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. 

Chapter Text

At sixteen, Donnie is troubled. 

This is not unusual, as emotionless as he is usually perceived, he feels emotion just fine. And right now his emotion is stressed. 

His brothers are angry with him. 

Normally this would not even register as a blip on his stress radar. They're siblings. They're going to be mad at each other. No, Donnie's problem is they are mad at him for a damn good reason. One of his inventions had blown up in their faces on a mission. Literally blown up. Donnie has the scorch marks to prove it. 

They had all been pretty frustrated, but Leo was easily the worst out of all of them. They had completed the mission relatively efficiently, and Donnie thought he was really getting out of this scott free , but the second they had arrived back in the lair, Leo was throwing his weapons down onto the couch and rounding on Donnie, his arms outstretched in an instinctual challenge, keeping his body low in his anger, another baser instinct from when they had evolved to solve their problems with violence. Though in reality, by the way Leo's eye is twitching, violence might not be off the table. 

"What the hell was that?" He snaps, ignoring Raph's soft gasp and his attempts to cover Mikey's ears. Donnie resists the urge to scoff and tell Raph that hell isn't even a real cuss word. He has a feeling that won't go over well with anyone. 

"It was a dart gun, obviously." Donnie says evenly, none of the frustration he feels with himself spilling over into his voice.

"Yes," Leo grits out. "But why did it explode?" 

"Ah. Well, I'm inclined to believe the battery caught fire, but if you'd give me a few hours to check I can get back to-" 

"And you don't even care! " Leo spits, crossing his arms. Donnie opens his mouth and then shuts it, confused. He does care. He feels guilty and embarrassed and worried for his brothers. He had thought they would just know that intuitively, the way that they all seemed to read each other. 

"I-" 

"All you do is hole yourself up in your lab, hiding away from your family, isolating yourself and- and when you finally crawl out you have nothing to show for it!  Just a bunch of useless, shitty inventions that do more harm than good!" 

Leo is panting, his shoulders rising and falling. Donnie doesn't move at all, besides the shallow rising and falling of his own chest. The room is dead silent, Raph and Mike both staring at the two of them. Neither of them make any effort to refute Leo's claims. Not that Donnie had really expected them to. 

"Well,' Donnie says, clicking his tongue and throwing up awkward finger guns, floundering, completely lost for a right answer. "Uh. Thanks for that, I'm gonna-uh, go try to… fix the gun." 

He turns on his heel and starts for his lab. 

"See what I mean?" Leo shouts after him. "Would it kill you to just act like you care about something? No wonder your spend so much time with your busted ass machines, you're one too!"  

The pain that lances through Donnie is all at once completely unexpected and unsurprising. Leo always knows how to push his buttons, but apparently, he knows just what to say to land a killing blow too. 

Donnie shakes himself out of his momentary pause at the words, trailing to his lab, acting as unbothered as he is believed to be. 

He can hear his brothers quietly chiding Leo for his words, though none of them come after him. Donnie walks a little faster, just in case they try. (He wants them to try. Desperately.) 

They don't. 

He shuts the door behind him. 

"Lockdown protocol," He murmurs, listening as the doors’ lock mechanism clicks into place before taking in a deep, steadying breath and setting his hands on his desk. He stares at the useless inventions piled around him. The sight makes his hands shake. He takes another breath. It doesn't help. The urge to destroy everything in front of him prevails. He turns away, unhooking his battle shell and letting it clatter to the ground, not bothering to get it in his charging port. He doubts he'll be allowed back on the field any time soon anyway. 

His eyes land on a mirror, on himself. Disheveled, covered in soot from his own failure. Emotion, sudden and devastating, crashes over him, something hot and white and furious. 

He puts his fist through the mirror and cracks the wall behind it. He stands there for a few seconds, forehead pressed against the wall, his hand shifting in the shards of fake silver and glass. 

"Jesus," He whispers to himself. "Grow up." He pulls his hands out, wincing as they draw angry red lines up his arm, beading with blood. He sets the mirror on the ground and puts a blanket over it. He doesn't want anyone to come in and see that, another monument to his inability to control himself. His destructive habits. 

