More Than Just One

Chapter 10

By the way, I despise 2012 April so if that comes through here, don't blame me

Day one~
"Yeesh."

Raph looked up from his paper. He was colouring with Mikey and Michel. Splints had just come out of the dojo, one hand rubbing his head.

"How was it, Pops?" Raph asked, making room for his father.

"You have one stoic father," Splints said to Michel, sitting down with a groan. "He put training above his sons having a childhood."

Raph hummed, "That'll do it. No wonder his kids are so..."

"Traumatized?" Mikey supplied.

"Not quite," Raph hummed. "Hurt?"

Splints waved his hand, "Whatever it is, the constant training does not help."

"Leo and Raphael usually compete for Sensei's attention," Michel said offhandedly. He capped his blue marker and switched to a red one. "Donnie and I usually end up in his lab after training. I colour while he works on his tech stuff. Raphael and Leo keep sparring."

Mikey sighed, "You all need to learn how to be a family."

Michel laughed weakly, "You don't say."

Just then, Raphael sat beside Michel. His head was bowed as he grabbed a sheet of paper and a red crayon. He started to colour under the stares of the other turtles.

"Thank you for joining us," Mikey—really, it was Dr. Feelings—said calmly.

They all coloured together in silence. Eventually, even Leo and Leon joined. They accommodated by moving to the kitchen. Coloured pencils, markers, crayons, blank sheets of paper, colouring pages, and stencils covered the table. There really wasn't anything to say. Those who wanted music wore their own headphones, those who didn't listened to the sounds of pencil-on-paper. Donnie and Don joined as well. Don tinkered with his bō staff. Donnie coloured. Splints drew as well as he could. Master Splinter had even come out to sit and drink his tea. It felt so serene.

After a while, Mikey and Michel started to cook. Conversation bounced between them, spreading slowly to the other mutants. It was all quiet, like if they talked too loud, the little charade would break.

Raphael would storm out angrily. Donnie would hide away in his lab again. Leo would shout some nonsense about Raphael being stubborn. Michel would try and keep the peace. Raphael would yell back from the living room. Master Splinter would leave again.

So, they kept it hushed.

Supper was served. Homemade pizza with fresh salad. They ate, cleaned up, and waited for the Aprils to come back from their meeting. They had agreed to meet in a café then walk to the sewers together. For now, the two families sat in the living room. The knockoff of Jupiter Jim played quietly, the Mikeys continued to draw, and Raph had Mikey on his lap. The Leos watched the television, enraptured. Raphael fed Spike while reading a comic. Don tinkered with his bō and Donnie typed away on his computer.

Raph scanned the room, his eyes catching on Don rolling his shoulders.

"You should take it off, Don," Raph said quietly.

Don shook his head, not lifting his gaze.

"You've been wearing it for at least a week straight," Raph scolded gently. "You can go to the lab, but I don't want your shoulders being all tense again. You know the kind of pain it causes when you wear it too long."

Don was quiet, but his hands had stopped.

Raph nodded, "I'm going to take Don to the lab." He stood up with a grunt. Don slowly followed, keeping his head down.

His eyes were open fully and darted around, but nothing seemed to be registering behind them.

Raph led Don to the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

"Can I touch you?" Raph asked, walking up to his brother.

Don took a second before shaking his head. He tapped on his communicator shakily and the purple armour over his shell detached. Making sure not to touch Don, Raph picked up the tech and put it gently on a nearby table.

"Is your shell doing okay?" Raph asked, giving a quick scan over the sandy-green carapace. Light scars made themselves seen on the bumpy, leathery surface.

Don gave a nod in response. He cracked his knuckles and rubbed at his skin.

Raph didn't know what had caused it, but he would take care of his brother during his periods of overstimulation. Maybe it was understimulation—given the way Don felt over the metal of his communicator and his green skin.

"Do you need to be alone?" Raph asked. Sure, the snapper hated being alone, but others needed that time—Don in particular. Too many people too often usually resulted in an overwhelmed, overstimulated turtle.

Perks of autism.

Don shook his head.

"Do you want to sit in the living room?"

After a few, long moments, Don nodded.

"You know you can always leave."

Don nodded again.

In the living room, everyone barely cast a glance at Don's softshell. Everyone but Raphael. He stared, intrigued. Raph did his best to block the softshell from his counterpart's gaze without touching him.

"Ah, Donatello," Master Splinter said smoothly. "What has happened to your shell?"

Don shook his head.

"Are you not feeling well?"

"Nah," Leon answered. "He's okay, just needs quiet. And for Raphael to stop staring."

The smaller turtle snapped his gaze to his comic book.

"His shell's fine," Mikey said with a smile. "Can we tell them?"

Don nodded robotically.

"He's a softshell," Leon explained. "No scutes like we have. He built his own shell—pretty rad, huh?"

Mikey nodded happily in agreement, "I'm a box turtle!"

"Red-eared slider," Leon said.

"Snapper," Raph added.

"How interesting," Master Splinter hummed. "I believe all of my sons are the same breed, though I do not know which."

"Red-eared sliders," Donnie said simply. "But that's just from a hypothesis. I haven't tested it. Our reptilian habits coincide the most with their behaviour."

Leon grinned.

Maybe an hour later, the Aprils came home. Don didn't pay too much attention, but he did notice the stark difference between the humans. This universe's April was ginger and pale. She was a touch shorter, but that may have been from her slightly-platformed shoes.

Don just focused on making it so he could talk again.

"Is he okay?" This universe's April aked.

O'Neil—Don's April—hummed, "He probably will be. Probably overwhelmed."

Quickly and as slyly as possible, Don flipped on his headphones. He made sure they were noise-cancelling when he made them and triple-checked no noise escaped from them—no matter how loud. So, he cranked up his electro-EDM and let the world drain away.

Each rapid beat of the music made his heart beat in time. Each note made calmness pulse through him. Each electronic instrument, singing in harmony, made him relax.

His brain was finally off. No more swirling thoughts. No more having to think about the lyrics. No more tornados of ideas and worries.

Just one train of thought, the rest drowned out by music.

It made his shoulders sag.