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To put it bluntly, Donnie is a skin picker. A fact the turtle estimates began sometime around the seventh year of his life, on October 2nd during that wonderful year when splinter decided that duct-taping oven mitts to his hands was a good idea. In reality, though, that wasn't the answer. The mitts were simple enough to get out of to scratch, and nothing else seemed to be able to stop him either. No matter how many times Raph lifted his hand away from his skin or Leo would bandage his body, nothing helped. One way or another, Don was constantly scratching himself. He was bound to always find a way to run his nails across his skin. The situation had gotten so bad that Don now always carried a supply of polysporin with him.
The action hardly hurt, so it wasn't the pain that drew him in. Rather, it was the hypnotic quality of the motion itself. Often when stressed, Don would soothe himself by plucking at the smooth scales of his arms, pulling out the ones that didn't align properly, and running his nails over the bumps when his technology wasn't functioning properly. If it weren't for the annoying buds of blood upon his skin, cracked and pathing down his flesh in riverbeds, one might mistake it for excessive grooming. However, that was not the case. On bad days, when Donnie was really stressed he would spot blood seeping through scab layers, a molten glow of lava, marring his normally forest-green complexion. The edges of his lips raw, and cracked, tasting blood with each word.
It was really starting to worry his family these past days. Raph had started pointing it out more as if that would snap Donnie out of it and stop. Instead, the scientist would pull away from the situation and just tuck away in his lab, a little pool of resentment building within his gut. He knew Raph meant no harm, but having it drawn attention to it, it was like, Donnie pushes away the lump in his throat. It’s as though he were some freak to be stared at. It made him feel gross, he sticks out his tongue, ugh, feelings. Though that was at least a bit more tolerable than what Leo did.
Leo's approach could be medical or just plain bullying, depending on the circumstances. Donnie would wake up from an unwilling nap one day covered in goz and bound tightly with cotton bandages; on other days, he'd be tinkering away and Leo would lean against the wall, staring, just like now, which Donnie had been trying to avoid for roughly ten minutes, wait, eleven to be exact.
It didn't take long for Donnie to turn around with a snap, the muscles on his neck throbbing as he unclenched his jaw to snap out an agitated. “What?”
“You must have a serious pizza obsession”. Leo cracks a grin, a wry twitch on his lips drawing attention to the blue of his mask glowing neon in his lab's light, the markings on his body radiating in the purple glow.. "Since you are so determined to look like one.”
“Out,” Donnie demands, swiveling back towards his desk. “Get out Nardo.”
“Hey!” Leo whines, “C'mon bro, I'm just saying.” He waves his hands about in a desperate plea, taking on a slight pace as he grappled for the return of Donnie's attention. “You need to” he struggles for the word, looking like a floundering fish as he does. “Idk, like, stop doing it.”
Don raises an eyebrow and spins around, seemingly only to glare sternly at Leo.. “If it were that easy.” He tests his words, tasting the formula sitting heavy on his tongue. “Wouldn't you think I would've stopped by now?”
Leo's reaction suggests reluctance; tongue caught behind the trap of his teeth, eyes wide and weary mooned as he looked Donnie up and down, and he must have noticed something don didn't realize about himself because he watches his twin fold into himself, seemingly sick.
“I know.” The blue one breathes, “I just.. I just want it to stop.” Don wrinkles his nose, already feeling the frosting of insults waiting to sugar the tips of lips instead he counters to an old tactic instead-
“Get out Leo.” he repeats from before. “Or I will make you.”
“Don..” he’s whining ever louder now as if he were a turtle tot once more. “At least let me tend to it, you look Awful.”
“Oh, I'm well aware.” Donnie acknowledges, “I know just well, how awful I look.” He spits, an arm shooting out of his shelf, wiggling its fingers then lunging at Leo to toss him out the door. “But it's nowhere near as bad as your attitude.”
"I'm only trying to be of help." Leo winces and then shouts,” Wait" feeling as his stomach drops when he felt the end of his shell being firmly grasped and thrown, a sharp yelp leaving his throat at the rough treatment.
Donnie locks the door behind him and returns to work, realizing that he must have been biting his lip due to a distinct metallic aftertaste in his mouth. He runs a finger across the sore flesh, feeling it paint across in the mockery of lipstick. Oh red, the colour of beauty, or desire, how it tickles his skin and taints him. He looks like a sick mockery of Christmas, the crash of red and green speaking of holiday.
He knows how awful he looks, he truly does, and he certainly doesn't need his, dumb, dumby twin reminding him of such things. Ugh, it really grinds his bolts and he almost dares to suggest that maybe Leo deserves to have a stink bomb planted in his room tonight.
It's not as though leo didn't somewhat deserve it and the caught footage could be used as blackmail and-
“Hey!” is spoken followed by a banging at the door. “Open up!”
