The scene is the first sewer lair for the turtles. Their first home, but its utterly ruined. Holes busted through the walls, the floor a torn up mess, it seems like most anything and everything has been utterly torn apart.
Donnie is standing down one of the side tunnels that lead toward the water system of the sewer, versus their defunct work area.
"Bed just activated when everything started shaking," A fish woman said. "He wouldn't let me out until they left."
Donnie nodded, his emotions are fairly muted. He's tired. Focused on working. However, there is some measure of relief. "Well, that is what he was designed to do. I'm glad you two were safe," he said and paused. "Thank you, Piedbald. For keeping him safe after the fact."
Piebald looks amused. "Only you would thank someone for protecting your security system."
Donnie huffed. "You know he isn't simply that," he said. "...and apologies. For not coming to check on you immediately after. I swear, its not another flush incident."
Piebald rolls her eyes. "I picked that up with the whole world ending threat part. You guys had a lot on your plate."
It was true. Donnie hadn't even considered PSDD until they had gotten to the lair to see what they could salvage. There had just been...too much. Still, the relief is real that he's fine. He imagines it'll be stronger when he feels less exhausted. His hands still feel buzzy from using mystic powers for the first time.
Was he a bad father? He may be, but...but PSDD was fine. He was fine, so it was just a mistake. Nothing so serious. He will make it up to him later.
Donnie shook his head.
"You'll be pleased to know our new location has plenty of places that are within easy family visitation distance, but still affords you the space you prefer. The subway has a path right to the sewer that has several alcoves that would make a good room, or you can select a subway car, though it would take some modification to get the water there."
"Focus on moving your stuff first, Egghead. I'm fine where I am," Piebald said, looking up as Mikey called for help to get something underwater. "I'll get Orange, you got the lab."
Donnie nodded. It was a good point and he didn't like breathing the sewer water if he could avoid it anyway.
And well.
His lab was the most important to salvage what he could. The more he could get, the more he could make their new home safe. Now that he was sure the place wasn't going to fall down on them at any moment, he needed to turn his attention on that.
He grabbed the car battery as he headed up to the lab. He grimaced at the state of the place, feeling an inching under his skin to go with the buzzing. Seeing his lab, his haven, in such a state ramped up his anxiety and stress. It looked like two bulldozers had gone through the place (which was technically the case), broken machines everywhere and a massive hole in the floor and wall. He moved along the wall, until he found one of the side panels that looked relatively intact, prying open the warped metal so he could attach the car battery to the system.
Its a few minutes of work, but soon, red lights are turning on in the lab and he lets out a soft breath. Good, he can still get power through his lab. He shouldn't keep it online long, there was undoubtedly shorts, but he could at least get inventory of what is and is not worth trying to salvage.
"SHELLDON, wakey wakey, eggs and bakey," he called. "I need a status update."
He waits for several beats, but there is no response.
He frowned. "SHELLDON, good evening." Nothing. "SHELLDON, what's up?" Silence. "SHELLDON, tell me why I should not murder my brethren?" Still not a beep. "SHELLDON, respond." Not a bit of static. "SHELLDON, priority code Bootyshaker9000, respond."
His hands start to shake as the only sound that fills the lab is the faint hum of electricity.
"SHELLDON, final code, Ilovemyyyfamily with three y's. Override all emergency protocols, respond in any perceivable way!" Donnie shouted, head whipping around as he looked for something, anything. A buzz of static, a flickering light, a shift of machinery.
Nothing.
If he was able, that final code would make him do it. It was only a code for when he absolutely needed SHELLDON to do something, it was meant to be a safety, to make sure he absolutely listened when he needed to. It had been the only time he used the code since testing.
And it didn't do its job.
His eyes stung, his breathing getting a little too quick. "He might be cut off. The bluetooth could be wrecked," he told himself, even as he quickly moved through the destroyed state of his lab, moving to where his servers were. Trying to avoid thinking about how wrecked the servers were, even from this distance, unwilling to think of what it could mean.
