Donatello let out a soft, drawn-out yawn, shoulders rising before sagging again, the glow of the TV screen casting gentle flickers across his tired face. His eyelids drooped with the weight of sleepless nights, though he fought against it with every ounce of willpower he had left.

“I’ll stay awake,” he’d promised, voice firm at the time. “It’s science fiction—how could I not?”

But the truth was, exhaustion always wins in the end.

By the time you came back from the kitchen, arms full of carefully picked snacks, the room had fallen into a hush. Donnie had lost the battle. He was out cold.

He lay sprawled across the couch, long limbs arranged in a tangled sprawl of deep sleep. One arm clutched tightly around a plush, warm-toned pillow—its tan-yellow color contrasting against the soft olive green of his skin. His face was pressed into the fabric, cheek squished adorably, lips parted ever so slightly as faint, rhythmic snores escaped. His brow, usually furrowed in concentration or focus, was smooth and relaxed. Peaceful.

One leg dangled limply off the side of the couch, his heel swaying just above the floor, while the other remained perched precariously near the edge, foot half-hanging off. You noticed he hadn't even adjusted from where he'd initially plopped down. He must’ve been that tired.

A purple pillow, the one you’d thoughtfully placed beneath his head before leaving the room, now cradled him like it belonged there. His hoodie had shifted slightly in his sleep, revealing a sliver of his soft carapace, rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

And of course, he was wearing his favorite NASA pajama pants—midnight blue and peppered with bold, iconic logos. They were a little too long and bunched up slightly at the ankles, but he never minded. They were his comfort wear. You could tell.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, snacks momentarily forgotten in your hands, eyes locked on him. His entire form radiated vulnerability—so rarely seen in the tech genius who always kept his mind racing and his hands building.

He hadn’t truly rested in days. You knew that. Every invention, every plan, every chaotic sibling moment had chipped away at him, and now he was finally still. Safe. Home.

So, without a word, you tiptoed softly back into the room and sank down beside the couch, careful not to disturb him. The movie started to play on the screen, its futuristic sounds filling the quiet space.

It didn’t matter that he’d missed it. What mattered was that he was here, finally resting.

For now, Donatello was dreaming.

And that was enough.