do this alone.”

His heart, the one he always claimed he didn’t have, felt like another big chunk had been ripped away. He’d lost a sizable piece when Raph died. Another with Splinter. A smaller one with Draxum. Even Casey, the first of their small family to fall, took a chunk with her. How much did he have left?

It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t need it for much longer anyway. He had a week, maybe two at best.

What did matter was that Angelo needed him. Needed Donald.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say.

Mikey glared at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. “Stop blaming yourself. I told you, it’s not your fault.”

“No, Angelo, listen to me.”

Silence.

Donnie continued. “I’m not apologizing for getting sick, though I have every right to do so—“ he trailed off as Mikey’s expression shifted into something vaguely reminiscent of an aged Dr. Delicate Touch. “Not my point. Sigh.” He paused and drew a breath. “Apologies. This is… hard.”

Mikey waited. He always did when it really mattered.

“I am apologizing for leaving you. I am breaking my promise. And I am apologizing because I do not know what else to say.”

Mikey’s gaze softened. “I don’t blame you for the promise either. I know you wouldn’t be breaking it if you could help it.”

Another long silence.

“Donald?”

“Angelo?”

“It’s your turn.”

“Hm?”

“Status report.”

Donnie huffed a chuckle, only to regret it when another wheeze followed.

“I’m coughing up blood, experiencing bouts of nausea, and I have one week left to live, perhaps two if I am lucky.”

“I know that. That’s not what I’m asking and you know it.”

“Those are the facts, Michael. I am sick and dying and I am going to live out my final days in quarantine.”

“There it is.”

Donnie raised an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“You admitted it.”

“What?”

“That being quarantined is bothering you.” Mikey shifted to sit on the floor, back to the glass. “I know you, Donald. You’ve been trying to pretend that being locked up isn’t a problem, but I can tell.”

Donnie fell silent as he moved to sit on the floor, back pressed over where Mikey’s shell should be.

Cold. Flat. Solid. Not at all like Mikey’s shell, especially not now that he had his cloak on every time Donnie saw him.

Not Mikey. Glass. Because he was highly contagious and could kill Mikey by breathing.

A shudder ran through him, brought on by a tangle of emotions he doubted even Dr. Feelings himself could help him place.

He wanted a hug. Warm and too tight and too long and too close.

Another shudder ran through him. Cold, aching, blood on his hands, nausea coming and going in waves.

Mostly cold. Shivers passed under the shudders.

Yeah. A hug sounded great right about now.

“Donnie?”

Donnie glanced over his shoulder.

“Does whatever this is affect ninpo?”

Donnie turned away. “Michael, no.”

“I’m serious, Donnie!”

“You don’t know how much lifespan you have left!”

“I know how much you do!”

“You can’t afford to use your ninpo for things like this—“

“Like what?” Mikey challenged. “Like giving my dying brother a hug when he clearly needs one?”

“It’s not worth it Michael.”

“You don’t get to make that call.” Mikey got to his feet. His spots started to glow.

“Michael I forbid you—“

A golden projection of Mikey stood before him in the quarantined room. It grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him to his feet, then pulled him into a tight hug.

Donnie didn’t react. Couldn’t. This was bad. “Mikey—“

“Shut up and hug me, Donald.” His voice trembled, like he was about to cry.

That couldn’t happen. Stupid dumb-dumb little brothers and their dumb-dumb guilt-tripping big brother instincts activation.

He wrapped his arms around Mikey, buried his snout in the crook of Mikey’s neck. Found himself holding onto Mikey like a lifeline, unable to let go.

Mikey held on just as tight, his head buried in the crook of Donnie’s own neck.

“For the record,” Mikey mumbled without moving his head, “you’ll always be worth it, Donnie.”

Something wet on Donnie’s face, trailing down his snout, landing on Mikey. But then again, Mikey’s face was wet too.

Warm. Too tight. Too long. Too close. Just like always.

Mikey was scared. So was Donnie. But for now it didn’t matter. For now, they had each other. Just like always.

Mikey and Donnie. Mystic Warrior and Lead Scientist. Heart and Head. Art and Smarts. Orange and Purple. Peanut Butter and Jelly.

Angelo and Donald.

No matter what our dumb-dumb brothers do, I will not leave you.

Promise?

Well, theoretically in battle situations—

Donnie.

Sigh. Yes, ‘Angelo. I promise.

—————————————————-

Basically it boils down to, what if in his final days, Donnie the turtle who is the most touch-averse, was denied the ability to be in physical contact with anyone. Would he grow touch-starved?

I think he would. Donnie may say he doesn’t like touch, but his interactions with his brothers in the show tell us otherwise. I think he just prefers for it to be on his terms (which I totally get).

Anyways. Here’s my little Bad Future Timeline take. I already have Headcannons for it that I’d love to talk about so feel free to ask questions if you have any.