Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 The first time Donnie had heard the word 'autism' he was six years old. It was a news report, an autistic student at a local high school had led a protest against bullying. Apparently, it was a pretty big deal. 

"Dad," Donnie had said, pulling himself up onto the armrest of his father's beloved recliner. "What's autistic?" 

His father had cracked one eye open to glance at Donnie before closing it again. 

"It's a disorder that people can be born with," He says, hands folded over his stomach. "It makes people act differently from most others." 

"Oh." Donnie says, frowning. "Is it… a bad thing?" 

"No." His father replies easily. "It's different, but that doesn't make it bad. Our family is different from most, but we aren't bad." 

"Oh yeah, you're right," Donnie says, shoulders relaxing a bit.

"Now get off of my chair, you're going to break it." His father gripes, shoving him off of the armrest. Donnie tumbles to the floor and sticks his tongue out at his dad. 

____________

The first time he had ever heard the word autism used in regards to himself was from Leo when he was twelve. 

Leo had done something annoying, and though Donnie can't remember exactly what he was doing, he remembered that the sound was high-pitched and grating, and Donnie had shouted at him to cut it out. 

"Shut up! That sound makes my teeth hurt!" Donnie had yelled across the lair. 

"You're the worst kind of autistic!" Leo had yelled back, quoting a show that they watched together when Dad wasn't hogging the TV. Donnie blinked. 

"That reference doesn't make sense!" Donnie shouted back. "Because I'm not autistic!" 

"Uh-huh." Leo had said back, the sarcasm evident even across the sewer. Donnie just rolled his eyes and slammed his door. 

______________________

In April's freshman year of high school, when she’s fourteen and Donnie thirteen, she takes a psychology course and brings the textbook to their lair. 

"I've connected the dots," She had shouted upon arrival, slamming her book down on the kitchen table 

"Oh?" Mikey had asked from where he stood at the stove. "Like a mystery?" 

"Sorta," April had said, tilting her hand back and forth. "Donnie! Come here!" She had shouted, even though Donnie could fully hear their conversations from the lab. He leaves anyway, throwing his blowtorch to the wayside to join his family in the kitchen. 

"Why are you screaming for me this time?" Donnie asks flatly as he enters the kitchen. 

"Come see this," April says, beaming. "We were learning about different types of disorders and- here, come read the symptoms." 

"This feels like an intervention," Donnie complains, but he steps forward anyway, curiosity winning him over. 

He scans the list over, difficulty interacting with others, trouble forming/maintaining friendships, misinterpreting verbal or body language, poor eye contact, rigid thinking, sensitivity to touch/sensation, emotional difficulties.

"I don't have emotional difficulties!" Donnie defends. "When have I ever been overly emotional." 

"Donnie. It means difficulty expressing emotion, and you have a tendency to blow up." April says dryly, flipping the page. "Keep reading." 

Talks a lot about specific topics, but struggles to discuss a broad range of subjects. 

Ok. Donnie can see how that seems like him. He does talk a lot about his inventions, but if everyone else could see how cool they are it would be all they talked about too!

Posses an unusual tone of voice, use a specific vocabulary- often speaking more formally than the situation requires, or speaks with a monotone. 

Well. Donnie can't argue that one. He just likes words to mean the right thing, okay? He isn't going to say he's thirsty when the right word is parched! They mean different things! 

Have trouble understanding nonverbal cues, like guessing emotions based on the tone of voice, or may not be able to tell when someone is teasing or using sarcasm. 

Okay, but honestly how could anyone tell if someone is sad based on their voice ? 

Prefers to spend time on his own. 

Yup. 

Needs others to follow their rules during games or work and becomes upset if the rules aren't followed. 

Yeah. 

Unusual attachment to objects. 

Okay, but does it really count if the objects are things he put so much work into making? 

Easily upset by change. 

Yup. 

Repeated body movements such as hand flapping, rocking, or bouncing leg. 

Definitely yes. 

Repetitive noises such as clicking, whistling, or chirping. 

Donnie had kind of chalked that up to being a turtle thing but yes. 