The mystic buzzes under his skin, purple metal arms extending out from his back (spidershell already destroyed earlier, in pieces in the lab.) He needed to check the server, he needed to see memory storage cards, metal hands starting to tug and pull everything apart with his hands. The rest of the set up didn't matter, it didn't matter, all that mattered was the memory, he could fix the rest later.
He pulls out several cards, the dread and horror building with each one as he sees the damage, each one fried, his entire system went up in smoke during the attack.
All his systems connected to the lair were useless. Nothing was automated. Nothing had the memory to function.
SHELLDON was-
"No. No, no, he would have known it was critical," he told himself, feeling the stinging in his eyes, and he turned to the room at large. "The drone can support him. He just hasn't been able to charge. He would have shut down at one percent power. The microphone is probably just broken. That's reasonable. That is a perfectly logical and reasonable outcome."
He just had to find the drone.
All thought of care was shoved aside. If the object wasn't the drone, he didn't care. It didn't matter. It was secondary.
The longer he looked, the farther secondary became, throwing parts away, digging through the scrap, uncaring as metal cut into his arms, as the buzzing under his skin increased, he just had to find SHELLDON. He had to find him, he had to find him, he had to find him.
The yawning pit of nothing grew inside him, a pit he did not want to go down, because he knew what was down there and he didn't want it.
Until he finally shoves aside one of the broken down charging stations and-
"SHELLDON!" He shouted, relief flooding his system as he finds him, shoving away debris, clearing it away until he see all of him, and what little relief there was disappeared into that void inside.
SHELLDON has combined with one of his battlehshells to form a battlebot.
"Oh," Donnie breathed.
SHELLDON had fought to defend their home.
And now he lay in pieces, partially exploded, metal ripped apart from the inside out, mixed with cleanly sliced metal from the Shredder.
He had fought for them, but that was to be expected. Beyond his design, SHELLDON loved them.
Had-
No, no, its not-he's not past tense, he was just damaged, he was just damaged.
His hands shook as he reached for the drone, and he grits his teeth. He punches the floor, feels the pain radiate up his arm, and forced himself to be steady as he reached for the drone again. Carefully dislodging him the battleshell, metal squeaking and grinding unpleasantly as Donnie pulls him close. Metal arms reaching for tools scattered around the lab as he works to open up-
Open up his son.
His son he didn't think about as they ran away. Who he didn't immediately come back to retrieve when he should have been one of his first thoughts. He was supposed to be better than this, he was supposed to be better, he had wanted to be a good parent for SHELLDON and PSDD, but PSDD was fine, and SHELLDON will be fine, he just has to retrieve his memory and he could make him a brand new body, it would only take a day or two, he would be fine, he would be fine, he would be fine-
Donnie froze as he finally revealed SHELLDON's inner workings, his eyes drawn to the chip.
Such a small thing. A mix of metal and plastic, not even as heavy as a baseball, and it could contain an entire person on it.
His family's smart lair, helping make their lives easier.
His family's security guard, who kept them alerted and safe.
Another brother for his brothers.
His creation, that had started as such a simple idea, but grew more and more in ways he didn't even conceive of when he started.
His son.
All that contained on a bit of metal and plastic.
That was damaged.
Donnie was swallowed into the void, his vision swimming as he finds he can't look away, water starting to trail down his face as he feels himself consumed in feelings far too great for him to even hope to articulate.
He couldn't have been sitting there for ten seconds, or ten hours. He doesn't know. He can't think. He can barely breathe.
He had wanted to be a good father. He had wanted to be good for him. He should have taken care of him. He should have been here as soon as Shredder was defeated. What if he had been fine then, what if something had fallen and broken him more because he delayed. He was supposed to be better than this. Mistakes were expected, but he should have had the chance to make up for it, to give a being with such a weird existence the assurance he was loved and cared for and had a father who would always keep trying.
His delay should have been a mistake he would repent for.
But he couldn't repent for the dead.
Would SHELLDON even be able to join the Hamato?
