Prompt: Paper Cut

It was supposed to be a normal training run, like they did every night. They were frisky, not too serious about it all, even Leonardo was laughing. They were chasing each other over the rooftops, challenging each other with risky stunts over the chasms of the buildings. After such a long time Donatello was able to laugh again, have fun with his brothers, without being guard-dogged all the time. After he was cured from his secondary mutation neither his brothers nor his father allowed Donatello to do anything on his own. They treated him like a little child, not able to consider its actions, in need of protection. They crushed him with their protectiveness, took him the air to breathe, made him feel unworthy and useless.

But that was over now. Bishop's outbreak was over, he had recovered weeks ago and finally his brothers seemed to have gained enough trust for his ability to take care of himself. Donatello was so relieved, he swung his bo around, accidentally hitting Michelangelo on the head but none of them minded, no, they laughed even louder, Mikey smacking the back of Don's head, laughing the loudest.

But then the Foot came.

They were not many of them but enough to make Leo go into Fearless Leader mode. He screamed orders, admonished Raphael not to act rashly. Don lifted his bo in defense, glancing at Mikey who was standing next to him, swinging his nunchucks. Mikey's gaze was dark, he did not seem to anticipate the fight as usual, there was no childish grin on his face, no spark in his eyes. Then they attacked and Donatello noticed.

Something was different. Different in the way they fought. Donatello noticed when Raphael did not bash the ninja's head who was nearest to him, no, he attacked the one…nearest to Donatello.

It was a small action. Barely noticeable, easily overlooked. Not of importance. But to Donatello it meant everything.

It continued like that. It did not matter that Leonardo was surrounded by four Foot ninja at once. It did not matter that Michelangelo was not watching his back. It did not matter that Raphael was making too much noise. All they did…was look at Donatello. While they were fighting. And what he saw in their eyes was nothing and everything at the same time.

They were not simply worried. Donatello would have understood that, of course he would have, after all that had happened. But when he saw the look in his brothers' eyes, everything he had felt for the past few weeks crashed down on him, all at once, piercing his soul.

They did not believe in him. They did not believe he could take down at least one ninja. Everything he had worked for all those years, trying to keep up with his brothers, who were much better fighters than he was, oh, but he had tried, he had tried his best and he thought that he had succeeded.

One single incident. One single time where he did not put enough attention to his surroundings. One gash on his leg, not even deep enough to draw blood, more like a paper cut. One hardly notices the sting.

This gash…this paper cut…wrecked all he had done in over fifteen years.

He did not realize that he had dropped his bo. He did not realize that he had fallen to his knees. He did not realize that he was screaming. Screaming out his pain, his desperation, his soul.

He did not realize the sword sinking into his plastron, cracking even his shell. He did not realize his brothers' screams. The brothers that did not believe in him.

He felt a sting and looked down. Curiously he grabbed for the sword, pulled it out of his body.

It stung. Like a paper cut.