Less responsive to pain. Sensitive to noise, light, taste, and texture. Compulsive behavior. Difficulty adjusting their behavior for different situations. 

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. 

Donnie shuts the book. 

"I don't think that describes me." He says breezily, handing the book back to April. 

"Seriously?" She asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"Seriously." Donnie affirms, crossing his arms and ignoring the swell of anxiety in his head. "How could I even be autistic, that's a human thing. I don't know if you've noticed, April, but I'm not exactly human." 

"Well you're not an animal either," April replies, putting a hand to her hip. "And even if you were, animals can get autism too. It just has to do with how your brain is shaped." 

"Well, my brain is shaped fine." Donnie snaps, hands going to his sides, heart pounding in his ears. He’s starting to raise his voice without really meaning to. "I'm not autistic, you're just- you're just looking for something that isn't there!" 

Mikey is starting to sidestep out of the kitchen, probably to find Raph and get him to break up the fight that is about to ensue. 

"Jesus Donnie, it's not a bad thing!" 

" You don't get to decide that!" Donnie shouts back, hating the way his anger takes his control away, makes him speak without thinking. "You don't get to decide how I feel about this! You don't get to just- just come here and tell me that I'm messed up! You think I don't know that?" 

"I did not say that! I said different-" 

"I'm already different!" Donnie shouts back. "I'm a fucking mutant! There's no one in the world like us! I'm already different from the rest of the world, I don't want to be different from them too!" 

April doesn't respond, just stares at him, wide-eyed. 

"Ok, break it up you two." Raph says sternly as he walks into the room, led by Mikey. Donnie would call him a snitch, but there's no way Raph wouldn't have heard them screaming at each other through the echoing tunnels of the sewer. 

"Whatever. " Donnie says, wiping at his dry eyes. "I was leaving anyway." 

"Wait, Donnie!" April calls from the kitchen, trying to make it past Raph. Donnie steps into his lab. 

"Lock it down," He says as he enters, collapsing into his swivel chair and slinking down until he's basically lying on it. "Stupid April." He mutters to himself, bending a paperclip out into a straight line. "What does she know anyway?" 

There is no answer. Of course. 

Time passes and Donnie lets it, not particularly concerned with having to go back out of his lab and face the consequences of his outburst.

He researches the topic, looking for proof that he's right, something else that could explain his behavior, but all he finds is more evidence against him. 

He wants to be mad again, but he feels all burnt out, like a match that's been used up. 

After half an hour, there is a knock on his door. 

"Donnie?" Comes April's soft voice, a tone rarely used by the firey teen. Donnie turns his back to the door. Even if she can't see him it still feels good. "I wanted to apologize. If you don't want to talk to me right now then that's fine, just let me know when you feel up to it." 

Donnie frowns, conflicted as he hears April shift in place outside the door.

"Disable lockdown." He says quietly. He hears the lock click and the door creak open. He doesn't turn to face her. 

"I'm sorry." She says, and Donnie is a bit taken aback by how sincere she sounds. "Whether you have autism or not it wasn't cool of me to push it on you. I thought you would like an explanation for some of the stuff you've been struggling with, I- I shouldn't have dumped it all on you all at once." 

They are quiet for several seconds. Donnie feels a bit of petty revenge when he hears April shuffling awkwardly. 

"I accept your apology." Donnie sighs. "And I forgive you." 

He turns in his chair, chin in his hands. 

"It's not even like I think you're wrong," Donnie says, eyes darting to his monitor, still flooded with articles about adolescent autism. "I just- I don't want anyone to treat me differently." 

"Maybe different is a good thing." April says, sitting down on the floor beside him. "We don't always understand you or the things you do, but knowing you're autistic could help. Could point us in the right direction for how to be more supportive. Kind of… meet you in the middle as far as communication goes." 

Donnie hums, unconvinced. 

"I've always been… you know. Physically weaker." Donnie says, pursing his lips. "I've overcome it. Obviously, but like. I don't know. I already feel like the odd one out. I don't want it to get worse." 

