Chapter Text
There’s the beginnings of a headache blossoming right behind his eyes, growing there and wiggling around his skull like some hungry parasite.
The data that is rolling across his computer screen in long lines of jumbled words and numbers all starts to kind of… blur together at some point.
He squeezes his eyes shut like it might just magically make it clear again, but all it does is spur on his growing migraine, kicking it into action, he groans, pulling himself up from his desk, he’s fairly certain he can see the projection of his computer screen still behind his eyes with each blink.
It’s late, so technically there shouldn’t be anybody in the kitchen. Not with the soft sounds of Raphael’s snoring coming from behind his door, or Mikey’s nightlight spilling from beneath his.
Yet, he’s not surprise to see Leonardo already perched at their makeshift dinner table, hands curled around a steaming mug, his face lacks its usual mask, showcasing the dark circles that are ringed beneath his eyes.
“Did you even attempt to make it to bed?” He asks him, eyes following him around the room as he sluggishly makes his way to their coffee machine. (He says their like it’s a shared possession but Donnie is the only coffee fiend in this house. Raph gets his buzz from energy drinks like the disgusting teenage boy he is, and Mikey took one sip of his coffee once and said it tasted like dirt. This here machine was his and his alone.)
He jabs a finger at the button, letting it work its magic. He turns and rests a hip against the counter, looking towards his elder brother.
“For like, a minute, yeah.”
Leo scoffs, though, there’s nothing venomous towards it. Many a night since their childhood had this been their rendezvous point, here in this tiny, dank little kitchen. Whilst Donnie’s own insomnia might have been entirely self inflicted ever since he’d built his own home computer, Leo’s wasn’t exactly staying up late on purpose.
Donnie makes his coffee and slides over towards his spot at the table, watching as his brother's beak crinkles up in detest as he brings the mug to his lip.
“That stuff is so gross,” he says, voice low, mindful of their still sleeping siblings just down the hall. “I don’t know how you drink that sludge, Dee.”
Hot coffee slides down his throat, warming his belly. It won’t do much for his headache but at least it’ll stop him from passing out at his desk any time soon.
Donnie sighs. He looks towards Leo’s own mug — it’s one of Sensei’s, chipped at the edges and clearer steam curls from the top. There’s the faint aroma of something sweet, and without having to look, Donnie would guess that the contents inside were probably a rather pale green color.
“I could say the same,” he comments, nodding towards the beverage.
Leo’s lips twitch. “Yeah but this is actually supposed to help you sleep,” he tells him rather pointedly. He even pitches himself forward on his seat a little. “I wish you wouldn’t force yourself awake on that stuff.”
There’s a fleeting look of worry dashing across his brother's face; brows knitted together, his mouth drawn in a straight line. His eyes go a little dark under the dim light of the overhead bulb that needs changing.
Donnie sighs again. The ache in his head now webs itself around his temples, throbbing there like a cylinder drum. He rubs the heel of his hand against his eyes, like it might stave off some of the hurt, but it refuses, pulsating like his brain was about to explode.
“Don?” Leo’s voice is gentle, but he stands, and his chair makes a sick groaning sound against concrete and it bounces off his skull walls. He ducks his head down to draw a sharp breath. He hears Leo approach him.
“Don’t worry,” he grits. He reaches blindly for his drink. “Just a headache from looking at my computer for too long.” He presses his hand harder, swirls of muted color dance around behind his lids.
There’s a tentative hand on his shoulder, and the sound of his mug dragging across the table.
“C’mon,” Leo whispers. “I got something for that.”
He ends up with two little pulls pressed into his palm and what was left of his coffee splashed into the sink in sad rivets of brown. Looking at it like this, it did appear pretty grim.
Leo is quiet as he busies himself beside the stove, his own tea left abandoned, Donnie watches as the steam starts to disperse into nothing in the air, and once it’s all gone, does Leo turn back around to face him.
“Here,” he tells him, handing out one of Sensei’s cups. It feels like sacrilege to take it from him — he’d never indulged their father on those afternoon tea breaks like Leo had done so many times, tucked away in the dojo just to two of them, but holding the hot mug now between his palms, he suddenly wishes he very much did instead.
“I had some leftover ginger tea when I made Mikey some the other week. Try it. It’s good for migraines.”
Don feels his brows knit together. “You had tea with Mikey?” He rasps. “Mikey doesn’t drink tea.”
Leo drops back into his seat, a smug grin creeps over his face. “You’d be surprised.” His smile falters a little. “He uh, he wasn’t sleeping so well. Nightmares. After…” his voice trails out, like the steam, into nothing. He steels himself, rounding out his shoulders before he continues. “So I got him on it. He said it tasted like gingerbread men, so. Whatever works.”
Donnie’s chest goes a little airy. He hadn’t known about that.
He hesitates as he tries to draw in whatever information he can about what else he was missing from his brothers in this strange, brief period in their times when Leo must read it all perfectly across his face.
He clears his throat. “Drink it. I didn’t let mine go cold for nothing.”
And Donnie supposes he can’t argue with that.
He takes a sip and—
For one, Mikey was wrong. It didn’t taste like gingerbread men but… it wasn’t half bad.
And Leo reads him like a damn book again because he’s smirking again as he takes a mouthful of his own lukewarm drink.
“Told you.”
Donnie scoffs. But not before he takes another mouthful. It goes down way easier than coffee ever did. He scowls, not even realizing that the tightness behind his eyes was already starting to fade, he just rolls his eyes and tells him in a low, tired voice,
“Whatever.”