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Donatello is not a fighter at heart.
Yes, he’s been raised in a family of ninja, adherent to the training and code of honor and turning out a pretty decent one himself. But while each of his brothers vied for the title of the strongest growing up, Don never participated. Even at a young age, he was pragmatic: one, he knew he was not, and two, he did not want to be. He knew his strengths lay in his curiosity and knowledge, something Splinter too had recognized and nurtured early on, and he was perfectly content with that. Leonardo lives by the way of the warrior, Raphael loves a good rumble, Michelangelo is a gifted athlete, and Donatello prefers a war with words over weapons. It’s the natural order of things.
Which is why, when he realizes his brothers have been very deliberately restrained during a late-night bust on a Foot operation, the gears in Don’s mind start to spin.
Something isn’t right.
Knocking several Foot Ninja to the ground, Don leaps to free Mikey, who’s closest to him, and narrowly misses being beheaded by the calculated swing of a Foot Elite’s ax. His blood runs cold as that very same ax is raised to his helpless brother’s throat, not breaking skin but far too close for comfort.
“Dude, watch where you’re putting that thing!” Mikey yelps.
“Don’t hurt him!” Don shouts, though he knows it falls on deaf ears. He notes the path of the ax is oddly slow, as if the Foot Elite is making a show of it and not intent on following through. No one else is moving, either. His eyes narrow; it doesn’t make any sense. Why aren’t they trying to detain him?
“They will all remain unhurt—as long as you do as I say, Donatello.”
They all know that voice and Don doubts they’ll ever forget it. “Karai,” he acknowledges with contempt, the ruthless destruction of their home fresh in his memory. “What are you doing here?”
“Better yet, why can’t ya just leave us the fuck alone?” Raph snarls, struggling valiantly against his captors. “Whatever it is, Donny, don’t do it!”
“What do you want, Karai?” Leo growls, any vestiges of their previous camaraderie long gone. If looks could kill, Karai would already be seven feet under.
“Donatello will face me in combat.”
“What?”
Don is completely thrown for a loop, as are his brothers, judging from their flabbergasted expressions. This is decidedly, undoubtedly, ninety-nine-point-nine-eight percent not his thing. Did he accidentally hack into a Foot server recently? He doesn’t understand. He isn’t Leo, isn’t the fighter Leo is—shell, he isn’t Raph or Mikey either. Then why him, specifically? Why is he being singled out, when…
Gradually, the pieces begin to click into place, and Don’s eyes widen. The implication is clear.
“Then this is all… a setup,” Don says slowly, hands tightening around his bo. “All of this… just to get us in position. To get me into position.”
“No!” Leo cries in desperation. “Your fight is with me, Karai!”
“Wrong, Leonardo—you all deserve worse than death for what you did to my father!” Karai yells, anguish fracturing her voice. Don almost feels bad; such deep emotion but in such blatant denial of the truth. “Watching your brother suffer and perish at my hands is only the beginning of your purgatory!”
“Sadistic bitch,” Raph hisses, and if Leo hadn’t already murdered Karai with his gaze, Raph would’ve finished the job. “My sais’ve got your purgatory right here!”
“Insult Mistress Karai like that again and I will hasten your journey,” the Foot Elite holding onto Raph says darkly, and Don’s heart leaps into his throat when the blade flashes suddenly in the moonlight and draws a thin line of blood.
“Raph! No!”
Karai holds up a hand and the blade drops in an instant. “As long as they behave and you face me, you have my word that no harm will come to your brothers, Donatello.”
“Oh, yeah, ‘cause your word got us so far last time,” Mikey mutters sarcastically. Don raises an eyebrow ridge, inclined to agree and skeptical as well.
“And if I win?”
“You will not.” The taunting smirk is evident in Karai’s voice, even behind her Shredder helmet.
“Sounds like you don’t know what it’s like to be smacked by two pounds of solid wood, sister,” Mikey comments defiantly. “And you sure as shell are gonna find out!”
Don tries to shoot Mikey a grateful smile, but he feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped over his head. He’s worried about scenarios like this since he was a turtle tot: being targeted for his perceived weakness, but even worse, being used as a pawn to hurt his brothers and then failing them because of his own ineptitude. Karai must have honed in on this, somehow—even with all that has happened between them, Don didn’t think Karai would stoop this low.
Then again, as Master Splinter always says, revenge can tear a person apart.
