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“Donnie Donnie Donnie!” That’s all the warning that’s given before a wrist is thrust in his face, charms nearly swinging right into his snout. He blinks and leans back, grabbing Mikey’s hand to still it, eyeing the lightning bolt, star, and colour splatters that hang from two cheap-looking golden-coloured bracelets. “What do you think?” Mikey asks, eyes glittering.
Donnie makes a bit of a show of inspecting and touching the charms, then he raises his gaze to Mikey’s eager face. “I think they’re very nice. I see you have all the essential colors.”
Mikey chuckles. “Yeah, and Leo paid for most of them! I was only gonna get orange, green, and purple, but Leo was mad that I left him out. Then Raph got annoyed that he wouldn’t be included, and made Leo buy the red one, too.”
Donnie nods. Mikey was going to pick purple, huh? He’s got favouritism privileges, today, to be used very wisely. He releases his wrist and cranes his neck (not too far, he’s in public) to look into the store. “Where are Raph and Leo?”
Mikey plops onto the bench next to Donnie. “Still looking around. Leo’s determined to find that limited edition store-only Jupiter Jim T-Shirt.” A pause, his eyes wander around the mall, skipping between the people too preoccupied to notice the two green teenagers lounging by the fountain. “I think they sold out. He’s sure it’s around the store somewhere.”
Donnie hums as an acknowledgment. If Leo doesn’t find it, Donnie will hunt one down for him. He’ll whip it out as a present when needed.
They’re waiting for several minutes. Mikey leaves the bench and comes back, then leaves and ducks into the store, then returns with a grumble. Donnie occupies himself on his phone, only shifting his position once the old ones grow stifling.
Mikey leans close to him, hovering at his shoulder for a moment, before asking, “Do you have a quarter I can borrow?”
“You’ll need more than a quarter for vending machines these days,” Donnie says.
“No, to throw in the fountain. They have a fountain here! I dunno if you can hear it over your noise defenses.”
“I can’t, but I saw they had them when I looked into this place beforehand.” He awkwardly stuffs a hand up his hoodie to pull his little wallet out of his Battle Shell. “And it’s a penny you’ll want.” He hands it to Mikey.
His face lights up. “Thanks, Dee! You’re the best!” He darts in and sneaks a quick nuzzle to Donnie’s cheek before he scampers off. Donnie puts his wallet away.
Leo and Raph come out nearly empty-handed— Raph’s got a bag of something that clearly isn’t what Leo wanted, given how grouchy his face is.
“What’d you get, Raph?” Donnie asks, gesturing to the bag.
“Oh! This really cool leather jacket!” Raph fishes it out of the bag, holding it up. It’s definitely faux leather— the store wouldn’t have the budget for real leather (neither would Raph). It’s just about the right size for Raph, too, but Donnie suspects the purchase has something to do with the holes littering the back. It has a sharp collar and flames lick up from the serrated wrists.
He nods. “Very cool. It suits your style well.”
Raph beams. “Doesn’t it? Even the lady working there said so! She even gave me a discount for the holes.” He grins awkwardly and crumples the jacket back into the bag (Donnie’s really glad it wasn’t real leather, now). “Even though I’m the one who ripped it.”
Leo sighs, slouching, hands deep in his hoodie’s pocket. “It’s not like anyone else could buy it after that,” he grumbles. “You wore it down in two seconds.”
Raph rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Ah— oh,” he perks up a little, eyes skimming the mall, “where’d Mikey head off too?”
“To make a wish at the fountain,” Donnie says.
“Ooh, a wish! Can I have one?” Raph extends a hopeful palm. His eyes are so bright that Donnie would be unnecessarily cruel to refuse.
“You don’t have a penny of your own?”
“Penny? Uh, which one’s that?”
“Sigh, okay.”
“Yes!”
“I could use a wish right now,” Leo gripes.
“Get your own penny,” Donnie says, pulling Raph’s out of his wallet.
“Don’t be like that, Don,” Raph says, eyeing it as he accepts it. “Come on, give Leo a penny.”