He huffs, ignoring the shallow cuts on his arm, sitting at his desk, taking deep, measured breaths. The pain grounds him, in a way, although he knows that's not a good thing. 

He pulls his monitor closer, typing into his search bar. 

He's going to have to enlist some help. 

Wikihow, for once, proves to be helpful. 

He reads through the paragraph describing what an apology is, his hands itching to take notes. He grabs a half-filled notebook and opens it to a blank page, clicking his pen and setting it to the page. 

'Step one,' He writes, reading from the article. 'Own your mistake.' 

'Words aren’t enough.' The article reads. 'You need to understand what you’re apologizing for and really mean your words. Expressing regret and guilt is the key to a genuine apology,'   Donnie hums thoughtfully, tapping his pen on the page. That could be why they assumed he didn't care. He wasn't expressing remorse in the right way. 

'take responsibility for your actions. Do not try to be defensive or give excuses. Sincerely apologize and explain your intentions, do not justify your behavior.' Donnie mouths the words as he reads them, taking quick, chicken scratch notes. He should make a script. 

Step two is a challenging one. 

' Give up the idea of being right.' Donnie groans as soon as he reads it, leaning back in his chair. That is going to be hard. 

'How we experience and interpret situations is unique to us, and two people may experience the same situation very differently.' Donnie's mouth twitches down. That may be all well and good, but he has never been good at putting himself in other people's shoes. 

' Step Three, use 'I' statements.' 

Donnie jots notes down. 

"Take responsibility, don't only apologize for the other person's feelings… keep the focus on you. Ugh. Avoid justifying your actions." He writes it down, even though step four is going to be rough.

He reads through the rest of the article, taking down each step and advice listed below them. Once he's finished, he sits with three pages of writing about how to construct the perfect apology. 

He has no idea where to start. 

He groans, slamming his head onto his desk. Maybe he should just sleep on it. He doesn't raise his head, letting his shoulders slump. He's aware that his wanting to 'sleep on it' is just him avoiding the inevitable, but he really can't bring himself to care. 

He isn't really trying to fall asleep, but when he is next aware of anything his neck aches terribly and there is a paperclip stuck to his forehead, so he must have passed out at some point. He flounders for a few seconds, trying to figure out what had awoken him until he hears the knocking at his door, still locked tight. 

"-ie? Come on, stop sulking and come get breakfast!" Leo calls through the door. Donnie blinks a couple of times, the strange hotness behind his eyes growing at the sound of his twin’s voice. He takes a moment to try to parse the emotion. It feels hot, so it’s not a positive one. Upset in some way surely. He must still be feeling guilty. 

“Coming,” Donnie says gruffly, throwing on a hoodie to cover his still scratched arm and padding out to the kitchen to join the others in their breakfast. He swallows, wincing at the dryness of his throat, and grabs a granola bar from the cupboard before sitting with his family. 

“Sleep well?” Raph asks, raising an eyebrow, no doubt at Donnie’s disheveled appearance. 

“No.” Donnie says through a mouthful of oats. 

There is a brief pause before Mikey clears his throat and starts off on a tangent about some new artistic venture he has undertaken. Donnie is grateful the attention has been taken off of him and takes a deep drink from his glass of lukewarm tap water. 

He nearly falls asleep at the table. The world feels like it's spinning, distant and far away. His head hurts, but can't focus on it long enough to mind. His skin feels too thick, and he longs to shower, but he knows the water will ache on his skin. His eyes feel heavy, he isn't eating anymore, just staring at the table. He can't blink. He can't look away. He holds his glass in still fingers, unmoving. 

He can hear the vibrations of the sound around him change, vibrations he associates with himself. His name. He tries to tune in, to hear what they're saying, but it's trying to find the right station while you're driving, his eyes constantly flicking away from the dial. 

"Donnie? Hey, Donnie? Can he hear us?" Mikey is asking. Donnie wants to respond but he can't. He's too tired, stiff. Like a cadaver. Someone takes the cup out of his hand, leaving it raised and clenched around a glass that is no longer there. 

"Fuck," Someone breathes out. Probably Leo, if only because Raph refused to swear in front of Mikey. "I guess yesterday took more out of him than we thought." 

