glass turtles (джен)

Donnie swallows thickly. His gut is a hard knot.
“Father,” he rasps. “When, he. When he wakes, there will be changes.” He tells him. He’s not so sure how much Leo and Raph had filled in for him whilst he was sleeping, but he needs to do this anyway. He needs to say it outloud even if it’s just for himself.
“And we shall embrace the change,” his father says with a rumble of his voice, like a gentle storm on the horizon. “Like we have always done.”
Donnie feels more tears blot at his eyes. That wasn’t the point. He balls his fists tight, pressing his knuckles firmly into his thighs. When he looks at his brother lying there motionless on the cot, his brain does not hesitate to supply him with the horror of last night. Far more frightening than any late night horror movies they watched as kids.
“It’s more than that, master,” Donnie tries to gently explain, quelling the growing frustration that bubbles up involuntarily inside of him. “It’s going to take a long time for him to heal. Part of him may never truly heal. It’s going to be hard.”