Would he...would he ever be able to apologize for failing him so spectacularly?
"Purple? What's wrong, my son?"
Donnie looked up to see his father approaching, concern on his face.
"Papa," Donnie said, voice barely above a whisper. "SHELLDON, he-"
And suddenly, Donnie wasn't in the void, or lost in a deep pit.
Instead, he was on the ground as an entire mountain was dropped on top of him, as a sob ripped itself from his throat.
Immediately, Splinter crossed the room, catching Donnie as he collapsed forward, one hand ripping onto the remains of his child, his other hand gripping onto the front of Splinter's robe as the every emotion that threatened to choke the air of his lungs instead forced themselves out into pained wailing. Broken words and apologies for ears that won't hear him, for someone who can't forgive him, because he's gone, because he wasn't good enough, until the words get lodged in his throat, devolving into distressed chirps.
Ultimately, Donnie doesn't know if any of his family truly understood the depth of the relationship between him and SHELLDON, save for Mikey. If they thought he was just being weird when he called PSDD son or treated SHELLDON like an unruly teenager. He certainly wouldn't be surprised if Splinter hadn't realized how much SHELLDON was like a child to him. Splinter had never been the best at gauging their emotional states.
But his father was trying now more than ever and Donnie is grateful for it, because he is pretty sure if his father wasn't holding him as tightly as he was in this moment, he would just shake to pieces and never put himself back together again.
He doesn't know how long they were like that. He doesn't know if the others saw and dad just shooed them away or if the time has been so short they haven't noticed their absence.
Eventually, he can no longer cry. His head is ringing, all his energy is gone, and he can only remain slumped against soft fur and a hand that gently rubs the back of his head, an surprisingly strong spindly arm holding him close.
Its been a long time since his father had held him like that.
He wishes he could hold SHELLDON like that, tell him how brave he was, how sorry he was.
"How bad bad is he hurt?" Splinter asked softly.
"Memory damaged," Donnie said, voice rough, words stuttery, still wanting to catch in his throat despite how short the phrase was. "Death." Memory is death for a computer.
"Are you certain you can't repair him?" Splinter asked. "You have done wonders before. Are you certain?"
Donnie doesn't answer right away. It would be easier to sign. But that meant letting go of his father or SHELLDON and he simply did not have the strength to do so. He tries to think of the question. The chip was not fried, the damage was external. It wasn't fully damaged.
But-
"Not all. Of him," he said. At best. At best, some of SHELLDON would be lost. He would not be the same.
"We are all changed by injury and trauma. Even if he's different, it will still be him, will it not?" Splinter asked. Obviously understanding that Donnie's grief was real, though uncertain how exactly the machine works in this case.
Donnie appreciates him trying all the same, for as little as he can feel.
He thinks about it, really thinks about it. If he had coded SHELLDON entirely, made him all who he was, losing a chunk of him would make him a different person entirely, but...but SHELLDON was his son instead of his tech because he wasn't just his programming.
He never did figure out what it was he did, that caused the growth in his programming. Why he could resist the rules in his code, why he could change the way he does. He didn't figure it out in SHELLDON, PSDD, or Albearito.
It just...
Happened.
And was that not what made SHELLDON a person versus just a thing he made?
Even if...even if he lost parts of SHELDON, if at least that part remained...
"...maybe," Donnie said quietly.
"Then...let yourself hope. I know it will hurt, Donatello, but that is part of having a child. To hope you will help when they need you most," he said, gentle and soothing, and Donnie feels a well of pained affection.
His father understood.
"Don't give up on him just yet."
Donnie chirped and whimpered, before nodding against Splinter shoulder. He would try. He would hope. Just a little longer.
"Good. You will save him. You are more than capable," his father said. "And I will be here until you're ready to try."
Donnie let out a broken laugh. Reminded that while Splinter was not always good at gauging their emotional needs...
When he knew he was needed, he was really quite good at it.