“Tch.” He tries to flick the penny at Leo, but it tumbles out from his fingers and clatters to the ground. Leo keeps his snide comments to himself and just picks it up. He flicks it into the air and catches it, flashing Donnie a side-eye. Oh, you stuck-up ass. Donnie narrows his eyes at him. Leo grins back as if he’s perfectly innocent. Raph doesn’t even notice, already on his way to the fountain.
The trip is short, so Mikey is still there, wiggling a hand in a gentle little spout. Raph actually manages to successfully sneak up on him and gives him a scare by hoisting him over his head like he’s prepared to dunk him in the fountain. Mikey shrieks. Leo goads Raph on. Donnie rolls his eyes and scoots away as eyes turn to them.
Luckily, Raph ends the charade with a booming laugh and he swings Mikey down. He shows off his ‘leather’ jacket, which has Mikey oohing and ahhing. Then he begs to try it on, which is amusing— it’s far too big. Donnie makes him pose for a picture anyway. Then Leo tries it on and gets his shame picture, then Donnie is bullied into it, but he refuses to smile for the camera.
Leo and Raph cast their wishes into the fountain, with Leo breaking the sacred rules by muttering his wish for the limited edition shirt loud enough for them all to hear, and ignores Mikey’s comment of, “You know it won’t come true since you told us.”
Donnie bites back his protests— It wouldn’t come true either way, since this is just a lowly mall fountain, with no hopes of magical fate-bending properties. They’d have to hunt down a real wishing fountain for a chance at that, which would be excruciatingly difficult. There’s none in New York as far as Donnie knows.
But he digresses, he’ll make the wish come true himself. So the technicalities behind wishing fountains don’t matter.
They browse several more stores, with Donnie skipping out on most, except for the lego store. He discovers a set of a jet-black tower topped with a flaming red orb and makes a mental note to gift it to himself for the next time he deserves it. He hasn’t had a new lego set in years.
Mikey nearly gets in serious trouble when he brings a candle out of the candle store for Raph and Donnie to smell. An employee chases after him, and Raph apologises profusely despite Mikey’s protests that he wasn’t going to steal it. The employee would beg to differ. Then Mikey pleads for Raph, who forces Donnie, to head INTO the store so they could smell the candle. Donnie is hit with why he hates it all over again; the maelstrom of vibrant scents just about sweep him off his feet. Judging by the creased-up look on Raph’s face, he’s affected similarly (but at least he’s able to give the candle Mikey ‘had’ to show them a sniff). As expected, there’s a reason they always sit it out together. Donnie flees when he starts feeling nauseous, and Raph scuttles after him.
They bounce in an out of a few clothing stores, messing around, mainly, building wardrobes and outfits for each other until they’re getting too many stares to stay. Then they dump the clothes and book it. Except Raph. He stays behind to put everything back, then scolds them when he inevitably returns. The second time they do it, they scatter through the mall and turn it into a game of him hunting them down, then the caught turtles are enlisted to capture the next.
Donnie wins that one. If there’s anything he’s good at, it’s hiding. Even with his Battle Shell on. And, he’s quite fast. Not very agile, damn his dyspraxia, but he manages to outrun them for an adequate amount of time. Then Mikey dives off the floor above him and flattens him to the ground. Much to the horror of many gasping people.
“Yeah!” Raph cheers. “Great job, Mikey!”
“A bit too crazy for everyday folks, but a nice snag,” Leo comments. He turns to address the gaping crowd with a wink and a thumbs up, “Don’t worry everyone, we’re all fine here! Continue as you have been.”
Most people only stare for a moment longer before they keep moving. A woman approaches with her two kids to check if they’re for sure all right. Mikey and Donnie stand up to assure her that no, neither of them broke any bones. One of the kids asks them why they’re green. The mother shushes him, apologises, and hurries away quickly. Donnie smirks. People don’t want to ask questions they aren’t prepared for the answer of.
“Man, I’m hungry,” Mikey says, hands on his stomach. “Food court time?”
Raph nods once, solemnly. “After chasing you brats around? You bet.” He raises a brow. “Raph ain’t payin’, though.”