"Unable to cope with change?" April jokes weakly, nodding at the swaths of text on his screen. Donnie snorts in dry amusement. 

"Yeah." He scoffs. "Something like that."

_____________________________

Donnie's brothers, as much as they like to believe the opposite, are not sneaky. At all. He knows they're researching how to better accommodate this new development. It’s equally sweet and annoying. 

“Your turn for dishes Donnie,” Leo says from where he leans back in the chair. Donnie groans, resisting the urge to kick Leo’s chair leg out from under him.
“Fine,” Donnie grumbles, standing up and clearing his plates. He hates doing dishes. He knows that it’s only fair that everyone has a turn at dishes, but he hates it. He can't stand the way touching anything feels when his hands are wet, and reaching into the mysterious water where who knows what might be lurking- ugh.

It’s sensory hell, is what Donnie is saying. 

“Oooh! Wait hold on I got you something!” Mikey says from the table, nearly choking on his food as he bolts up from his chair and sprints in the direction of his room. The three remaining brothers watch the kitchen, listening to the sound of his footsteps thundering through the lair.
“What do you think-” Donnie begins before Mikey is careening back into the room and there is something that smells like plastic hitting him in the face.
“Uh, ow!” Donnie gripes, even though it doesn't really hurt, grabbing the package off of the floor. “What’s this?”
“Dishwashing gloves!” Mikey says proudly, puffing out his chest. “So you don't have to touch the wet food! They’re purple!” 

Donnie stares down at the package, something unidentifiable curling in his chest, making him need to clear his throat before speaking next.
“Thank you Mikey,” He says flatly. “I appreciate it.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth he is wincing internally. That didn't come out right, but it isn't like he’s lying. He does appreciate it. 

None of the usual eye rolls or groans come, not even from Leo, which is admittedly a huge surprise. 

“Yeah, no problem bro!” Mikey says instead, beaming. Donnie manages a stilted half-smile back before turning and walking to the sink, confusion washing over him. Why did they pass up on an opportunity to make fun of his emotional unavailability? They never do that. 

He washes the dishes in record time. No stalling, no retching, no taking breaks so he doesn't shake out of his skin. He dries the gloves off and puts them in a drawer. 

It’s the little things like that that change. There is no more snickering when a joke flies over his head, no more shouting in his ear to make him jump, they don't- well, they still pull him into hugs pretty frequently, but more often than not they just hold their arms open, waiting for Donnie to decide.
Donnie really can't tell how he feels about it.
On one hand, it’s change, which- as he feels he has already appropriately established, he is not the biggest fan of. On the other hand, it’s good change. His weird behaviors aren't just him being strange, making him feel like no one understands him or the way he thinks, there’s a reason for it. A word for it. 

Thankfully, it doesn't take too long for the jokes to start up again. 

Leo has clearly been holding back from using the slew of new material offered up by Donnie’s amateur diagnosis, Donnie has to assume he’s waiting for the dust to settle. Or trying to anyway. 

His brother breaks on one of their trips to the city, all of them together, joining April on a mission to buy a textbook. 

“-but it’s actually less of a matter of what is and more what we are able to observe,” Donnie is saying, having been going over the theory of dimensions for several minutes. “Theoretically, all dimensions could exist on the same plane, so we can see second and first-dimensional objects and conceptualize them, but not anything above our own because our minds aren't capable of visualizing another plane.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay, that’s it.” 

The group is silent for a second before Leo pulls him into a one-armed embrace and ruffles the top of his hood. 

“Ah, my little brother, autism warrior.” Leo says dreamily, putting a hand to his chest like a proud parent. Donnie pauses in his struggles to escape his brother’s grip while his mind catches up with what he’d heard. Once he processes, he can't help the choked laugh he lets out, covering his mouth with his hand to hide it, but finding himself unable to. Leo is laughing too, and eventually everyone is. 

“Oh my god that was funny,” Donnie gasps out once he is done laughing. “But also fuck you.” 

“That’s fair,” Leo says with a shrug.