Ddawn111

Day 1: mustache

Day 2: weave

Day 3: crown

Day 4: murky

Day 5: deer

Day 6: pierce

Day 7: starfish

Day 8: reckless

Day 9: heavy

Day 10: sweep

Day 11: sting

Day 12: shredded

Day 13: drink

Day 14: trunk

Day 15: ragged

Day 16: blunder

Day 17: ornate

Day 18: Deal

Day 19: Arctic

Day 20: Rivals

Day 21: Blast

Day 22: Button

Day 23: Firefly

Day 24: Rowdy

Day 25: Inferno

Day 26: Puzzling

Day 27: Onion

Day 28: Skeletal

Day 29: Lesson

Day 30: Vacant

Day 31: Award

The Kraang were gone. The city was still standing. Everybody was alive. Technically.

That didn’t mean everybody was okay.

The lair was turned into a barely functioning recovery ward over the past however many days. Donnie honestly wasn’t sure anymore. Time had started blurring together somewhere between emergency surgeries, sleepless nights, changing bandages, and making sure Leo kept breathing.

It didn’t help that Leo still hadn’t woken up.

The medbay smelled like antiseptic, burnt metal, and blood that no amount of scrubbing could fully get out. It clung to everything now. Donnies hands. His clothes. The blankets. The walls. The inside of his skull.

And he was getting really fucking tired of it.

The lair had gone quiet hours ago, quiet enough to hear the generators humming through the walls and a few old pipes groaning overhead. Quiet enough for every sound to start crawling beneath his skin. Especially the monitor beside Leo’s bed giving soft beeps.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Alive. Good.

Donnie rubbed hard at one eye before looking down at the tray in front of him. Syringe. Vial. Gauze. Alcohol wipes. Everything lined up perfectly straight because at this point if they weren’t, he was probably going to lose his danm mind.

His shoulder jerked sharply toward his neck.

He froze automatically, waiting for the twitch to pass. It did. The burning underneath his battleshell didn’t.

God, his shell hurt.

It had been slowly getting worse since the battle. Hot beneath the armor. Tight. Wet. Wrong. Every movement made the previously comforting pressure hooked over his shoulders grind against skin that already felt flayed raw beneath the plating. Sometimes it itched so bad it burned. Sometimes the nerves beneath it spasmed hard enough to make his whole arm twitch.

He ignored it. Or at least tried to.

Taking off the battleshell meant stopping long enough to actually look at and fix what was underneath it, and Donnie didn’t have time for that. Didn’t see the point either. His injuries didn’t matter. Leo did.

And Donnie absolutely refused to leave Leo’s side.

Leo needed meds every four hours. Mikey still couldn’t properly close the fingers on his left hand after frying his nervous system with mystic energy. Raph barely let anyone near him without looking like he wanted to crawl out of his own shell afterward. Splinter was trying, genuinely trying, but years of emotional absence didn’t magically disappear because the world almost ended.

The one time he walked back into the medbay to find splinter unnecessarily messing with Leo’s IV with unsure hands. Donnie had snapped immediately. Teeth bared, voice sharp and exhausted as he shoved past him to check over the line with trembling hands.

After that, nobody touched Leo unless Donnie said they could.

And Donnie handled it.

Like always.

The syringe rattled softly against the tray when another twitch hit his wrist.

“Stop,” he muttered.

His hand jerked harder.

The metal clinked louder.

Donnie clenched his jaw hard enough to ache. He knew the tremors were worse tonight. Lack of sleep probably. Stress definitely. The weird neurological crap left behind after getting ripped out of that techno-organic nightmare he didn’t have time to study wasn’t helping either. Some days the twitching was small enough to hide. Other days it felt like bad wiring under his skin, nerves firing wrong signals faster than his body could keep up with them.

Tonight was bad.

Leo shifted slightly behind him, Donnie immediately snapped his gaze over, still unconscious. Still breathing. Good.

The bruising along Leo’s arms had darkened over the last couple days, ugly black-purple beneath bandages and tape. Healing bruises. Better than fresh ones. Better than his legs. Better than dead.

Donnie looked away before his brain could keep going down that road.

Alcohol wipe, vial, syringe. Easy.

His fingers tightened carefully around the syringe. Immediately, another violent twitch shot through his hand.

Tink.

The needle scraped against the glass.

Donnie inhaled slowly through his nose.

Again.

Tink.

Tink.

His shoulder snapped sideways enough that it hurt.

The burning beneath his battleshell flared hot across his spine.

“Come on,” he hissed quietly.

His hand wouldn’t steady, he braced his wrist harder against the table. Usually that worked. Usually.

The second he pushed the needle toward the vial, another twitch ripped violently through his arm.

The needle punched straight through his glove and into the skin between his thumb and finger.

Donnie sucked in a sharp breath.

The syringe slipped from numb fingers.

The vial hit the edge of the tray and shattered across the floor.

The sound cracked through the medbay like a gunshot.

Then silence.

Donnie stared at the liquid spreading on the floor.

Something inside him snapped.