"He didn't hit his head did he?" Raph asks, and usually Donnie would be offended to be talked about like he isn't here, but in all the ways that matter, he isn't. 

"I don't know," Leo responds. "It could just be a shutdown." 

"Blink if you can hear us, Donnie!" Mikey says from his side. Donnie wants to. He tries to, but he just can't move. His eyes ache terribly. 

"Guess he's out." Raph says somberly. Leo hums. Donnie wants to scream. He can hear, he just can't close his eyes. He can't move. He's being so dramatic. He could probably get up if he wants to, he's just doing this for attention. To get them to feel enough pity for him to forgive him. 

"Come on, let's get him back to his room. He might feel better if he's someone he feels safer." Leo says, and then there are hands on his shoulders and he can't help the sharp inhale he makes, the way his body straightens instinctively, the lance of pain that runs down his arms. 

“Oh shit, that got through!” Leo barks with a nervous laugh. “Uhh… Mikey, go get a blanket, okay?”
Donnie hears his youngest brother run off, and some disjointed flash of time later a blanket is thrown over his shoulders. He feels his body settle down again, fog encroaching over his mind. 

‘ Safe.’ Says something deep and primal. ‘Hide. Dark. Quiet.’ 

The blanket is a relief, providing a barrier between him and Raph when the eldest lifts him into his arms without even a breath of exertion. He can't bring himself to speak, to make a quip, to do anything. The movement shakes away some of the fog, but it rushes back in just as quickly when the sway of Raph carrying him soothes him back down into a heavy numbness. 

The smell of his room is a welcome one. Disinfectant and oil and old coffee, all a smooth familiar weight. The lights are low and everything is deeply familiar. 

“Over here, he’s got a little hidey hole.” Mikey says, waving his brothers over. If Donnie had been of the right mind, he would have been chafed that any of his brothers knew about his hidey-hole. Which is not what it’s called, by the way, it’s a mini-panic room. Thank you. 

Mikey taps a panel in the wall, sliding open a hidden compartment big enough for maybe two people, lined with cushions and books, a low-light screen making up one of the walls. 

“Aw,” Raph coos out from above Donnie’s head. Donnie feels too distant to be offended by it. He is set, still stiff and lifeless, in his panic room, the lights dim and beautiful, everything smelling achingly familiar. It’s dark, it’s warm, it’s safe. Something in him relaxes, but only enough to close his eyes and curl into himself a bit, hiding his face from the light and the view of his family.
“Oh, he moved!” Mikey cries, like Donnie is a particularly lethargic zoo animal. 

“Good. He’ll come back in time.” Raph says, standing up to his full height. “I don't think there’s anything we can do for him beyond this. I would say to check him for a concussion but…”
“He might bite someone if they touch him?” Leo says dryly from somewhere in the room. Raph makes a disapproving sound in the back of his throat. Donnie is sure that Leo is messing with his stuff, but he’s too out of it to care. Wow. He really is in bad shape. 

“You need to apologize.” Mikey says softly from where he kneels at the entrance to the panic room, turning to look at Leo. Donnie’s twin says nothing. “I know you're still cooling off, but I think your fight really got to him.”
“It wasn't really a fight.” Raph points out, drawing out a loud ‘ Thank you!’ from Leo before the younger is silenced. “It was more just you yelling at him.”
There is a brief pause before Leo huffs out his nose.
“I know.” He says, sounding strained. It’s doubly hard trying to get a read on people’s emotions when his face is buried in his hoodie. “I’ll apologize when he’s out of his funk.”
“Shutdown.” Mikey corrects gently, though they all know that Leo knows the right word. 

“Right yeah whatever, come on, let’s poke around.”
“Leo. ” Raph says, warning clear in his voice.
“Oh come on, I’m not even going to touch - what the hell?” Leo exclaims, and while usually, any sort of exclamation taking place in Donnie’s room is something along the lines of ‘we just found a gas leak and we’re all going to die’, so he really should be more concerned, but he can't manage to feel anything but distant. 

“What?”

“He’s got all these- jesus. Is this what he was working on last night?” Leo asks, his voice straining. Donnie doesn't know what he found. He doesn't really care to know. 

“What is it?” Raph sounds concerned, he can hear his eldest brother walking away from the panic room.