For now, he holds onto tight, taking in the support until he could put himself together again, to hope, and try to do the same for SHELLDON.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Final fricking ROBBED me of this
Donnie is standing down one of the side tunnels that lead toward the water system of the sewer, versus their defunct work area.
"Bed just activated when everything started shaking," A fish woman said. "He wouldn't let me out until they left."
Donnie nodded, his emotions are fairly muted. He's tired. Focused on working. However, there is some measure of relief. "Well, that is what he was designed to do. I'm glad you two were safe," he said and paused. "Thank you, Piedbald. For keeping him safe after the fact."
Piebald looks amused. "Only you would thank someone for protecting your security system."
Donnie huffed. "You know he isn't simply that," he said. "...and apologies. For not coming to check on you immediately after. I swear, its not another flush incident."
Piebald rolls her eyes. "I picked that up with the whole world ending threat part. You guys had a lot on your plate."
It was true. Donnie hadn't even considered PSDD until they had gotten to the lair to see what they could salvage. There had just been...too much. Still, the relief is real that he's fine. He imagines it'll be stronger when he feels less exhausted. His hands still feel buzzy from using mystic powers for the first time.
Was he a bad father? He may be, but...but PSDD was fine. He was fine, so it was just a mistake. Nothing so serious. He will make it up to him later.
Donnie shook his head.
"You'll be pleased to know our new location has plenty of places that are within easy family visitation distance, but still affords you the space you prefer. The subway has a path right to the sewer that has several alcoves that would make a good room, or you can select a subway car, though it would take some modification to get the water there."
"Focus on moving your stuff first, Egghead. I'm fine where I am," Piebald said, looking up as Mikey called for help to get something underwater. "I'll get Orange, you got the lab."
Donnie nodded. It was a good point and he didn't like breathing the sewer water if he could avoid it anyway.
And well.
His lab was the most important to salvage what he could. The more he could get, the more he could make their new home safe. Now that he was sure the place wasn't going to fall down on them at any moment, he needed to turn his attention on that.
He grabbed the car battery as he headed up to the lab. He grimaced at the state of the place, feeling an inching under his skin to go with the buzzing. Seeing his lab, his haven, in such a state ramped up his anxiety and stress. It looked like two bulldozers had gone through the place (which was technically the case), broken machines everywhere and a massive hole in the floor and wall. He moved along the wall, until he found one of the side panels that looked relatively intact, prying open the warped metal so he could attach the car battery to the system.
Its a few minutes of work, but soon, red lights are turning on in the lab and he lets out a soft breath. Good, he can still get power through his lab. He shouldn't keep it online long, there was undoubtedly shorts, but he could at least get inventory of what is and is not worth trying to salvage.
"SHELLDON, wakey wakey, eggs and bakey," he called. "I need a status update."
He waits for several beats, but there is no response.
He frowned. "SHELLDON, good evening." Nothing. "SHELLDON, what's up?" Silence. "SHELLDON, tell me why I should not murder my brethren?" Still not a beep. "SHELLDON, respond." Not a bit of static. "SHELLDON, priority code Bootyshaker9000, respond."
His hands start to shake as the only sound that fills the lab is the faint hum of electricity.
"SHELLDON, final code, Ilovemyyyfamily with three y's. Override all emergency protocols, respond in any perceivable way!" Donnie shouted, head whipping around as he looked for something, anything. A buzz of static, a flickering light, a shift of machinery.
Nothing.
If he was able, that final code would make him do it. It was only a code for when he absolutely needed SHELLDON to do something, it was meant to be a safety, to make sure he absolutely listened when he needed to. It had been the only time he used the code since testing.
And it didn't do its job.
His eyes stung, his breathing getting a little too quick. "He might be cut off. The bluetooth could be wrecked," he told himself, even as he quickly moved through the destroyed state of his lab, moving to where his servers were. Trying to avoid thinking about how wrecked the servers were, even from this distance, unwilling to think of what it could mean.