The syringe flew first, embedding itself into the wall hard enough to stick there.

“FUCK!”

The tray went next.

Metal screamed against metal as Donnie launched it across the room and over Leo’s bed with enough force to crumple part of it against the wall. Instruments scattered everywhere.

Something landed on Leo’s bed.

Donnie froze instantly.

The world stopped.

His chest seized so hard it hurt.

A pair of surgical scissors slid slowly down Leo’s blanket before falling harmlessly into the mattress beside him.

Leo didn’t move.

Didn’t wake up.

Didn’t bleed.

Donnie stared for one long, horrible second before all the adrenaline drained out of him so fast his knees almost buckled.

“Oh god.”

The words barely came out.

His hands were shaking now. Full shaking replacing the twitching. Hard enough the metal table rattled as he tried to grip it. His breathing started coming uneven. Too fast. The fluorescent lights overhead suddenly felt blinding.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The monitor was too loud.

Everything was too loud.

Another violent jerk snapped through his shoulders, then his neck hard enough to make pain shoot down his spine. He made a sharp sound in the back of his throat before he could stop it. The nerves beneath his shell burned hotter, twitching and spasming beneath inflamed tissue and damaged flesh where the Kraang tech had burrowed into his nervous system two weeks ago.

His battleshell suddenly felt unbearable.

Too tight.

Too hot.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Donnie clawed at the hooked sections over his shoulders, fingers slipping against the metal as another twitch ripped through his arm. He couldn’t get a proper grip. Couldn’t make his hands work right. Couldn’t remember where the release was. His Chest was heaving too hard now, breaths catching halfway before punching back out of him painfully fast.

The room tilted.

The walls spun slightly.

No. No. No. No.

He almost hit Leo.

He almost hit Leo.

His hands flew up hard against the sides of his head as if he could physically shove the noise out of his skull. His shoulders jerked violently again. The motion sent another horrible burning spasm through the damaged nerves beneath his shell and he choked on the sound that left him.

Every sound layered over the next until his brain couldn’t separate any of it anymore.

His vision blurred.

The room spun harder.

His breaths turned sharp and desperate, chest heaving so violently it hurt. He couldn’t slow them down. Couldn’t think through them. Every inhale felt too small, every exhale punched out of him uneven and shaking.

Glass crunched somewhere under his knee.

Too loud.

Everything was too fucking loud.

Another twitch tore through his hand hard enough his fingers slammed against the side of his head. His entire arm jerked after it a split second later like the signal had traveled wrong halfway through his nervous system.

wrong.

Donnie slid shakily down the wall beside Leo’s bed until he hit the floor hard enough to rattle the ruined tray nearby. His hands stayed clamped against the sides of his head while his breathing dissolved into uneven hyperventilating gasps.

And for the first time since the battle.

Donatello completely lost control.

All hail disabled Donnie!

I really hope I portrayed his meltdown properly, i did research to make sure i wasnt going in blind outside of the familiar panic attack and adhd meltdown.

Listen up soldiers!!

I’ve had us convene in the strategy room to plan against the war that spring has unleashed upon us, officially named “The Hay Fever War.”

Every year the pollen launches a coordinated assault against the nation, and every year we lose precious lives, 40% lung capacity, and dwindling dignity within the first week.

BUT NOT THIS YEAR.

This year. We prepared.

Each morning before dawn we strike first and deploy the Zyrtec. The enemy can’t attack what is already fortified.

Mucinex squads are sent in every four hours to assist the Zyrtec, reinforce the front lines, and provide mucus extraction support.

Eye drop units are split into two categories:

• Standard infantry. Callsign: The milky ones.

• Special ops redness relief

Special ops are only authorized for four deployments per day because they are incredibly painful and psychologically unstable… but by God do they get results.

Nasal spray has been assigned to tunnel clearing duty each night before lights out to ensure the nation remains safe throughout the night.

If the situation escalates, we have cough drops and lozenges stationed at the FOB, protected by the toilet paper and trash can.

If extra assistance is required at the FOB, we will transfer the numbing throat spray to provide additional support.

The medic division has been stationed at the COB and supplied with Q-Tips and delicate under-eye lotion to keep the nasal perimeter from cracking.

The supply division is on call and has recently secured the following:

• Tea

• Protein shakes

• Caffeine

• Faygo

(An alchemical healing tonic provided for our soldiers by the great milenko himself. The carbonation provides divine intervention upon the throat tissue that science itself cannot explain.)

Sources conclude that the war effort improves if the nation remains active and borders are temporarily closed until it is clear that the enemy can no longer enter.

And if the enemy overtakes the battlefield entirely…

We unleash him.

The Vapo Rub throat spray.

A biological weapon banned by several nations.

This bastard does not distinguish friend from foe. He enters the battlefield, commits atrocities against every nerve ending in the throat, then leaves the nation in tears gripping the COB sink, while new war crimes settle on its conscious.

But the mucous? Gone.

The enemy? Annihilated.

Casualties? Deemed acceptable in the name of war.

Morale remains shaky but operational as we all pray for fall.