“Notes. On apologizing. Fuccckk.” Leo is saying. Donnie can hear the crinkling of paper. “I’m such an asshole.” Donnie’s mouth opens automatically, a quip on his tongue to agree with his twin’s claim, but he doesn't manage more than a weak hum that goes unnoticed by his brothers, now distracted by the admittedly kind of embarrassing notes scattered over his desk. 

“Dude,” Mikey says, voice uncharacteristically serious. “I think you really hurt his feelings.” 

“Yeah man, I wanted to just let you figure this out on your own but you went too far.” Raph says, putting on his leader voice. “You know as well as I do that the way he expresses emotion isn't wrong or bad. I know you just said all that stuff to hurt him, and there you go. It worked.” 

The room is silent beyond the soft beeping of machines and the whirr of electronics. 

“I know,” Leo says softly. “I’ll talk to him when he wakes up.” 

Awful. Donnie hates emotional conversations. Maybe he’ll stay in shutdown forever.
The thought brings forth another one, an imaginary scenario where he stays like this forever, uncomfortable and afraid and unable to move. He would take a hundred emotional conversations over that. 

He hears Raph settle at the entrance to the panic room, his brother’s presence at the only entrance point soothing something anxious in his chest. Raph won't let anything get in. He relaxes a little more. 

“Is he asleep?” Mikey asks.
“I don't know.” Raph replies softly. “It’s hard to tell when he’s like this.”
There is a beat of silence.
“I’m worried about him.” Mikey says, sounding choked. “You don't think he’s actually hurt do you?”
“No Mikey,” Raph says soothingly, though Donnie can hear the undercurrent of worry in his voice, which means it must pretty obvious to the most emotionally tuned member of the family.
“You don't know that though, and we can't- we can't check on him because we can't touch him because- because it’ll make it worse but-” 

Using all the willpower in his body, Donnie manages a clicking noise in his throat to get their attention and in jerky, unsteady movements, brings his hands to his chest, intertwining his fingers and jerking them down before laying his right hand flat and sweeping a curved finger beneath it. 

There is a beat of shocked silence.
“OH! The scanner!” Mikey cries as Donnie curls into himself again, all his energy drained by the simple sign. He hears Mikey scramble away and out of the room, no doubt on a single-minded mission to bring the scanner back from the med bay. 

“You back with us, Donnie?” Raph asks, leaning in to better see into the panic room. Donnie is unable to respond, hating the way his brother hums in disappointment. Donnie nearly drifts off by the time Mikey returns. If he was able to move he’s sure he would have startled at the youngest’s noisy entrance. 

“Got it!” Mikey shouts, skidding to a stop outside the panic room. Donnie hears the hum of the scanner and sees green light behind his eyelids before there is a decisive ‘ding!’ and then silence as his brothers read over the results. 

“See Mikey, this all looks normal.” Raph says, his soothing voice firmly back in place. “Increased heart rate because he’s anxious, some cuts, but no head wound. He’s okay.”
“What are those cuts though?” Mikey asks, sounding worried again. “I didn't think he got hit in that arm while we were out.”

“I- I’m not sure, but they don't look bad.” 

“No, but they look weird.” Mikey says, anxiety rising the pitch of his voice. “You don't- what if he did it to himself or- or-”
“Woah hey,” Raph says, quieting Mikey’s spiral. “I doubt it, but even if he did we’ll be able to handle it as a family.” 

Mikey sniffles twice before beginning to cry softly and Donnie has never hated his inability to do anything more. He may not be the best at comforting, but if he was able to move, able to communicate then he could tell his brothers that their worries were for nothing. 

“Hey, no, come on.” Raph coos, trying to soothe the youngest. “We’ll stay with him until he feels okay, and then we’ll talk to him about it, okay?” 

“Okay.” Mikey says wetly, his voice trembling. 

The pair of them go silent until Donnie can hear someone else enter the room.
“I brought snacks.” Leo says quietly. “For you guys and for him. Water too. God knows he’s probably had nothing but coffee to drink for the past however long.” 

“Thanks.” Mikey says, voice hoarse from crying. Donnie hears the crinkling of a water bottle something cold is placed beside him. 

“How’s he doing?” Leo asks as he settles down at the entrance to the panic room. 