The mystic buzzes under his skin, purple metal arms extending out from his back (spidershell already destroyed earlier, in pieces in the lab.) He needed to check the server, he needed to see memory storage cards, metal hands starting to tug and pull everything apart with his hands. The rest of the set up didn't matter, it didn't matter, all that mattered was the memory, he could fix the rest later.
He pulls out several cards, the dread and horror building with each one as he sees the damage, each one fried, his entire system went up in smoke during the attack.
All his systems connected to the lair were useless. Nothing was automated. Nothing had the memory to function.
SHELLDON was-
"No. No, no, he would have known it was critical," he told himself, feeling the stinging in his eyes, and he turned to the room at large. "The drone can support him. He just hasn't been able to charge. He would have shut down at one percent power. The microphone is probably just broken. That's reasonable. That is a perfectly logical and reasonable outcome."
He just had to find the drone.
All thought of care was shoved aside. If the object wasn't the drone, he didn't care. It didn't matter. It was secondary.
The longer he looked, the farther secondary became, throwing parts away, digging through the scrap, uncaring as metal cut into his arms, as the buzzing under his skin increased, he just had to find SHELLDON. He had to find him, he had to find him, he had to find him.
The yawning pit of nothing grew inside him, a pit he did not want to go down, because he knew what was down there and he didn't want it.
Until he finally shoves aside one of the broken down charging stations and-
There, the familiar head of the drone.
"SHELLDON!" He shouted, relief flooding his system as he finds him, shoving away debris, clearing it away until he see all of him, and what little relief there was disappeared into that void inside.
SHELLDON has combined with one of his battlehshells to form a battlebot.
"Oh," Donnie breathed.
SHELLDON had fought to defend their home.
And now he lay in pieces, partially exploded, metal ripped apart from the inside out, mixed with cleanly sliced metal from the Shredder.
He had fought for them, but that was to be expected. Beyond his design, SHELLDON loved them.
Had-
No, no, its not-he's not past tense, he was just damaged, he was just damaged.
His hands shook as he reached for the drone, and he grits his teeth. He punches the floor, feels the pain radiate up his arm, and forced himself to be steady as he reached for the drone again. Carefully dislodging him the battleshell, metal squeaking and grinding unpleasantly as Donnie pulls him close. Metal arms reaching for tools scattered around the lab as he works to open up-
Open up his son.
His son he didn't think about as they ran away. Who he didn't immediately come back to retrieve when he should have been one of his first thoughts. He was supposed to be better than this, he was supposed to be better, he had wanted to be a good parent for SHELLDON and PSDD, but PSDD was fine, and SHELLDON will be fine, he just has to retrieve his memory and he could make him a brand new body, it would only take a day or two, he would be fine, he would be fine, he would be fine-
Donnie froze as he finally revealed SHELLDON's inner workings, his eyes drawn to the chip.
Such a small thing. A mix of metal and plastic, not even as heavy as a baseball, and it could contain an entire person on it.
His family's smart lair, helping make their lives easier.
His family's security guard, who kept them alerted and safe.
Another brother for his brothers.
His creation, that had started as such a simple idea, but grew more and more in ways he didn't even conceive of when he started.
His son.
All that contained on a bit of metal and plastic.
That was damaged.
Donnie was swallowed into the void, his vision swimming as he finds he can't look away, water starting to trail down his face as he feels himself consumed in feelings far too great for him to even hope to articulate.
He couldn't have been sitting there for ten seconds, or ten hours. He doesn't know. He can't think. He can barely breathe.
He had wanted to be a good father. He had wanted to be good for him. He should have taken care of him. He should have been here as soon as Shredder was defeated. What if he had been fine then, what if something had fallen and broken him more because he delayed. He was supposed to be better than this. Mistakes were expected, but he should have had the chance to make up for it, to give a being with such a weird existence the assurance he was loved and cared for and had a father who would always keep trying.
His delay should have been a mistake he would repent for.
But he couldn't repent for the dead.
Would SHELLDON even be able to join the Hamato?
Would he...would he ever be able to apologize for failing him so spectacularly?
