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Donnie felt filthy.
One-two, one-two, one-two, one.
He’d been working on the turtle tank - trying to upgrade the engine or something, he couldn’t even remember - and accidentally got a drop of oil on his hand.
Filthy.
One-two, one-two, one-two, one.
Really, it shouldn’t have even been a big deal. He has to work with oil all the time. It’s, like, a main ingredient in machinery. In fact, he’s gotten plenty of oil on his hands before; sure, he’s never wanted it on him, and certainly hated the feeling of it on his skin every other time, but it had never set him off like this before.
Maybe it was stress-induced. Maybe the oil was just the final straw.
Shredder and the Kraang invasion were months ago, though. His shell still ached. He should be over it by now.
They still haven’t fully healed.
They won’t be safe if you don’t do it.
He stops, and blinks.
One-two, one-two, one-two, one.
His hands were red from scrubbing so hard for so long. He doesn’t even remember starting.
Around the wrist, thumb, forearm, between the fingers.
One-two, one-two, one-two, one.
Why was he even washing his hands? He has to clean, anyway, so he’ll have to wash them again afterwards.
He moves to shut off the tap.
The handle is filthy.
He leaves the water on.
What a waste.
Awful sound.
Turn it off.
There are paper towels here somewhere, he knows it, but all he can find is a regular towel and it’s filthy he can’t touch it
One-two, one-two, one-two, one.
He flaps his hands in the air, sending droplets of water flying. The paper towels were next to the sink. He’s been pacing.
Turn the water off.
You’re wasting it.
The noise hurts.
He picks up the roll, ripping off a piece to touch the handle with.
That side is filthy now.
Fold it. Don’t touch it.
Throw it away.
Get a new one.
He dries his hands with a fresh paper towel. The door is opened with the sleeves of his hoodie.
His laboratory appalls him.
Anything could be on these surfaces.
Everything needs to be sanitized.
It’s not safe.
Mikey had been sick a few weeks earlier. Nothing serious, just a simple cold.
The first cough had Donnie locking himself in his lab for days long after the illness passed. Just the sound of a cough made him feel disgusting. He could picture the thousands of microscopic germs leaping into the air at him, contaminating him and
One-two, one-two, one-two, one.
He remembers showering for an hour straight that day.
It always made him feel awful afterwards, how he could never directly help his brothers when they were ill like they could do for him, but he just couldn’t stand it. All he could think about was how the germs from a cough or sneeze could spread six to eight feet away, and that means they were probably on every surface in the house, especially if the sick person directly touched anything, and really they only last about twenty-four hours on those surfaces but better safe than sorry because what if they touched it again afterwards and they were still sick
One-two, one-two, one-two, one.
God, he wished he never learned about germs.
It’s not like he didn’t help at all. He’d spent his time alone enhancing human cold medicines so they’d work on their mutant bodies, calculating the exact dosage they should take per day, and holding his breath to place it outside his lab door because the air is contaminated along with specific written instructions for Leo and Raph on how to properly take care of Mikey.
He wants to help. He wants to be there for his brothers when they need him. He doesn’t want to isolate himself from them because of a stupid irrational fear.
His brothers never have such an issue with germs. They never refused to share their drink or their fork when they were kids because saliva carries a million microbes of bacteria and viral pathogens and it’s slimy and they’ll contaminate him and
One-two, one-two, one-two, one.
Why does he get so goddamn distressed over the concept every time? Why aren’t they petrified of germs like he is?
Whatever. He shouldn’t be thinking about that right now because Mikey isn’t sick anymore and he already sanitized the entire lair a week after the ordeal.
A lot can build up in the time between then and now.
It’s not safe.
Filthy.
One-two, one-two, one-two, one.
He grabs a spray bottle of bleach and the paper towel roll. His desk would probably be the best place to start; he uses it the most out of anything else in there.
Two to ten million germs on your hands.
One-two, one-two, one-two, one squirts. It’s a little much for the surface area of the desk, but he doesn’t want to think about what would happen if he did any less than seven.
No, actually, two and five are alright. They’re just not as safe as seven. Never four.
God, he sounds ridiculous.
How can he call himself the genius of the family? The technical mastermind of the team? None of this is logical. He needs a reboot, or a system update, or something he just wants to feel clean
One-two, one-two, one-two, one.
The surface of his desk is clean. There’s noise outside the lab.
It’s not enough.
You’re not done.
Nothing is safe.
His computer needs to be turned off so he can clean the inside of the keyboard, but he needs to touch the keyboard and mouse to do that.
They’re filthy.
You need to.
He wants to scratch his face, but his hands are disgusting so he reaches for the mouse instead.
