Hi everyone! =D Good news: I'm back on fanfiction! Yay! I missed this place. And though I presently have a lot on my plate right now (academics, athletics, relationships, work, etc.) I'll still try to write out my crazy ideas when I have 'em (and more importantly, have time!). In the meantime, enjoy this one!

Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT obviously. I just help expand their world a little with a bought of inspiration here and there.

Raphael lounged placidly on the couch in the Lair, eyes glazed over as they trained dully on the news broadcast in front of him. The incandescent glow from the television flickered across his face in the dim lighting of the sewers, and he only paused in his indifferent vigil to stifle a yawn.

Behind him Leo and Mikey were seated on the floor and engaged in a rather uneventful stalemate of cards, Master Splinter quietly observing his sons from a nearby chair with a contently purring Klunk curled in his lap.

The relative peace of the Lair was soon interrupted by the sound of Donatello admitting himself—as well as a damp draft—from the sewer network outside their home. After raising a few curious glances in the direction of the disturbance, the room's occupants gradually returned their attention to their respective activities. All except for Raph, who narrowed his eyes at the large manila envelope tucked under Don's arm. Not this again.

"Yo. Leo," Raph grunted. He emphatically jerked his head at the deceptively unassuming object once he had the eldest's attention.

Leo followed Raph's gaze and frowned when he saw the parcel, but Don either didn't notice the exchange or didn't care to acknowledge it as he closed off the entrance to the Lair with a few deft entries on a number keypad.

Barely sparing his family a glance, he shuffled off toward his room with a preoccupied expression clouding his face. Moments later the Lair echoed with the pronounced click of the door closing behind Donatello as he retreated, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake.

Absently shuffling the cards in his hands, Mikey directed a nervous glance first at his brothers, and then Master Splinter, their sensei merely sighing and offering a sad shake of his head in response, ears flattened in sympathy.

"I'll talk to him," Leo murmured softly, rising from his game with Mikey and following the route Don had taken until he reached the threshold of his brother's room. After pausing at the door—hand raised hesitantly—he gave a tentative knock before easing it open and quietly admitting himself.

Raph snorted and looked away when the door had closed once more. "Leo better pound some sense into that brainiac's thick head this time. If you ask me, he needs to face reality and stop wastin' his time and money on this crud."

"Raphael," Splinter's firm voice reproved gently, "Though you may not be able to relate to your brother's predicament, you still must try to understand his motives through his perspective. Regard his situation with greater empathy if you wish to help him overcome it."

Reluctantly brooding over his sensei's words, Raph glanced back at the door with a furrowed brow, crossing his arms impatiently. After staring at that spot for a few moments, he broke his gaze and pushed off the couch as he rose to his feet, excusing himself with a blunt, "Whatever," before striding from the room.

Mikey watched his last brother leave, still methodically shuffling the cards in his hands, and then turned to Master Splinter with a half-hearted grin. "Do you know how to play Egyptian Ratscrew, sensei?"

With a soundless tread, Leo stepped through the doorway and stopped short, content to study his brother from his vantage point across the room.

Unmindful of his surroundings, Don was intently reading a letter, the opened envelope now resting on the desk he was presently sitting at. His shoulders sagged dejectedly as he released a pensive sigh.

"So which one was it this time?"

Don looked up with a guilty start at Leo's question, finally breaking his deep concentration to take note of his brother's presence. After briefly glancing back down at the letter still clutched in his hand, he favored Leo with a wane smile as he answered meekly, "MIT again. I guess they liked the schematics I sent in with my application."

This again. Leo sighed as he braced himself for the same lecture he felt obligated to give his brother every year when the college application process began. Everyone in the family had different coping mechanisms to bear their forced isolation from the outside world. Mikey immersed himself in pop culture as a means to vicariously indulge in 'normal' teenage pursuits. Raph went on joyrides topside with Casey to experience the rush of the city firsthand. Master Splinter enjoyed cultivating a small menagerie of plants from the safety of April's apartment to escape the dank of the sewers. Even Leo occasionally allowed himself the guilty pleasure of running on the rooftops when it was late enough to enjoy the light of the sunrise yet still early enough to avoid detection in the lingering shadows.

Don applied to colleges. Of course, he would never consider personally attending any of the institutions to which he applied. That would be impractical for painfully obvious reasons. He simply collected the acceptance letters he received and admired them when the urge prompted him. They served as trophies that recognized his potential. And therein lied the problem.

"Don…" Leo began, the word trailing off thoughtfully as he closed the distance between the two of them with slow, careful steps—as if he were approaching a cornered animal. By the time he reached Don's side he had already organized his rationale and talking points in preparation for the battle of wits he was about to plunge into.

His sharp eyes anticipating the customary protest already welling in Leo's chest, Don cut his brother off with his typical defense. "We've been over this countless times. Why can't you just let me have this, Leo? I cover the fees with my own earnings. I have the mail delivered to a faulty address. And I never disclose any potentially compromising information about our family or myself. Give me a little more credit; I'm not an idiot."