Despite the adrenaline coursing through his body, an inexplicable, unflappable calm washes over him. His senses feel heightened, narrowing only to Karai in front of him. He may not have the same confidence in himself that Mikey does, but that doesn’t matter—his next move is clear. He’s no pushover; he won’t simply roll over and let Karai do what she wishes. He will protect his brothers—no matter what the cost.
“Donny—”
Whatever Leo sees when Don looks at him stops him. Mikey seems awed, and Raph whistles quietly. Don wonders what he’s done to cause such reactions—and then Leo smiles, pride eclipsing the worry of an older brother.
“We believe in you.”
It’s all he needs to hear. What he lacks in skill, he’ll make up for in intellect, just as he always has—and his mind is already whirring into overdrive.
Karai draws her katana and charges, inhumanely fast as always. Don catches her katana with his bo and grits his teeth as he struggles to overpower her, waiting—
Ever so slightly, Karai’s grip slackens, and Don attacks. He throws all his weight into his bo, the sudden change making her blade slip. He spins into a roundhouse kick, then arcs his bo twice. Only one hit connects, but she’s at bo’s length—right where he wants her.
Now, if my observations are correct …
Don hears the clink of the manriki before he sees it. He blocks it with his bo just in time, saving himself from being impaled. The pronged head thrashes around violently in the air, metal ringing against wood as Don deflects it over and over again. One errant swing scrapes his plastron, but all he notices is the opening it gives him.
Don quickly raises his bo, snagging two of the prongs in the center of the staff. Karai pulls the chain taut, the wood creaking as Don endures for a couple of seconds—then, abruptly, lets go and somersaults into the air. The released resistance force makes Karai stumble, just as he’d predicted—just enough for Don to nail her abdomen with a flying kick and a couple of well-placed punches.
The Shredder helmet clanks across the pavement when Karai’s head hits the ground, coming to rest at a stunned Foot Ninja’s feet.
Distantly, Don hears his brothers cheering, but he doesn’t let himself relax; there’s no way it’s over yet. He doubles back for his bo while Karai shakily gets to her feet, rage rolling off her like a cyclone as she spits blood onto the ground. Don is thankful his perfunctory plan has gotten him to this point, but he knows its time is running out.
“Let go of my brothers, Karai,” Don warns in a low voice, twirling his bo between his fingers.
“I admit I misjudged you, Donatello,” Karai rasps, pure venom. “But that does not mean you can assume to give me orders!”
And now comes the hard part: figuring out how to read a cornered animal.
Karai rushes for him again, somehow even faster than the last. Don raises his bo but it’s delayed—he winces as the blade grazes the side of his neck, a blow that was sure to sever his jugular hadn’t he batted it away in time.
Now, though, his weight is unbalanced. There’s no way Karai doesn’t notice, eyes alight with triumphant fury—
“Don, no!”
“Look out!”
“Donny!”
—plunging her katana deep into his right arm.
Pain explodes through Don’s bicep, overwhelming all of his senses—but his instincts scream even louder. Karai’s right side is completely open. This is his best chance. He has to move, now—
With a swelling roar, Don whirls around, swinging his bo as hard as he can. It’s so fast Karai doesn’t expect it—the wood shatters her blade and smashes into her side with a sickening thud, expelling the air in her lungs. Her body is hurled several feet away and crumples to the pavement, barely moving and wheezing faintly.
“That—” Don asserts, level but no less fierce, “—is for threatening my family!”
Leo, Raph, and Mikey use the shocked silence to their advantage, quickly overpowering their captors and knocking them out before the four break into a sprint across the rooftops. It’s soon evident that they aren’t being followed, but Don isn’t surprised. He knows there’s damage, and the Foot have likely, rightfully, decided that Karai’s prompt medical care outweighs all else.
Still, old habits die hard, and the turtles don’t stop until they’ve put quite a distance between them and the Foot, leaping into an alley a couple blocks away from the reservoir station to rest. Don slumps against the wall, his breathing worn ragged; the adrenaline is beginning to fade and he feels stabs of pain through his arm with every slight movement.
“Donny, you okay?” Leo asks worriedly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Can you make it back?”
Don passes a cursory prodding hand over his bicep before nodding. “Y-yeah. Seems like a clean wound, no metal pieces, and I can still curl my hand into a fist. It’ll need sutures when we get home, but I’ll be fine.” He smiles at Leo, a bit playfully. “It’s delicate work, so that’s all you, Leo.”
“Hey!” Mikey protests in fake offense. “Delicate is my middle name!”
“Really?” Raph says offhandedly. “‘Cause I thought it was dumbass.”