His skin is on fire. He loops the cursor around the edges of the monitor seven times.
The mouse is filthy.
It’s filthy.
You’re contaminated.
Turn the computer off.
It hurts.
Wash your hands.
Not yet.
The buffering circle on the monitor suggests he managed to find the button to shut down. The noises outside are driving him insane. His skin is on fire. The phantom touch of the mouse lingers on his palm. He feels filthy.
One-two, one-two, one-two, one.
There’s a new sound behind him. He realizes it’s probably been there for a while now.
“-nie? Hey, Donnie. You with me now?”
There’s a hand on his desk. It’s contaminated. He’ll have to sanitize the whole thing again.
“Wanna look back up here, Don? See your favorite twin’s incredibly handsome face?”
He manages to tear his eyes away from the desk.
“Yeah, I thought so. Not many can resist.”
Donnie registers a slight tremor in his brother’s voice.
He’s hurt.
He’s just concerned.
He’ll be hurt.
Prevent it.
He blinks at the middle of the door behind Leo.
One-two, one-two, one-two, one.
“I was gonna make some hot chocolate- you interested? Come chill with your bro in the kitchen for a bit? I’ll make it the way you like it.”
His eyes drift back to the hand on the desk. His own hands are still in the air where they had been flapping.
“Oh- shit.”
The hand retracts from the desk quicker than he thinks he’s ever seen Leo move.
“I’m sorry, Dee. I wasn’t- I wasn’t thinking. I can clean it after.”
Donnie wants to tell him it’s alright, everything I’m doing is to protect you, I know it doesn’t make sense to you but it does to me, he can just clean it again himself since he’s already cleaning the whole room, I wish anything I said would make sense to you, I wish you could understand what’s in my brain, but he can’t seem to get the words out because there’s lead in his throat, and I know it doesn’t do anything but it feels like it does, I feel like I’m protecting you with this, and if I don’t do it and something bad happens to you it will be my fault because I took the risk
One-two, one-two, one-two, one.
“Dee. You still here?”
Donnie nods.
“Let’s go get some hot cocoa, okay?”
There’s still so much cleaning to do. It all needs to be sanitized.
It’ll never be safe.
He nods.
Leo reaches for his hands instinctually before seemingly deciding otherwise, his arms dropping back at his sides as he leads the way out. He keeps checking behind himself to make sure Donnie’s following.
They arrive in the kitchen. Leo wipes down the counter and two of the chairs. There are bags under his eyes. Donnie wonders what time it is.
“All good, Dee. Have a seat.”
Something warm blossoms in Donnie’s chest as he sits on the stool.
Leo wipes down the handles on the cabinets and washes his hands before opening them with a napkin to grab mugs. Even though they came straight from the cabinet, he washes them by hand in the sink, standing slightly to the side so Donnie can see exactly what he’s doing. Every ingredient is carefully handled with a paper towel.
The sound of running water doesn’t grate against Donnie’s ears so much anymore.
“World’s greatest hot cocoa’ll be done in a moment, Don. Wanna wash your hands before we drink?”
Donnie nods. He doesn’t scrub his hands raw this time. He’s sitting back at the counter far sooner than he expected.
Leo uses a paper towel to hold the handles of the mugs as he places them in front of Donnie. He moves the adjacent chair slightly further away before sitting down. There’s a straw in Donnie’s drink.
“All safe, Don. Promise. Todd scouts honor.” He grins.
Donnie takes a sip.
“…Hey.”
He turns slightly to indicate he’s listening.
“You doing okay?” Leo questions. “Kinda missing the usual sarcasm from my favorite twin right now.” He chuckles quietly, but there’s an anxious undertone to it.
The kitchen is silent for a few minutes.
“…I’m your only twin.”
Leo’s eyes light up instantly.
“There he is!” He laughs brightly now, and Donnie feels his heart grow lighter. He gives a small smile in return.
Leo talks for a while, jumping from topic to topic without much actual regard for any of it. Donnie listens, occasionally asking a shortly-worded question if only to see the way Leo’s smile gets a little more genuine every time.
When he finishes his cocoa, he grabs both his and Leo’s mugs with his bare hands and puts them in the sink. He still washes his hands afterwards, but it’s progress. Leo watches proudly.
“Hey, Dee. Can I ask what happened?”
“Working on the turtle tank. Oil. Just felt filthy.”
Leo hums, propping his chin up on his hand.
“Touch alright yet?”
He considers it for a moment before nodding.
“In that case, I’ll let you in on a top-secret twin-exclusive turtle pile happening in my room tonight. First come first serve.”
Donnie laughs.
He can finish cleaning another day.