Leonardo released his pent-up breath in a disheartened sigh. "I know you're not. After all, you got into MIT… how many times now?"

"Three."

Leo permitted himself a small smirk. "Three times."

Having enough grace to look sheepish, Don scanned the acceptance letter once more with a hint of wistful remorse before carefully tacking it to a pinboard mounted on the wall above his desk. The surface of it was already covered with dozens of acceptance letters from an impressive variety of schools—most hailing from Ivy League institutions or equally prestigious universities.

Leo shook his head as he admired the collage, admittedly impressed by his brother's intellectual talents in spite of his own opinion on the matter. Catching Don's smug appraisal, Leo quickly replaced the awe in his expression with stubborn resolution as he continued. "Don, I'm not worried about us. I know you take the responsibility these applications entail seriously. I'm worried about you. This isn't a healthy hobby, and the severe disappointment that couples each acceptance letter doesn't just affect you. We all hate to see you put yourself through this year after year."

His eyes involuntarily wandering to the collection of letters with a pang of regret, Don quickly returned his gaze and dismissed Leo's reasoning with a decisive shake of his head. He feigned a smile that he hoped was reassuring. "I appreciate your concern, but there's nothing to worry about. I'm fine."

"You're not."

"Honestly, Leo!" Don slapped his hand on his desk in a rare fit of frustration, which didn't help his case in the slightest considering the situation. This was clearly evident in the way Leo crossed his arms and arched his eye-ridges in response. Ignoring his brother's pointed look, Don persisted in a more even tone. "This is the closest that I'll ever come to a formal education. A doctorate. A real career." After a moment of hesitation, he added faintly, almost as an afterthought, "I want to know what I could be capable of if the circumstances were different."

"Don, you don't need to prove—"

"I know I don't."

Painfully aware that his case was getting him nowhere—as it never did—Leo pinched the bridge of his snout. Same old tune. The issue really wasn't worth another argument, frankly, and pressing the matter only caused Donatello to cling more stubbornly to his resolve. If he earnestly believed he was in the right, it was difficult to convince him otherwise.

His expression softening into a cross between compassionate understanding and begrudging compromise, Leo allowed his hand to rest for a moment on Don's shoulder. Satisfied when he felt the tension in his brother's muscles abate slightly, he left the room to give Don some privacy.

As soon as Leo had left, Don propped his elbows on his desk and wearily scrubbed his face with his hands. Peering over the top of his fingers at the array of letters tacked to the board above him, he felt none of the pride or gratification he always expected to feel when he received his acceptances. Only an inexplicable melancholy.

Not long after Leo had left, Donatello was back at work in an attempt to numb his disappointment with a new distraction. Hunched over his desk, he doggedly threw himself at some preliminary sketches for an improved airbag system in the Battle Shell—they crashed that vehicle often enough to give him a weekly migraine over its repairs.

Much to his consternation, he was interrupted once again by the creak of his door and soft footsteps approaching from behind. He had to hand it to Leo; he was persistent. Not even sparing a glance over his shoulder, Donny prepared for round two.

"What now, Leo? I'm busy."

"Then shut up and I'll be outta here faster."

Definitely not Leo. This time Don did bother to spare a glance over his shoulder. Arching his eye ridges, he set his pen down and draped an arm over the back of his chair as he studied Raphael with an expression warring between vague curiosity and mild annoyance. "Fine. Make it concise."

It was a wonder that Don's deliberately irked tone had no immediate effect on his brother's composure. Rather, Raph merely glanced down at a small scrap of paper that he had been holding and began reading in a flat voice. "Bill Gates, Microsoft. Henry Ford, Ford Motor Company. Michael Dell, Dell Incorporated. Steve Jobs, Apple. David Karp, Tumblr. Shawn Fanning, Napster." Crumpling the paper in his fist when he had finished, Raph pinned a befuddled Donatello with sharp eyes. "Know what all those eggheads have in common besides fame and a crapload of money?"

Try as he might to see where his brother was going with this, Don just shook his head in response.

"They all either didn't go to college, or dropped out when they did."

Apparently having spoken his piece, Raph carelessly tossed the wad of paper across the room into the trashcan against the wall and then turned to leave with an air of indifference.

As he recovered from his befuddled silence, Don was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room and grasping his brother by the shoulder before he could reach the door. "Wait." A simple word, but the urgency behind it stopped Raphael more effectively than Donny's grip had.

Turning to face his brother with a passive expression, Raph crossed his arms and waited. "What?"

Don wasn't even entirely sure what he wanted to say as he internally fumbled for the right words. None came but a very simple question. "Why did you bother to tell me that?"

"I'm not the one who got into MIT, Einstein. Figure it out."

Don's eyes flashed at the snide tone in the remark but still held Raph's determinedly.