Scheming tossed aside, Donnie complemented just tossing the bomb at him right now given this was a reasonable situation to do so since it appeared Leo just didnt know when to let up..except..that didnt sound like Leo's voice
He opens the door to investigate and sees Mikey standing there, his face obscured by paint supplies. “YAy, you let me in” He chirps, moving from foot to foot almost penguin like as he balanced his supplies. “I was worried you wouldn't.”
Donnie quirks a brow, “This better not be some weird session with Dr feelings..” he groans, halfheartedly glancing back at his work. “I'm not really in the mood.”
“Nope!” Mike drops the stuff onto the floor with a plunk and Donnie wonders why he was being careful in the first place if he were just to do that. “It's just me, Mikey, your brother.”
Donnie looks down, noticing that a paint bottle lid had popped off during the impact, leaving a dribble of yellow on his once-clean floor, and he winces, scouting the gleam of colours for any other messes. "So," he says, clasping his hands together and resting them against his mouth. "Why is my brother here, hm?" he asks, opening his hands and gesticulating broadly.
“Welll…” Mikey glances behind himself, then returns with a smile Donnie found himself mimicking. “A little birdie told me you've been mega-stressed.” He snatches up a tub and brush. “Sooooooo”
"Wait... wait," Donnie says as he steps back and raises his hands. “You don't mean…”
“Hey!” "Come back here and trust me!" Mikey exclaims. Already bracing against his right foot, he watched as Donnie shifted to his left foot and sprinted.
“I AM NOT A CANVAS” Donnie pleads, skidding to a halt. “You shall not place that goopy stuff on my skin.” He dodges a grab, a snarl to his lips, “I will skin you Mikey and sell it on the dark net.”
"I'm going to paint on you!" Mikey cries, making grabby hands at him. "Just trust me, okay?" Mikey's eyes look so watery and sad that it takes a moment for Don to feel the lump in his chest, feeling winded as he skidded to a halt. "I understand you have sensory issues."
Air comes slowly to don, watching Mikey clutch onto his supplies with desperation, his face all sniffly and gross. Somehow Donnie finds it in himself to at least entertain whatever idea his brother had. “So…what is it you want?”
As the tiredness in Donnie's bones begins to sink in, Mikey makes a cmere gesture with his hands, drawing Donnie in closer. Once there, his brother takes a seat a few inches apart and motions for Donnie to do the same. Donnie nods hesitantly, following the motion, watching as quick hands rummage through the pile of art, retrieving a purple tube and a brush.
"I used to pick at my nails." Mikey hums as he squirts paint into a tray and dabs it with his brush. "A lot," he says, swirling the brush and handing it to Don. "But then I really got into drawing and arts and crafts," he beams, extending his arm to Donnie, whose mind hadn't fully registered the fact that he was now holding a brush. "I just needed something to do with my hands, a grounder to focus," he explains, waving his hands. "And I know it's different for you, but I think you just need to relax for a moment."
Donnie's brain clicks into place, “You want me to…” he trails off eyeing the brush and then Mikey's forearm. “Paint you?”
Mikey shoves his arm even closer, his body vibrating as he excessively nodded in Donnie's opinion. “YES!” His then falls ever so, glancing ever so away…”That's, uh.. Is, if you want to.”
The brush slides against mikeys scale with ease, lavender shades mixing with the green of his scales. “Whatever.” he sighs, running the brush against his arm again one line, then two and then he began to shape it similar to his own pattern.
He reclines to admire his shaky work. "It's not bad." "Perhaps we should've been twins instead, you certainly rock the purple better than Leo," he grins.
Mikey gasped, clamping two hands over his mouth eyes peeking out over them as he lowered his hold to lean forward and whisper. “Don't let Leo hear you say that.”
Donnie snickers, “Don’t worry. I won't."
Mikey adds more paint to the tray. “Well, now that you've got the hang of it.” He turns to offer his shell. “Go to town.”
“If you insist.”
The evening consisted of this, a mixture of patterns and swirls added until Mikey was covered, not an inch of skin left as they chatted away. The stress of the day blurs away into a foggy memory.
"I don't believe there is any more room." "I guess that's it," Mikey sighs remorsefully.
“Actually.” Donnie extends his hand, offering Mikey the top of it. "You can do one pattern" "And I mean just one," he says, raising his finger.
And so Mikey paints a sun.
Just to give him a little more warmth in his life
And if raph were to spit his drink out in the morning when Mikey joined them for breakfast looking like multiple pride flags that had been cut up and sewn together, well that was just a plus side.
And if Leo trips on his own two feet and promptly face plants onto his face upon seeing Donnie's hand, well that's just a double plus side.
Now, this doesn't stop Donnie from picking, but it did help take off the edge. When the urge become too strong he’d find himself knocking on Mikey's door… and hey. You know what. Art aint that bad.