The Big Green Monster
Donnie was a scientist. A good one.
He created his first engine at the age of four and almost got himself electrocuted- “almost” being the keyword. After his father was done yelling at him for his carelessness and recklessness, he moved on to looking with awe at what he had built. Looking back, it was basic. Small and unimportant, really. But he couldn't bring himself to throw it away despite the temptation to use it as a part for something much better than a half working engine.
Back in the day, it was only Leo and him. Leo would read his books, sometimes drinking the tea Father basically injected into them daily, and occasionally look up from his book to glance at Donnie on the rug taking the bolts and wires from their electrical- well, everything- to ask him “What are you working on, Otōto?” Donnie would ramble for hours about how he found that piece in the refrigerator, and he could use it to do something that he just had to try, Leo, so don’t ask him any more questions for the time being, ok?
Not to lie, being the center of the attention felt nice. Being prized as the ‘genius’, the ‘prodigy’- it felt good. Being not only this thing his dad looked at with a sad smile and loneliness. Then time passed.
In many books, when the conflict is introduced, the main character always describes it the same way-saying how it would change their life forever, and how they could feel how important it was, and how amazing\terrible it is, etc. But one thing life taught Donnie- one thing that, for some reason, no one ever wrote about in any book he read- is how life can change in the most anticlimactic ways. One second you’re taking apart your house’s cable phone on the rug with your amazing big brother chuckling at the lamest joke you could think of, and the next your father is at the door, a four-year-old boy trailing behind him and holding his slacks like it was a lifeline.
Then your big brother is talking to your dad in Japanese too fast for you to follow, leaving behind his very comfortable corner on the couch in favor of walking closer to the four-year-old that looks smaller than you, but isn’t. And you have no idea what the hell is happening, but you do know that no one ever wrote about something like this in any book you’ve read.
That was probably Donnie’s biggest problem- he had no idea what to do when he hadn’t read about it.
The four-year-old became much bigger in a crazily short amount of time, and before Donnie knew it, the four-year-old was named Raphael and was there to stay. But Leo, Leo was fine. The moment Leo laid his eyes on Raph, he liked him, and had started to show him how to do everything he didn’t already know. Like how to eat right and how to make tea for Dad when he wanted something new; really just all the nine yards.
But you see, Donnie was a scientist. A good one, in fact. And one thing all scientists liked was order. Separation. Preparation. But then here comes the unexpected factor, one that changes the whole equation.
Donnie had only started to get used to Raph before another bomb ran through the door and jumped at him- very literally, unfortunately. The bomb, named Mikey, surprisingly held no small amounts of energy for such a small body. He didn’t tell them his real name until a few months later, when Donnie was already six and starting to suspect his next surprise brother would be called Sandro or something.
So yeah. It was shock. But not as big of a shock as what came next.
Because in the years to come, Donnie got very close with a certain green monster (who was not Raph’s Spike). He tried to find a different name for it, for a while. Because there was no way he was jealous of three orphan boys who had nothing in the world- because, really, he had absolutely nothing to be jealous of- he was smart, which pretty much guaranteed his future, he had everything he wanted, and his father was still alive and didn’t dump him on the street for drugs or booze. He had nothing to be jealous of at all.
He was nine years old when he finally faced it, because he couldn’t deny it anymore, and because he finally had a reason to be jealous. A reason named April. And Mikey, the poor little boy, got right to her. He liked her, a lot, and they talked for hours while Donnie could barely open his mouth next to her. While Donnie felt the red-hot wash on his face every time she looked his direction. Then, even when they broke it up (it was never actually romantic, Donnie could recognize), they still stayed friends, and they still talked for hours, and Donnie still couldn’t talk to her, and all he wanted to say is: that’s not what’s supposed to happen! You’re not supposed to like each other now!
That was the first time he could name this feeling,
With Leo, it was reasonable: Don doubted anyone could look at Leo without getting a little jealous. At first, it was because he was smart (not Donnie- smart. More like dad- smart, the way he always knew what to do to comfort, and what to say at the right time), and strong, and always- always- peaceful. Leo had that aura around him that made people want to get closer. Even adults looked at him as equals, even Dad considered his words. He never made mistakes, never got punished, was always right. Always made them look bad.
Then, when they grew up and started high school, and Leo was a year above them, it was the girls: how they looked at him when he went down the stairs, how they smiled at him when he talked to one of them; or the teachers, who hated Donnie but loved Leo, asked him how he was, how everything was at home, and had a trouble keeping a smile when Leo asked about Donnie.
But, whatever, Donnie was pretty sure everyone was jealous of Leo.
With Raph, it was less than reasonable, but still, not strange. It took a while with Raph, and he could, in retrospect, see that he was a little jealous of Raph when Dad just picked him up. But then it slowly disappeared as time passed. Only to reappear, full force, during high school. The summer between their seventh and eighth grade, Raph shot up in height, faster than a weed. He was always taller than Donnie, but now he was even taller than Leo, slowly reaching their father’s height. His jaw sharpened, his muscles appeared- in short, he was a magnet for attention.
For some reason, in spite his roughness, people like to hang around him. He was not by any means Mike’s level of friendly, but he was way up on the socials range compared to Donnie. So again, he was alone. Again, he was less. Again, he was jealous.
But what was not reasonable, or even understandable, was his fierce, white-hot, growling jealousy for Mikey.
Mikey, under the tender yet stern love of Hamato Yoshi, turned from a boy who looked fearfully at anyone approaching, a boy who would ask permission for everything, who called dad Yoshi, a boy who didn’t trust anyone enough to tell them his real name, to someone who smiled the brightest, loved the fiercest, and trusted most of all of the four. The only one could quiet down Raph’s temper when it flared. The one who could make their father laugh freely, every time he truly tried. The one who could drag Leo out of wherever he hid in to come and eat with them. The one who could make Donnie explained one of his more complex experiments or gadgets with an actual intent to be understandable.
The one everyone- everyone- loved.
So no, he didn’t understand who could be jealous of him.
But Donnie?
Oh boy, was he jealous.