Donatello woke up slowly, consciousness trudging itself through his system groggily. He hadn't felt this warm or comfortable in around twenty years, which automatically made him more alert. He sat up, before the memories came back to him, some foggy but manageable. He sat back down, a sigh escaping him as he tried to relax back into the cot supporting him.
"Wake up." A very recognizable voice demanded from beside him, causing Donatello to crack an eye open to peek curiously at his side. He came face-to-face with himself, though younger, blinking at him scrutinizingly.
"I have questions." Donatello's younger self states plainly. He huffs and raises a finger to pause the younger softshell's speaking.
"First things first, mini-me, naming arrangements." The teenager face-palms.
"I should've thought about that."
"Technically, you did."
"Shut. Anyways. How do you wanna do this? Should we color-code? Nicknames?" Donatello takes a second to think about it, joined in thought by the smaller him.
"I could just use our full name if that works." He offers, although the tone was tacked on subconsciously.
"Ah, good, and I can just stick to Donnie. Now can I please ask you the questions I had." Donnie continues, short of demanding. He's shaking, Donatello notices, and a closer inspection shows that Donnie is actually tapping his feet rapidly, no doubt impatient. To drag out the inevitable, Donatello scoots so that his younger self has a little bit of space to sit down. Donnie gets comfortable next to his older self, sitting cross-legged on the cot.
"Hit me with your best shot." Donatello says, more confident than he feels.
"Perfect. First on the list, how do you have hair? I've been theorizing but I want to know exactly why."
Slightly comforted by the fact he wasn't going to be immediately interrogated about the future, Donatello explains. "You already know that Splinter used to be a human, obviously, and that Draxum mutated us using his DNA. So since turtles don't naturally grow hair, and it usually ends up being moss, which is yuck, I ended up with this glorious mess of hair that I wouldn't trade for anything because of dear ol' papa."
Donnie pumps a fist in the air. "I knew it!" He cheers. "Okay, second question. What's our tech like in the future? What are we working with?"
Donatello shudders discreetly. "Kraang tech is what we got. We also use scrap metal we can scrounge from trades. The material is good, but I don't have the tools to make everything perfect. Also, fun fact, Kraang tech is a thousand times more likely to explode and kill you if you make a wrong move. Do with that as you please." Donatello tries to nonchalantly remove his glasses to clean the lenses, realizing a moment too late his nervous hand has nothing to clean them with. Donnie side-eyes the glasses.
"Yikes. You tape those to your head?"
"Yup. Ain't got any ears for them to sit on."
"Well obviously. But why not tie them to your head? Like the glasses babies use, or something like librarians have, where they're like necklaces and then they clip together." The teenager points out. Donatello blinks, taking a moment longer than normal to process what he heard.
"Would that be more convenient?" He asks. Donnie shrugs.
"Only one way to find out. Gimme them." And without warning, Donnie leans over and snatches the glasses out of Donatello's, admittedly loose, grip.
"Hey–" "Don't worry, I'll give them back. Anyways, third question. That blue fabric on your wrist, that's Leo's mask, isn't it?" The blank tone made Donatello pause, and he unthinkingly held his arm closer to himself. The mask suddenly felt unbearable from where it rested.
YOU ARE READING
Crestfallen at The End of The World
Fanfiction"But at least we can restart?" - At the tender age of sixteen, Hamato Donatello was trapped in a new circle of Hell, along with everyone else. Thank you, Kraang, he thought sarcastically. It was an accident. That's how it started. It was no one's fa...