This drew a gruff sigh from the latter. He was really going to make him say it. This sappy stuff was more up Mikey or Leo's alley, not his, but he did set himself up for this, after all.

"Listen Don," Raph began, dragging out each word from his chest like he was pulling his own teeth, "You're smart. Heck, you're probably the most brilliant geek out there, and you don't even seem to know it. What did Gates or Jobs ever do? Build computers or iPods or whatever. You build that junk, too, but out of the leftovers they can't even use, and ya make it bigger and better. You build SUVs and bikes and frickin' submarines and tunnlers and crap out of the garbage people throw away." At that he jabbed a finger at Don's chest emphatically, his keen disapproval loosening his tongue into an open rant as he continued. "You don't even have a crack team or anything. It's just you. And somehow you do everything these worshipped eggheads do, but with odds stacked against you and next to nothin' to work with."

Allowing his words to sink in for a moment, Raph continued. "And what I don't get is why ya keep spending money and time applying to these stupid colleges when none of those pricks with degrees can do half the things you do. A lot of geeks who are too smart for it don't go and do just fine. We all get this, but you don't. That, or you're way too obsessed with the status of getting in than with the education itself. It's not like these overrated know-it-alls can teach you anythin' you don't already know, anyway. Heck, you'd probably end up teaching them if I know ya half as well as I know I do."

Taking in Don's slack-jawed expression, it occurred to Raph just how much he had said. Hoping to save face with an air of indifference and a few choice curses, he quickly amended, "But I really don't give a damn about this shit anyway. It's your loss, so do whatever you want. I just always thought you had more sense to go with those brains. Guess I give you too much credit."

Decidedly not lingering to hear Don's response, Raph turned and beat a hasty retreat while trying to remain visibly aloof through his proud bearing and paced strides. Internally, however, he was mortified with himself—convinced his speech had been even sappier than he had originally dreaded. Very macho. He felt like an idiot.

As he went, he directed his steps toward the rec room, bent on some distracting entertainment to smother his unease. However, the nearer he came to the television, the more of Mikey and Master Splinter's ongoing conversation he overheard. Both were still seated on the floor locked in a round of Egyptian Ratscrew.

"It would appear you are wanting cards, Michelangelo. Does this mean that I have won again?"

"…Did I mention another rule of the game is best five out of nine rounds?"

"I believe you had said it was "best four out of seven rounds" previously, if I am not mistaken, my son."

"Uh… that was a joke, sensei. It's actually best five out of nine. That's the rule, sorry."

Raph rolled his eyes and abruptly changed his course in favor of the kitchen instead.

After scrounging around the cupboards and sampling various leftovers before giving up his search for anything worthwhile, Raph marched to his room intending to take a nap. Just as he was about to flop down on his bed, something resting on top of his sheets caught his eye.

Curious, he scooped up the plain folder and flipped it open, arching his eye-ridges in surprise when he saw its contents.

All of Don's acceptance letters were neatly tucked into the side pocket, and the scrap of paper that Raph had referenced and then tossed away was clipped to the topmost letter. On the back of the wrinkled note was a small message, meticulously written in his brother's neat hand:

I don't need these anymore. My family's recognition is enough. ~Don

Raph stole a quick glance around the room and then tucked the note into his belt. With dwindling interest he thumbed through the stack of letters, viewing them through a half-lidded gaze of contempt. It looked like all the letters were there. With a pronounced snort, he snapped the folder shut and tossed it into the wastebasket by the wall. There was little ceremony, and no second glance. Good riddance, if you asked him.

A smile took the form of a satisfied twitch of the corners of his mouth before he fell back on his bed. As he folded his hands behind his head and his eyes slid closed, a final thought flitted through his mind before a light doze claimed it:

I'd love t'see Steve Jobs get into MIT three times in a row. Or build a submarine.

I really wanted to write this prequel but couldn't fit it into the above story, so I just tacked it onto the end randomly. It's supposed to take place back when Donny is applying to colleges for the first time. hehe

Setting his coffee mug on the kitchen table, Don frowned down at his MIT application—pen poised above the paper as his brow furrowed thoughtfully.

With perfect timing as always, Mikey came waltzing in from the rec room and stopped short just after he passed his brother. Backing up several steps, he peered curiously over Don's shoulder and gave voice to the obvious question hanging in the air. "So what do you put?"

Just beneath Don's hovering pen was the category "Race" with a plethora of options listed—from "white" to "native Hawaiian and other pacific islander"—and boxes waiting to be checked off.

Studying the sheet a moment longer, Don's face brightened, and he triumphantly checked the "Other" box, deigning not to fill in any specifics on the indicated line.

"Dude! So that's why they have that box! It's for all the mutant turtles out there who don't fit the category."

Don felt his pensive frown twitch into an amused smirk. "Precisely, Mikey."

Thanks for reading! =) Lemme know what you think in a review because that's the only pay I really request for a free story. Praise or criticism, I'm open to both. Later gators!