#iwillkeepfighting

The ‘dum-dum thing’ in question is a modified back brace, meant for children with spinal disorders. Yoshi is pretty sure this qualifies. The reason Donatello hates it so much is the modifications Yoshi made to it; namely, the memory foam cover for his leathery carapace. It’s bulky and it slows him down and he hates falling behind the other three. Lately he’s taken to sitting out of their games because he would rather tinker by himself than wear the brace.

Yoshi is a little worried about that. He hasn’t come up with a way to make everyone happy yet, and he’s losing sleep trying to figure it out.

Leonardo pokes his head through the doorway. “Papa you said we were going,” he whines. “How come we’re not?”

“Negotiations have broken down,” Yoshi says, kneading his forehead with his palm.

“Dunno what that is,” Leonardo declares and visibly puts it out of his mind as not his problem. “Don-don, come on. We’re gonna skate.”

“No,” Donatello declares. His mouth is screwed up, brow furrowed, fully ready to be a little monster about it. “I don’t want to go if I have to wear the dumb fake shell.”

Leonardo tips his head to one side, considering this. It’s no secret to his brothers that Donatello has no fondness for the brace. This usually culminates in one or three of them helping him to escape it, and then hiding it somewhere stupid for Yoshi to find like the world’s worst Easter Egg hunt.

“We’re twins,” Leonardo says with all the unyielding certainty of a schoolteacher discussing matters with an obstinate child. “So we have to share. I’ll wear it, and then Donnie will wear it, and then it’s fair.”

Somehow—Yoshi can’t believe this, but somehow the logic goes to work. Donatello’s expression shifts from mullish to thoughtful. The most stubborn little treasure in Yoshi’s entire life is giving ground.

“It’s fair,” he agrees. He and Leonardo turn their big brown eyes up to Yoshi expectantly.

Honestly, Yoshi can’t believe he’s not going to have to wrestle Donatello into the brace for once in their lives. He’s a little embarrassed his second youngest child thought of this neat little solution before him. It costs him absolutely nothing to agree, and he straps the brace onto Leonardo’s back instead. When they get to the rink, one that Yoshi has unapologetically rented out for the afternoon so his kids can play freely, they’ll switch, and Donatello will wear it while the four of them turn inline skating into a contact sport.

And nearly a decade down the road, when Donatello is building advanced technology the way other kids his age are building blanket forts out of the couch cushions and Yoshi’s best sheets (re: his siblings) and he has long-since traded the brace for an armored shell of his own design, he goes from absolutely refusing to put it on to pretty much never letting anyone see him without it, ever, or else.

Because no son of Yoshi’s would understand the idea of a happy middle ground. It’s all or nothing, go big or go home in this house.

This is when the twin thing continues to save the day.

“Oh Telloooooooo,” Leonardo sing-songs, audible throughout the entire house, “Shell Time!”

“Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” Donatello replies, but it’s a token resistance at best.

And when Yoshi wanders that way to check on things a few minutes later, he’ll find the boys in the garage. Donatello is chattering a-mile-a-minute at Raphael about the computer he’s building, and his older brother is nodding along agreeably even though he clearly isn’t absorbing a single word. Leonardo is sprawled on his plastron, head pillowed on his folded arms, letting Michelangelo go to town with glittery stickers.