"Purple? What's wrong, my son?"
Donnie looked up to see his father approaching, concern on his face.
"Papa," Donnie said, voice barely above a whisper. "SHELLDON, he-"
And suddenly, Donnie wasn't in the void, or lost in a deep pit.
Instead, he was on the ground as an entire mountain was dropped on top of him, as a sob ripped itself from his throat.
Immediately, Splinter crossed the room, catching Donnie as he collapsed forward, one hand ripping onto the remains of his child, his other hand gripping onto the front of Splinter's robe as the every emotion that threatened to choke the air of his lungs instead forced themselves out into pained wailing. Broken words and apologies for ears that won't hear him, for someone who can't forgive him, because he's gone, because he wasn't good enough, until the words get lodged in his throat, devolving into distressed chirps.
Ultimately, Donnie doesn't know if any of his family truly understood the depth of the relationship between him and SHELLDON, save for Mikey. If they thought he was just being weird when he called PSDD son or treated SHELLDON like an unruly teenager. He certainly wouldn't be surprised if Splinter hadn't realized how much SHELLDON was like a child to him. Splinter had never been the best at gauging their emotional states.
But his father was trying now more than ever and Donnie is grateful for it, because he is pretty sure if his father wasn't holding him as tightly as he was in this moment, he would just shake to pieces and never put himself back together again.
He doesn't know how long they were like that. He doesn't know if the others saw and dad just shooed them away or if the time has been so short they haven't noticed their absence.
Eventually, he can no longer cry. His head is ringing, all his energy is gone, and he can only remain slumped against soft fur and a hand that gently rubs the back of his head, an surprisingly strong spindly arm holding him close.
Its been a long time since his father had held him like that.
He wishes he could hold SHELLDON like that, tell him how brave he was, how sorry he was.
"How bad bad is he hurt?" Splinter asked softly.
"Memory damaged," Donnie said, voice rough, words stuttery, still wanting to catch in his throat despite how short the phrase was. "Death." Memory is death for a computer.
"Are you certain you can't repair him?" Splinter asked. "You have done wonders before. Are you certain?"
Donnie doesn't answer right away. It would be easier to sign. But that meant letting go of his father or SHELLDON and he simply did not have the strength to do so. He tries to think of the question. The chip was not fried, the damage was external. It wasn't fully damaged.
But-
"Not all. Of him," he said. At best. At best, some of SHELLDON would be lost. He would not be the same.
"We are all changed by injury and trauma. Even if he's different, it will still be him, will it not?" Splinter asked. Obviously understanding that Donnie's grief was real, though uncertain how exactly the machine works in this case.
Donnie appreciates him trying all the same, for as little as he can feel.
He thinks about it, really thinks about it. If he had coded SHELLDON entirely, made him all who he was, losing a chunk of him would make him a different person entirely, but...but SHELLDON was his son instead of his tech because he wasn't just his programming.
He never did figure out what it was he did, that caused the growth in his programming. Why he could resist the rules in his code, why he could change the way he does. He didn't figure it out in SHELLDON, PSDD, or Albearito.
It just...
Happened.
And was that not what made SHELLDON a person versus just a thing he made?
Even if...even if he lost parts of SHELDON, if at least that part remained...
"...maybe," Donnie said quietly.
"Then...let yourself hope. I know it will hurt, Donatello, but that is part of having a child. To hope you will help when they need you most," he said, gentle and soothing, and Donnie feels a well of pained affection.
His father understood.
"Don't give up on him just yet."
Donnie chirped and whimpered, before nodding against Splinter shoulder. He would try. He would hope. Just a little longer.
"Good. You will save him. You are more than capable," his father said. "And I will be here until you're ready to try."
Donnie let out a broken laugh. Reminded that while Splinter was not always good at gauging their emotional needs...
When he knew he was needed, he was really quite good at it.
For now, he holds onto tight, taking in the support until he could put himself together again, to hope, and try to do the same for SHELLDON.