The typical bickering seems to ease the eldest’s mind, and he pulls a length of cloth bandage from his belt. “Alright. Let me at least wrap you up so we don’t leave a blood trail right to our new lair.”
Unexpectedly, Raph and Mikey grow quiet as Leo dresses Don’s wound. Don’s a little confused, wondering what’s wrong as he looks around at each of them. Either he’s lost too much blood, or someone is hiding a mystery injury. He means to ask when Raph suddenly, affectionately rubs the top of his head.
“Fuckin’ hell, Donatello,” Raph says, voice soft and reverent despite his rough words and beaming grin. “Ya sure showed them, bro. That was awesome!”
“Yeah, dude, you were a beast—epic final words and everything!” Mikey exclaims, slinging his arm around Don’s unhurt shoulder. “I didn’t doubt you though! Some nerve Karai has, underestimating our badass brainiac like that.”
For once, Leo doesn’t correct either of their language. “Yeah, I’ve never seen you fight like that,” he echoes, equally proud and in awe as he regards Don. “Your instinct, your discipline, your execution—it was masterful. That was amazing, Donny.”
Despite the blood loss, Don feels himself blush at all the praise. Needless to say, he isn’t used to it in this particular area. “Thanks, guys, really, but I just did what I had to,” he replies earnestly. “I don’t know how I got there, or how to explain it, but… I just couldn’t lose.”
“Well, ya got this look,” Raph remarks, folding his arms. “Leo an’ Mikey saw it too, like a switch flipped in that big brain of yours. It was different than when we mess with shit in your lab—scarier than that, if I’m bein’ honest.”
“Yeah, man, I’m glad you’re on our side,” Mikey adds, carefully snuggling his older brother. “That was when we knew you were gonna fuck shit up, à la Raphael.”
“Michelangelo.”
“Hey, how come you always scold me when Raphie’s got the worst potty mouth?” Mikey huffs at Leo.
“Because Raphael is already incorrigible.”
“Damn straight,” Raph grunts in agreement. Their eldest brother’s disappointment is betrayed only by the imperceptible wrinkle of his nose, and the other three burst into laughter. It floods Don’s system like a strong dose of morphine—endogenous endorphins, he reminds himself—and he’s incredibly grateful for the strength that crowned him victorious against all odds tonight.
“Well, whatever that was… I’m just glad we’re all okay.” Feebly but protectively, Don pulls Mikey closer with his uninjured arm. “I wasn’t going to let Karai hurt our family again.”
There’s a solemn nod of mutual understanding around the group. Leo finally ties off the bandage and rubs the top of Don’s head with a smile. “And you protected us well, with incredible strength and honor. I’m proud of you, Donatello.”
Don smiles bashfully, bowing his head. “Thanks, Leo.”
“And Karai sure as shell paid for it, too.” Mikey mimics swinging Don’s bo. “Like I said, two pounds of solid wood to the gut and kaput! There go your insides!”
“Well… kind of,” Don starts, unable to help himself even in weakness. “I struck closer to the thoracic cavity than the abdominal cavity. My guess is superficial bruising with multiple rib fractures at best, pneumothorax at worst. That’s why I don’t think the Foot will try chasing us.”
“New-mo-whatta-whatta?”
“Pneu-mo-tho-rax. Abnormal accumulation of air in the pleural space often accompanied by a collapsed lung, secondary to chest trauma.”
His brothers only stare back at him with expressions of mild horror, to which Don hurriedly clarifies, “At worst! I said, at worst!”
“Damn.” Mikey whistles. “Remind me to never get on your bad side, dude.”
“Don did what was necessary in the moment,” Leo states with his end-of-discussion leader voice, addressing the three of them. “Let’s head back so we can get his arm properly patched up. We’re going to take the streets; I know the Foot probably won’t follow us, but stay on your guard. Raph, you carry Don; I’ll watch your back. Mikey, you’re up front with the bo staff.”
“Promise I’ll take good care of it,” Mikey chirps, quickly sliding the worn weapon out from its holster. “I don’t have any glue on me this time!”
“You’d better not, Mikey,” Don says, but it comes out more tired than he intended.
Gently, Raph lifts Don into his arms, mindful of keeping his unhurt side towards his plastron. “I got ya, genius—just hold on.”
Don nods, looping his unhurt arm around Raph’s neck. For once, he’s grateful for the delicate handling. “Thanks, Raphie.”
Raph shakes his head, letting the childhood nickname slip. “The only one we should be thankin’ tonight is you, Donny boy.”
Warm, Don rests his head against Raph's chest and closes his eyes.
He supposes weakness is only relative anyway.