The three of them groan. He grins. They haggle with each other during the long walk across the mall, because splitting Raph’s cost perfectly down the middle while paying for themselves is somehow not fair. No, Donnie has the most money, he should take on the most— it was HIS hard-earned money, maybe Leo should lose his so he’s motivated to do something— at least Mikey actively hunts for stray coins and bills.
Raph butts in with a ‘solution’ of having them split the total cost evenly. Not fair. Donnie’s not paying for the two meals Leo and Mikey will eat. Raph cuffs the back of his head when he complains, retorting, “You shouldn’t have done what I told you not to do.”
Donnie sticks his hands in his pockets and sulks.
He smells the food court before he even sees it; some greasy, oversaturated reek that makes him curl his nose. Raph inhales sharply, a grin spreading across his face. Leo and Mikey exchange excited glances, even though they surely can’t smell it yet. They’re practically drooling when they get close enough to smell it— close enough for other smells to barge into Donnie’s nostrils. His head is growing light. Oh, shit. He pinches the fabric of his hoodie, rolling it between his fingers. He’s not going to lose it. He’s not going to lose it. He’ll get used to it— it’s food, he loves food, he’s never actually lost his grip over food before. Today won’t be the day he does.
(he refuses to ruin food courts for his brothers, because he knows they’ll never come back to one even if it disappoints them; they’ve blacklisted several other places they liked, even loved, because of his picky senses)
“They’ve gotta have everything here!” Mikey cries, eyes darting around the court. “Man, what am I supposed to pick? Ohh, hot dogs sound great, but they’ve got pizza! Oh, asian— tacos?? Fried chicken??” He puts a hand to his head and flutters his eyes shut as if he’s fainting. “I can’t decide! Someone pick for me!”
“You’ll just whine if we do that,” Leo says with a little smirk. “You’ll find a reason to defend what we didn’t pick, and we’ll get nowhere. You can pick out a table and think long and hard while we all make instant choices and come back before you’ve even decided.”
“Heyyy,” he grumbles, but doesn’t protest.
“Sounds like a plan to me!” Raph claps Mikey on the shoulder. “I you can’t decide before we do, then you can hold a table for us. Sound like a deal?”
Mikey shrugs. “I guess so.”
They take a moment to muse over their choices, chatting about options. Donnie’s stomach tightens and he can’t imagine eating at all. But skipping the meal isn’t an option because they only just celebrated him clearing a bare-boned weight last week (and he’s already lost a pound since then). He eyes the overwhelming amount of choices and decides on pizza. That’s always safe. He can just get a slice or two.
“What’cha getting, Donnie?” Mikey asks.
“A couple slices of pizza.”
Mikey makes a face. “I do not want that— we’re out in the world!” He spreads his arms in emphasis. “It’s a day to be more adventurous!” He glances at Donnie. “For me, at least, you don’t HAVE to be adventurous.”
Donnie barely feels the flicker of angry fire over the food smog clouding his head and frothing his insides. He just shrugs and throws in a roll of his eyes, which successfully is logged as a ‘no-biggie’ response to Mikey and he turns back to Raph and Leo.
Donnie tries not to breathe too heavily. Or look at the food on the tables. Or even thinking about eating. He concentrates on thinking about going home, repeating, after this, we’ll leave. After this, I can go lay in bed. After this, I can take a bath, and other similar reassurances to himself over and over.
Raph and Leo make their decisions, and Mikey, after a beat of indecision, ends up tagging along with Leo to get fried chicken. Raph’s choice is a fast-food joint that Donnie cannot stand. He shakes it off and heads to get in line to get his slices. He shuts his eyes and half-pinches his nostrils shut with his thumbs, and mutters reassurances to himself. He fights not to rock on his heels because he’s in public and he hates when people stare at him like he’s some kind of freak.
(and he knows it’s not because he’s a turtle because his brothers never get the same looks)
“Hey, uh— green thing, the line’s moving. You gonna go or what?”
