Donatallo

“Well– Well at least I try to include you in my life! When was the last time Leo came through to help you out? When was the last time he didn’t yell at you for not trying hard enough?”

“…Dude. Remind me not to go to you for counselling. I think Shredder’d be better at it.”

“Jealous? Ha! I don’t know what that word means I’m so… so… not jealous! Yeah!”

…

“Well– Well maybe stop leavin’ all the breakable stuff lyin’ around when you know I’m gonna come in and hang out with you!”

“Weeeell maybe you should stop accusin’ me of breaking all your stuff before throwing me outta the lab!”

“Dude…”

A Softer World: 1247

(the heroes we deserve.)

The slow progression was painful to watch. It made Leonardo’s heart clench and the old urge to run to Splinter with the irrational thought that their father would somehow magically know exactly what to do rise until the tips of his fingers twitched against his thigh in an aborted attempt at following through. It was childish and a gut reaction, easily squashed, but still the leader felt lost as to what to do. To see his brother suffering in this way, especially that it was Donatello, felt so wrong. Worse that there was quite literally nothing Leo could do about it. 

Except smile through it and be available for whatever Donatello might need.

He cut himself off, Leo’s words reaching him only as he repeated them. Okay, a glass of water wasn’t as bad a suggestion as he’d anticipated. Staying hydrated would probably help him think more clearly, and maybe Leo would get off his back for a while if he humoured him.

He could afford him the victory of having helped, if only to acknowledge that he was actually offering something helpful instead of mocking his humiliating lapse in intellect just now. Donatello was well aware that his feelings were being spared.

Leo watched in growing concern as his brother trailed off. His attempt to right himself, to continue a conversation he’d already forgotten, made the other’s heart ache for him. He smiled trying to play along so Don wouldn’t feel any more awkward than he already did.

“One hundred, right?”

As he spoke, it gradually occurred to him what absolute nonsense he was spouting and he shut up, his mouth gone dry. On their own, the stumbles in his thinking (as embarrassingly frequent as they had recently been) were hardly worrisome; having the odd brain fart was only to be expected now and then, and as long as he still had the presence of mind to pause and collect himself afterward, it was only ever an inconvenience.

But he hadn’t had any presence of mind at all just now; his verbal diarrhea and Leo’s false, perturbed smile were proof of it.

“... That’s really tempting, Leo,” he said measuredly, and only after he had mentally repeated his brother’s suggestion to himself enough times to be sure that he wasn’t answering with more gibberish. “But I don’t need any more distractions right now. I need to focus. On my work.”

“I also remember how hard the crash is from just one of those things. The last thing we need around here is you hopped up on ten of them and then short circuiting when the high runs out.”

“Maybe once I’m done with that stuff I can act-ually... ac-tu-al-ly...--”

Like a switch had just been thrown, Donatello’s mind suddenly emptied. A dense fog settled in the space that countless thoughts had just occupied; he could feel his mouth still forming words, but the intent behind them was lost.