“He signed ‘scanner’ at us when Mikey was panicking about him having a concussion.” Raph sighs. “So he can hear us to some extent, but other than that he hasn't moved.” 

“Good.” Leo says. “Not that he hasn't moved, but good that he signed.” 

“Nothing we can do but wait, I guess.” Raph says gruffly.
“I’ll go get blankets!” Mikey says suddenly. Donnie hears the youngest spring to his feet. Usually, he would be against a blanket fort in his lab- a pointless insult to fire safety, but right now, he feels like his siblings need it more than he does. It’s not like he could stop them anyway.

The room lapses into silence until Mikey returns, dumping a bundle of fabric on his brothers. Donnie listens to them construct a nest outside of his panic room, quiet whispers and arguments about which pillow should go where. Hearing them all together feels like the final puzzle piece being slotted into place, and as his family settles in to watch a movie together and wait for him to come back to himself he finds himself able to drift off. Still unable to move or speak, but the terror that kept him in a state of consciousness ebbs away and he is able to relax and finally- finally start to drift back into sleep. 

______________________________

He wakes up to the sound of french rat music, which must mean they’re watching Ratatouille. He lays there for a few minutes, taking stock of his body and how he feels while listening to Linguine knock his rat friend into the river. 

He feels better. His skin feels less gross, his heart isn't racing like a jackrabbit anymore, so that’s good. He tries to move and manages to clench his hand. He stays like that for a while, clenching and unclenching his hands, moving his fingers. He knows from experience that if he tries to move all at once it’s going to mess up his whole day. 

He opens his eyes to the dim light of his panic room, to his brothers lying beside it, curled around each other as they watch the movie. Donnie suddenly, crushingly, needs physical contact. He might actually die without it. 

He drags himself out of his panic room, grateful to see that Raph is the only one who looks his way, his other two brothers fast asleep on their blanket nest. Raph smiles, signs hello, and opens his arm so that Donnie can curl into the open space between them. 

Donnie does, feeling Raph rest his head on Donnie’s back, gentle and soft, and feels his eyes drift shut as he slips into a much more restful sleep. 

__________________________________

He wakes up for a third time that day to the credits of Ratatouille and his other two brothers awake while Raph is now fast asleep, pinning Donnie in place. Not that the softshell had really wanted to move. 

“Oh good! You’re awake!” Mikey whispers upon seeing Donnie open his eyes. “Let me see your arm.”
Donnie doesn't bother arguing. He knows how Mikey gets when he’s worried and he doesn't want to cause his little brother any more stress over his assumption. He holds his arm out and lets Mikey push up the sleeve to reveal shallow, angry scrapes running up the length of his forearm. Mikey sucks in a breath through his teeth and Leo goes very pale.

“Did you-”
Donnie frees his hand from their grip, holding it palm-in in front of his face. 

“Mirror?” Leo asks, tilting his head. “What do you mean?” 

Donnie points in the direction of the shattered mirror covered with a blanket.
‘Careful.’ He signs. Leo walks over and pulls the blanket off of the shards, revealing the broken full-length mirror that now lays on his floor.
“Why’d you punch your mirror?” Mikey asks, turning back to Donnie. 

The scientist makes claws with his hands, drawing them up to the sides of his head.
“Angry with me?” Leo asks, eyes darting to the floor in what must be shame.
Donnie can't think of how to articulate his thoughts in sign, still tired, despite feeling better, so he just jabs a finger into his own chest. Leo purses his lips.
“Donnie I’m sorry.” He rushes out. “I was being an asshole last night. I was in pain and frustrated but I shouldn't have taken out on you for an accident. God knows I’ve made worse mistakes. I didn't even mean any of that crap I said, I was just trying to be hurtful.” 

There is a moment or two where the twins just watch each other. Donnie lays a hand flat and brushes his other hand over it before pointing at Leo, who relaxes slightly.
‘ Forgive you.’

They spend the rest of the day in a cuddle puddle watching movies, waiting for Donnie’s voice to return to him.
For now though, there is no rush, no pressure for Donnie to get back to ‘normal’, just him and his brothers, who he knows, no matter what they say in anger, will be by his side no matter what.