Donnie shoots a glare at the man behind him but hurries forward. He’s dizzy— the awareness of it slams into him and he stumbles, grabbing onto one of the poles marking the tensabarrier. Something in his stomach shifts. No. No, he’s not doing this. He releases the iron-clad grip on the pole to right himself and takes his place in line. He points his eyes to the floor and bites hard on his knuckles. He keeps up with the line as he should and does not earn another scolding.
He orders his slices, moves out of the way, and tries to drown himself in his music as he waits. A few people look at him weird. He stuffs his twitching, fluttering hands in his pocket, subtly scratching his palms. His face feels hot. He’s breathing heavily— each intake of greasy, heavy air pollutes his brain, rattling it, expanding it like a balloon, floating away, away—
His number is called. He yanks himself back down and his stomach screams in protest. He takes his slices and finds Leo and Mikey’s hands waving him over.
“Soooo, what’d you get?” Leo asks, a hand snaking towards the box that Donnie’ holding.
He scowls and holds it out of reach. He huffs a breath and rolls his eyes. “Nothing for you. Eat your own food.” He puts the box down. “I’m going to wash my hands. Don’t touch. Every bite you take from it, I will make up by taking a bite of you.”
“Geez, no need for that. We’d never,” Leo says, plucking a a piece of fried chicken and crunching it in half.
Donnie doesn’t have the heart to badger him, he seals his promise with a glare and shuffles off to the bathroom. He draws in a breath before stepping in, but can’t hold it in the time it takes for him to scrub his hands thoroughly. He gets slapped with not just waste— but someone’s cologne, strong enough that he grabs the sink and fights to breathe normally— even though each breath, smothering, heavy, nauseating, pushes him closer to his limit’s end.
Goddammit he is not going to do this—
The door swings open and he hurries to wash his hands again— after touching the sink he has to, they’re disgusting all over again. He doesn’t bother drying his hands, casting aside his dignity to just flap them until they’re dry; the restroom is a gut punch compared to the slow asphyxiation of the food court.
His stomach feels no better, leaving it behind.
“You couldn’t at LEAST get pepperoni?” Leo gripes as he slides back into his seat.
Leo opened it? He isn’t even surprised. He doesn’t have the energy to be mad. He just has to eat without thinking about it. He sighs loudly and pries open the pizza box. He stares at the food, and his stomach whines in protest. He stares at the melted cheese and the sauce peering through in stains of red, the puffy crust, the thin layer of grease slathered over the slices.
Raph joins them with a pair of some ridiculous deluxe quadruple-patty burger with bacon and cheese and lettuce and onions— he picks out the onions and offers Donnie the lettuce. Donnie looks at him and his face falls. “You okay, buddy?”
“Oh shit, it’s too loud, isn’t it?” Leo says, eyes widening just a smidge as he whips his gaze to Raph.
“It’s fine,” Donnie protests. “I’m not hungry.”
Raph sighs. “Well, you gotta eat. No more Mr. Skin and Bones.” He reaches out to bump Donnie’s shoulder (sparks explode from the contact, spiraling down into his stomach, clogging his head—) “You’ve been doing great, we’re not going back.”
Donnie sighs. He picks up his slice and forces a bite.
Raph pats his back. “Just say the word, and we can eat somewhere else.”
“Like at the fountain!” Mikey says. “The fountain has lots of benches, so there’s plenty of space!”
Donnie swallows, trying not to shudder at the feeling of it going down. “We can’t take the food out of the court.” He peeks over his shoulder and points at a sign that reinforces just that.
“Man,” Mikey says, grumpily sticking a chicken finger in his mouth.
They eat in silence. Donnie can’t force himself to snarf the slices in two bites because his stomach is very much warning him not to eat. He feels dizzy and lightheaded almost to the point where a vague outline simmers and blurs around things when he moves his head.
Leo disappears and then reappears with drinks; their favourite sodas. He pokes the straw in Donnie’s because he’s too busy forcing his pizza down one little bit at a time. Something in his eyes strikes a pang in Donnie’s chest. He tries to speed up; he must be causing trouble.
A new scent hits his nose.
Donnie freezes.
