Chapter Text
But I don’t see.
He wasn’t exactly sure what was happening to him. Forces pulling and twisting his very being apart in a matter of milliseconds. Fingers digging into every fibre of him and ripping with all their might, splitting his brain down the middle. Halving and halving and halving until there was nothing left.
Democritus’ theory states that if you divide a piece of matter in two over and over again, eventually, you would reach a point where the piece could no longer get any smaller. This is what led him to the idea of atomos, or atoms.
Donnie’s theory is that was what was happening to him at this very moment. That his friend was tearing him apart, down to the very atoms that make him up.
There was a ringing in his ears, not like a siren’s, or the lair’s security alarm, but a high pitched, monotone whining that made his head hurt.
His head…Aching and thumping like a drum. He wasn’t sure how this sort of pain came to be, but whatever it was made him want to claw at himself until nothing remained. Struggle and fight to just make it stop.
And as it fades, more sounds crowd his head. The wind howling and crying in the night sky, screams or terror from below, lightning. Car horns from the street, tree branches knocking together. A trash can rolling over.
And I don’t feel.
“APRIL!” Her name felt like spice on his tongue. Burning, searing.
Then…It stopped.
Peace. Tranquility. An underwhelming quiet.
Like the sound of the lair at night, once his brothers and father had gone to sleep. Or the silence after a successful patrol. Or after he lulls Casey to sleep when he visits Dee’s lab at four in the morning.
Donnie bathes in the feeling. The comforting embrace of this stillness a warm blanket in the cold, unforgiving New York backdrop.
But tightly hold up silently.
Despite the fact that he was raised in the air, Donnie had the sudden sensation of falling. At a speed he couldn’t even comprehend. But he didn’t hit the ground. No sickening crack of his shell, or dull thud of his body. Just an endless free fall that had an odd sort of contentment about it.
My hands before my fading eyes.
His vision began to smear. The red hair was disintegrating right in front of him–No– he was disintegrating. Looking down at himself, he watched as he began to fade. Like a decades old painting.
Pressure began to build up within him. A balloon inflating within him, stretching him out and expanding his body until—
He felt himself explode outwards, molecules of him scattering around the darkened streets like dust.
That was all he was now. Small, meaningless particles that got swept away by the wind.
He still feels it. The agony. Not just from him, but from his friends, his brothers, Casey. Their horror and fear mingling with his pain and settling over the night. What were they thinking?
Were they mad at April? Donnie? Themselves?
Donnie prayed to whatever deity was there above that they would not blame themselves. Or April for that matter. It was the Aeon’s fault. It was the one who was possessing April, corrupting her through that stupid crystal that they were all trying to separate from her.
And in my eyes
All he could think about was them. His brothers. Who he would never see again.
Your smile.
Casey.
His stupid cave mouth that beams when he stumbles into Donnie’s lab. The creases in his deep brown eyes whenever he grins.
Panic floods his senses. Drowning him. He tries and tries to reach out for him, for anyone but they seem to be hundreds of miles away, yet right in his line of sight. So close that he can hear them. Their irregular breathing, their choked sobs, their gasps and tears.
Any sentence Donnie tried to speak didn’t quite reach the air. His voice didn’t work.
Like a tree falling in the forest.
Something had then dawned on him.
His time was up.
His clock had stopped and he couldn’t do a thing about it.
But this couldn’t be it, could it? He couldn’t die like this. No, he was supposed to die once he had finished his duty. Not just as a ninja, but as a brother, as a partner.
He was supposed to die later, in old age. Perhaps by a disease, or maybe whilst protecting his loved one but not like this.
His entire existence was gone within a fraction of a second. By a single gesture.
He didn’t have time to say goodbye. And it was suffocating.
He just wanted to say goodbye.
The very last thing before I go.
He needed to leave a note, a message, anything to them.
The very last thing before I go,
His business was unfinished. He needed to–
…
Everything went still. Frozen in time. All he could feel was the pure, uncensored pain that his friends were feeling.
Donnie had read about grief. He had felt it before. For Splinter, Fugitioid, Metalhead…Whenever Donnie was feeling grief, he shut it down. Oppressing it into a small box deep inside of him until one of his brothers pushed him too far, causing it to spring open and spill out in an ugly, messy way.
For he has no time to dwell on his own, pathetic feelings. He has stuff to get done and he swears on the heavens above that he will finish it.
The very last thing before I go,
How can Donnie die like this? Everything that made him up, his time in life, his memories, thoughts, feelings, all meaningless in the hands of this Aeon.
He knew he was limited. Physically, he was the weakest. Emotionally, he was horrible.
But in this very moment, Donnie felt omnipotent. He could do anything yet nothing at the same time. An overwhelming blend of boiling hot rage and freezing cold fear, scolding and strangling him until he felt like all the oxygen inside of him had suddenly disappeared.
If he had a body to cry in, he would.
For he just needed some more time. To do anything.
To some extent, Donatello Hamato feared Death.
Unfortunately, Donnie realised he didn't have time for fear.
For it was upon him like a predator. Something Donnie had been afraid of. That his time would be up without warning. He was a scientist, he valued extensive research, preparation and instructions before an experiment.
Endless lists of his unfinished projects flashed through his mind. Conversations left hanging between his family. Training courses he has yet to finish.
But his fate was sealed. The pendulum slowed to a stop, and the last chime of his perfectly-polished bell rung out menacingly.
Donatello Hamato was dead.