Donatello woke up slowly, consciousness trudging itself through his system groggily. He hadn't felt this warm or comfortable in around twenty years, which automatically made him more alert. He sat up, before the memories came back to him, some foggy but manageable. He sat back down, a sigh escaping him as he tried to relax back into the cot supporting him.
"Wake up." A very recognizable voice demanded from beside him, causing Donatello to crack an eye open to peek curiously at his side. He came face-to-face with himself, though younger, blinking at him scrutinizingly.
"I have questions." Donatello's younger self states plainly. He huffs and raises a finger to pause the younger softshell's speaking.
"First things first, mini-me, naming arrangements." The teenager face-palms.
"I should've thought about that."
"Technically, you did."
"Shut. Anyways. How do you wanna do this? Should we color-code? Nicknames?" Donatello takes a second to think about it, joined in thought by the smaller him.
"I could just use our full name if that works." He offers, although the tone was tacked on subconsciously.
"Ah, good, and I can just stick to Donnie. Now can I please ask you the questions I had." Donnie continues, short of demanding. He's shaking, Donatello notices, and a closer inspection shows that Donnie is actually tapping his feet rapidly, no doubt impatient. To drag out the inevitable, Donatello scoots so that his younger self has a little bit of space to sit down. Donnie gets comfortable next to his older self, sitting cross-legged on the cot.
"Hit me with your best shot." Donatello says, more confident than he feels.
"Perfect. First on the list, how do you have hair? I've been theorizing but I want to know exactly why."
Slightly comforted by the fact he wasn't going to be immediately interrogated about the future, Donatello explains. "You already know that Splinter used to be a human, obviously, and that Draxum mutated us using his DNA. So since turtles don't naturally grow hair, and it usually ends up being moss, which is yuck, I ended up with this glorious mess of hair that I wouldn't trade for anything because of dear ol' papa."
Donnie pumps a fist in the air. "I knew it!" He cheers. "Okay, second question. What's our tech like in the future? What are we working with?"
Donatello shudders discreetly. "Kraang tech is what we got. We also use scrap metal we can scrounge from trades. The material is good, but I don't have the tools to make everything perfect. Also, fun fact, Kraang tech is a thousand times more likely to explode and kill you if you make a wrong move. Do with that as you please." Donatello tries to nonchalantly remove his glasses to clean the lenses, realizing a moment too late his nervous hand has nothing to clean them with. Donnie side-eyes the glasses.
"Yikes. You tape those to your head?"
"Yup. Ain't got any ears for them to sit on."
"Well obviously. But why not tie them to your head? Like the glasses babies use, or something like librarians have, where they're like necklaces and then they clip together." The teenager points out. Donatello blinks, taking a moment longer than normal to process what he heard.
"Would that be more convenient?" He asks. Donnie shrugs.
"Only one way to find out. Gimme them." And without warning, Donnie leans over and snatches the glasses out of Donatello's, admittedly loose, grip.
"Hey–" "Don't worry, I'll give them back. Anyways, third question. That blue fabric on your wrist, that's Leo's mask, isn't it?" The blank tone made Donatello pause, and he unthinkingly held his arm closer to himself. The mask suddenly felt unbearable from where it rested.
"I'll assume that's a yes, and take it that he's dead too." These blunt questions are making Donatello feel trapped, as they don't expect an answer but he still has to hear them. Donnie's eyes close dejectedly when his older self doesn't answer once again.
"Moving on." He states, opening his eyes to stare at the older softshell. Donnie briefly glances at the stump of Donatello's arm that has wrapped in a 'sock', before meeting the older turtle's eyes once more.
"Do we have any special people we meet?" The question is more lighthearted, and Donatello has to stop himself from smiling as he realizes his younger self made a conscious effort to make him more comfortable.
"Yes, actually." The answer surprises Donnie.
"Wait, actually?"
"Mhmm."
"Huh."
Unprompted, Donatello starts his own ramble, resting his cheek in his palm. "His name's Yuichi Usagi, and unsurprisingly, he's a rabbit yokai. He's goofy, a silly guy if you will." Donnie nods sagely. "He's, well, he was my best friend. I wouldn't call him my brother, like we call April our sister, but that's not because I don't like him enough." Donatello swallows dryly. "I actually think I liked him too much… I think I had a crush on him. But I wouldn't know, it's not like I can go tell him or anything." Donatello chuckles humorlessly. "Casey thought of him as his uncle too, he was with him his whole life. It's why I'm upset at myself for letting him die right in front of him." Donnie's breath catches.
Sure, he's not a stranger to the idea of death. He thought his entire family would die during the Shredder, and then again during the invasion. He had been filled with so much dread and fear when he hadn't seen Leo leave the Technodrone, he thought his twin had died. But hearing from his older self that that same fear isn't irrational, that someone he loves actually will die. It. It makes something in his chest ache.
"But he's kind of an ass, in a fun way. He drew on my forehead once, with a Sharpie, which I still don't know how he found a working one in the apocalypse, but I guess it's just something his luck would find. I felt safe enough to take my Battle-Shell off around him, if only for when I'm sleeping." Donatello gives a pointed look to Donnie's shell, snapping the younger turtle out of his thoughts. "Speaking of which, when was the last time you took that off? I can see marks on your shoulders, which are no doubt sore." He says.