It’s rot— it’s not even edible food, it’s stuffy and moist and it reeks. His stomach flinches. Raph makes a noise of disgust and covers his nose, and Leo and Mikey even catch on a moment later. The grumbles of people around them thunder against Donnie’s headset.
“Ewww, what is that?!” Mikey gasps, hands smothering his nose and beak.
“Someone had too many burritos,” Leo says. The wry smile he’s putting up doesn’t cover up the disgusted wrinkles in his beak.
“Oh ewww!”
“No, it smells like bad salad,” Raph says. “Remember when we forgot about the lettuce in the fridge? That’s what this smells like.”
Ah, so it’s likely from the salad bar that’s— practically the closest joint to their table. Donnie curls around himself and hugs his rolling stomach. Keep it together, keep it together, keep it—
A janitorial team hurries into the food court, right for the offending salad joint. A manager rushes out from the back and cries out apologies to the whole court. Donnie shuts his eyes and breathes, breathes, breathes in the polluted air that goes right to his stomach, fueling his nausea—
He can do this. He can hang in there. He can wait until this comes to pass, he can—
His stomach bubbles. No, no no stop it. He curls tighter around it. Tears prick at his eyes. The pizza crust falls from his mouth.
“Whoah, Donnie…” A hand touches his head.
His chest curls, tightening in, putting pressure in the back of his throat— Shit— He’s going to—
He scrambles from his seat and bolts— not in the middle of the food court— not with everyone— His body convulses, he stumbles— no, nope, he has to make it— He covers his nose with one hand and wraps the other around his stomach, he fights to just keep it down.
He pushes open the bathroom door—
He almost see stars at the reek that hits him— somehow worse than when he was last here. He hears someone shouting at him, but he’s losing the battle— the pressure in his throat shifts to under his stomach—
He gags, snaps his arms around his stomach, gasping for a breath that doesn’t even make it to his lungs as he loses the battle to olfactory overstimulation, tossed out and spattered all over the floor along with the barely-digested pizza slice.
The smell is rancid. It loops back into a feed, and he throws up again, mostly sour, burning acid. Someone’s shouting at him. He can’t tell if they’re angry or not. Probably. He wishes he could give an apology, but the feedback throws him back again— knocking him to his knees— he’s doubled over and coughing up spit and bile. Tears roll down his snout, dripping off his the tip of his nose. He squeezes his eyes shut and fights to just hold his god damned breath so he can stop—
A hand rubs his back, big and firm— Raph. He spits out a pleading chirp between his hiccups and dry-heaves, and Raph pulls him away, tucking his face into his hoodie. It blocks out the worst of the vomit and waste reek that smothers the bathroom, and Raph’s hand cups around his head and blocks his ears. He doesn’t stop petting his back. Donnie sinks into him and gives up to his crying. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop myself, I’m sorry.
He hears his brothers muttering— of course they’re all here— and he catches an agreement to head home. He ruined the day, because of course he did, what else is he good for? The other guy in the bathroom (right, the one who was yelling) cuts in to ask if he can get a janitor for them. Oh. That’s kind of him. They accept. Shortly after, Donnie is scooped up and carried out. He bites his foul-tasting lip to silence his audible sobbing. He feels hot shame crawling all over him, and he doesn’t dare to look out and see how many people are staring.
He hears the trickle of the fountain, growing louder, and then Raph takes a seat on the bench. Donnie peeks out. Leo and Mikey immediately throw on smiles for him, so poorly constructed that even Donnie can tell that they’re fake.
Leo approaches and lifts up a wet paper towel with a questioning lift of his eyebrow. Donnie’s half-listless stare is taken as permission, and Leo kneels down to gently wipe spittle and vomit from his beak and chin. “Are we out of the puke zone?” he asks.
Mikey whirls a glare on him, and Raph knocks the plastic grin right off his face with a smack from his tail.
Leo shakes an exasperated hand. “What??”
“You have to be nice, Leo!” Raph scolds.
“I wasn’t not being nice!”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to be heartless.”
“Since when was I—?”
