I Have To Feel, But I Can't. Tmnt 2014 OneShot

I Have To Feel, But I Can't

From Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2014.
Set post-Shredder falling off the spire. (When the turtles return to the lair.)
I Have To Feel, But I Can't. By Aoifetello.

When loosing someone, what does one really feel? Pain? Or emptiness?

Many debate which one is worse, even if they've only experienced one of the feelings.

Is it the feeling of pain that scorches inside of you and has burned a permanent scar on the delicate matter that is your brain, or the hollow feeling of not feeling at all which is worse? The feeling that because you feel nothing, that no emotion is driving you to think about the traumatic event that left you this way, leaves you feeling inhuman, like an empty shell or robotic figure that hasn't the capacity to feel anymore.

Donatello never thought the emptiness would torture the way it did. He felt like his heart was begging to screech and cry like Michelangelo did, or scream and go in to a fit of rage like Raphael did. Even to be like Leonardo, who was quietly drowning in his sadness, was better than this. Donatello wished he could feel something. Anything.

Master Splinter had died at his hands, Donatello knew that. He wanted to feel the guilt that he should be feeling, he wanted to feel furious that he couldn't feel the guilt and most of all, Donatello wished he could get pissed when his brothers insisted it wasn't his fault.

Of course it was his fault. Why were they so blind? Donatello thought that because of their grief they would blame him either way, wether he fought for all he was worth to save their father or took out a blade and stabbed Splinter in front of them. He always expected the blame and because he wasn't getting it it was driving him mad.

Why wasn't Raphael glaring at him with a murderous look in his eye? He should be. He was there when the line of the heart monitor went dead and within minutes Donatello had accepted Splinter's death with a step back from the table, too shocked to comprehend what was really happening.

Donatello wished he could break down like he had when he'd given up. He felt so much pain, like his heart was being ripped out of his chest and he couldn't sob loud enough, or hard enough and his throat had strained over the noises he'd made. He'd screeched and screamed when Raphael forcibly yanked him away from the table where their sensei laid and carried him back to their room. Raphael had sat for hours with him until he'd calmed down but cried himself to sleep.

Why couldn't he feel that pain now? Why couldn't he screech and feel the emotion behind it? Had someone actually taken his heart that day? No. A part of him died that day, died with Master Splinter and withered away into dust and blew away in the breeze.

Now he had be-friended the corner of their shared room and sat in it for hours on end, trying to make himself feel again. He ignored his brother's worried expressions when they looked at him. Why did they look at him like that? Did they realise how inhuman he'd become?

It was when one day Raph had came in and sat down behind him, literally cornering him in his usual spot and asked him if he was okay. Raphael's voice was so very out of character and filled to the brim with pity that Donatello felt something inside him snap, and every emotion he'd wished he felt came surging into him and it was far too much.

He screamed himself hoarse with the pain he felt. He cried himself dry with the grief that swallowed him whole. It wasn't even the sorrow that tested Donatello's sanity, but the guilt and the anger was driving him so very far away from the edge that held his crumbling sanity together and to the line of insanity that welcomed him with open arms.

It was so much easier to accept losing his mind. So blissfully peaceful to run away from the awful reality and accept a new world full of happiness. It was a blessing, a miracle. If only he'd kept his mind a little bit longer, then maybe there would have been hope for him to actually recover. Maybe.

His brothers had never been more scared than they were when they realized Donatello had lost it. Mikey was the first to notice that he was grinning like a mad man as he stared at nothing. He announced his concerns to Leonardo, who felt his heart stop when he seen Mikey was indeed right about Donnie.

Raphael had taken it the worst. He screeched and went in to a fit of rage down a sewer tunnel and didn't return for hours. Not only did he grieve about Master Splinter, but he grieved for Donatello. He'd lost his father and now he'd basically lost his tech-savy brother.

For a while, crazy Donnie wasn't so bad. Mikey found some comfort in the things he'd come out with, such as statements like, 'Why'd you paint your face orange?' And 'I'VE GONE BLIND!' when he forgot to put on his glasses.

In reality Donatello's mind had rejected the intimate future, anything to do with Splinter, and slowly his brilliant mind tucked away in to a secret part of his brain, hiding in an unstable compartment that was dangerous to touch without unleashing the pain and emotions aching to be free. The pain that demanded to be felt.

Raphael couldn't stand that Donatello was deteriorating so quickly. He'd knew his brother was having an enormous internal battle when Splinter passed, but ever since he'd asked if he was okay Donatello hadn't been the same.

It was when one day Donatello asked him what a piece of paper was, when Raphael snapped. He'd yelled out and in the spur of the moment curled his right hand in to a fist and hit his purple-clad brother. In the split second his fist collided with Donatello, Raphael instantly regretted it.

Why he hit his brother, Raphael didn't know, but what he did know was the guilt stabbed his heart the second he did. Donatello was innocent in this all, the poor soul had lost his mind for God's sake and Raphael had punched him over a simple question.

"Don... Are you okay?"

The ticking time bomb inside Donatello exploded, exploded like a volcano that was building higher and higher since his mind temporarily shut down. The scream he emitted was full of pain, but why couldn't he scream loud enough?

Pain this intense deserved a scream that deafened those around him. Deserved to be heard by all of New York City. While Donatello poured his heart in to delivering the blood curdling scream that cut his throat raw, everything rushed back to him in an intense wave of anguish and hurt.

They say only time can heal a broken heart, or help us get over grief...

But what if time increasing only makes it worse?

The End.