Donnie scoffs. "Unimportant and irrelevant." Like hell he's going to take his Battle-Shell off, not when he can still feel the slimy tendrils of the control panel slithering further into his leathery shell, merging with him.
"Try again. Why won't you take it off?"
Donnie's brain short-circuits. He swallows the lump in his throat and… Well, he doesn't have to ignore those thoughts. He can share them with his future self, right? It's himself.
"I won't take it off because I'm… Scared? Worried? Whatever it is, it's irrational. The Kraang aren't here, but I can still feel my skin crawl whenever I think about being alone without the Shell." He taps his fingers together, sparing a glance to gauge Donatello's expression. The older turtle is giving him his undivided attention. "I'm scared that if I take the Shell off, I'll be helpless and I'll be attacked, and I know I won't–"
"That's not irrational."
"But–Huh?" Donnie furrows his brows. But, it is irrational. He should feel safe in his own home now that the Kraang are gone.
"That, my stress-riddled teenage self, is a little something called trauma. Don't even try to deny it, shut your mouth." Donnie closes his mouth, grimacing. "Don't try telling me the invasion didn't affect you that much, because the fear of being attacked again, in your own home when you're alone, is definitely the effect of something." Donatello pointedly says, staring once more at the red marks decorating Donnie's shoulders.
The younger softshell purses his lips, absentmindedly rubbing his sore shoulders. So, he's not all handy-dandy, ready to move on with his life after all. Who would've thought. Donnie thinks about it some more, and his chest starts to ache.
"Listen," Donatello starts, settling a large hand on Donnie's shoulder and bringing his younger self back to reality. "I know we both don't do well with asking for help, so I'm going to do this." Before Donnie could ask what that meant, Donatello had already got up from the bed and slung him over his shoulder. The teenager yelps in surprise.
"Aren't you supposed to be injured?!"
His older self chuckles at him, as if he asked a silly question. Rude.
"There's this thing called accelerated healing, and it just so happens that it gets faster as you get older, so my leg? No more hurt." He breezily says, taking long strides to who-knows-where with Donnie on his shoulder, somehow missing everyone that was supposed to be in the lair. The younger softshell deflates.
"Where are we going?" Donnie finally asks, right as his older self turns the light on to his train car. "Nevermind, don't answer." The teenager is then situated in his bed, and Donatello absentmindedly tucks him in, earning a confused look. The older turtle blinks.
"Sorry, it's a habit. Sit up real quick." So Donnie does what he says, curious. Donatello sits next to him. "How many hours have you slept this week?" And that's an easy question that Donnie can answer.
"Almost eight hours, why?"
"Ignoring that's basically just an hour per night, how many of those were without the Battle-Shell?" Donnie doesn't answer and turns away, looking down at his lap. Donatello sighs, expecting that response.
"Remember how I said we're really bad at asking for help?" Donnie nods. "How about this, if you're worried about being alone when you take the Shell off and being helpless, me and slash or one of our," Was he allowed to say our? "Brothers can stay here while you sleep, that way if something is here, you'll be safe." He realized the offer sounded slightly odd since he'd only been here for a short amount of time. He scratches his chin, now feeling slightly awkward. "I uh, realize it's odd, but you really do need to rest, without the Battle-Shell. You're still a teenager and, believe it or not, your brain still needs to grow." He explains. Donnie digests this while Donatello takes a second to think.
And. He's right. They're all teenagers. Donatello, while his memory may be fuzzy, doesn't quite remember being that young when the apocalypse started. But these guys, these versions of his family, had to deal with that and taking care of the whole thing, they made it farther than Donatello and his family ever had, making it into the Technodrone and managing to control the ship. Donatello, at a better time, might ask what it was like, but at the current moment, he doesn't think he actually wants to know.
A huff draws him out of his thoughts, and he gives his attention back to the younger softshell in front of him.
"You win, I guess." He gives a defeated look to Donatello. "Energy drinks have failed me, but my shoulders hurt too much for me to care." He reaches up to take the Shell off, before pausing and giving a complex look to Donatello that couldn't be deciphered. "Uhm. You'll make sure nothing happens to me, right?" He gives a nervous chuckle. Donatello rolls his eyes.
"Obviously. I'll even go get Raph if that makes you feel safer." The older turtle reaffirms, nodding his head towards the room's entrance. Donnie relaxes minutely, fully removing his Battle-Shell with a wince.
"Is your back sore?"
"Yeah.."
"Well guess whose fault that is."
"Shut up, I'm sleeping." As if to prove his point, Donnie burrows into his blankets and shuts his eyes tightly. Donatello rolls his eyes once again and gets up, catching Donnie tense.
"Chill, I'm just going to get a chair, I can only sit there for so long since I have old man knees." Once Donnie settles again, he sits in an office chair and spins around in it a few times, getting comfortable. Then he gets back up because he can't handle the silence, checking a computer to see if it's powered off or in rest mode, relieved to find a browser on YouTube already open. "Now I'm just going to play ambient sounds, because this quiet is unbearable." The figure in bed nods eagerly, allowing Donatello to use the computer. Once there's a quiet noise playing in the background, the older turtle sits back once again, resting his eyes and letting himself rest his brain for a bit.
Soon he becomes much too aware of the feeling of his own body. At once, the grime that covers his skin and cakes his clothes becomes overwhelming. I should take a shower after this.