“No, I’ll show you how it’s done,” Mikey says, barging in next to Leo. He drops his stance to an eye-level crouch and snatches the paper towel from Leo’s hand. He nudges Leo away and turns a smile that’s too worried to be warm towards Donnie. He dabs at his face with the towel. “Hey, Donnie, are you feeling any better?”
The baby voice. From his younger brother. Donnie glares at him through his tears and turns his head away. He hardly cares if his face is clean. His stomach aches. His throat burns, sizzling from the waves of hydrochloric acid that flooded his tubes. But it’s his fault. He couldn’t keep it down. He couldn’t tolerate a rancid smell for more than a minute. His chest squeezes, in a different way from when he was going to puke, to accompany the busted dam of internal scolding that he lapses into— the same routine that comes with any time his disability plans its foot down and forces him to throw fits and tantrums.
“Um…”
“I bet he’s tired,” Raph says. “Throwing up is tough. Overstimulation is rough, and that court’s a lot without rotten leaves. What’s say we go home, and we clean ourselves up? Maybe watch a movie. And Mikey makes soup. What d’ya say to that, Donnie?”
Donnie grumbles. He’d rather they dump him on the bench and leave him to finish up their day. He’d rather not be the reason a rare daytime outing is cancelled because he refuses to grow up and act like the thirteen-year-old he is instead of dissolving into a puddle whenever his picky senses find something tiny to scream and cry at.
(raph and mikey have sensory issues, too, and they never have meltdowns like he does, they never require special treatment, or have gotten places blacklisted due to being unable to handle it)
“I vote yes on his behalf. I’m his twin, I know what he wants.”
Donnie shakes his head. “It’s—” His chest curdles from the act of speaking, and he sucks in a breath through his nose. He bites back tears.
“If you want to say ‘fine’, don’t you dare,” Raph says. “You were literally shaking.”
“And no fancy-ass substitutes for fine.”
“Leo, what’s with the swearing lately?”
“Yeah, we’ll just go home, it’s no biggie,” Mikey says.
“I’m embracing being a teenager. Something you should try more often.”
The frustrated grumble rattles right through Donnie’s body. He jerks to his feet, and Donnie hates the little squeak that slips out. “Let’s just go home. Not another word, Leo.”
“I wasn’t going to—”
“He said not a word. Here, toss this.”
“Wha— oh fine.”
Donnie hides his face the whole trip home, out of protest and to avoid the public humiliation of being a teenager being carried around like child a whole decade younger. He doesn’t even bother trying to request to walk, because that will start a whole thing where they all faceplant to be in service of him because “it’s okay to need help” and “we don’t mind doing things for you” and “you can’t control it”.
He shouldn’t need this. He doesn’t want this. He just wants to be goddamned normal. His family will never understand. And they don’t try because they’re too busy putting bandaids on wounds without washing them out first.
He’s crying again, fantastic. He’s such a goddamn baby.
His brothers run a bath for him when they get back, and cart apparel away to be freed from the stubborn reek of the food court. Begrudgingly, it soothes him to be submerged in the water, and it washes away a lot of the ickiness plaguing him, physically and emotionally. Afterwards, he’s swept into a turtle pile with Jupiter Jim playing on a laptop (dad refused to give up the projector, as he shouldn't, not for donnie’s issues).
The lingering guilt and shame accelerate his family’s love so that it burns, scarring the quiet evening even in the moment. And, as he fears, he overhears a vow to never return to food courts again. As if he hasn’t had more successful encounters with them than bad. But no, he’s been suffering in silence the whole time and didn’t have the heart to tell them, so they’re going to “save him” without his permission.
Curled up in bed, he wastes over an hour of sleep fighting back tears, berating himself for his slip-up; he’s a teenager now, he has to be better. He’s been trying but it’s not enough. He’s still nine years old and crying when faced with the city for the first time. He’s still four years old and shaking through storms as harsh thunder rattles the piping in the sewers. He’s probably doomed to be an issue forever.
He can fix just about anything at this rate, and what he doesn’t know he can figure out and learn, but he doubts he’ll ever be able to fix himself.
He’d give anything to be normal.