Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The evening twilight kissed the horizon farewell as the night's velvet wings draped the sky in darkness. The city below was a constant buzz of movement: fun-loving friends painting the town red, hard-working citizens traveling to night shift jobs, and the shady activities of the more 'black-browed' individuals of the city.

Somewhere between the blackness of the night sky and the city lights below, three figures watched from the gray midtones of the rooftops. They were trained to be invisible amongst the darkness lacing the city, yet they lingered in the gray shadows. The veil of gray hid their mutated bodies from prying eyes yet allowed them to observe a world they would never truly be a part of. They lingered in this gray—this inbetween— saving the city countless times from unforeseen danger. They lingered just enough for witnesses to watch their ambiguous silhouettes melt into darkness; just enough for those fortunate few to know there were still heroes in this cold, cruel world. One of the terrapin figures leaned dangerously over the edge of the rooftop, his eyes narrowed at a scene unfolding below on the city streets.

Two women laughed, chatting excitedly as they waited in line for entry into an overcrowded night club. They were caught completely off guard as a teen rushed passed them grabbing one of their purses. Both women cursed the boy, pointed, and screamed for help, but the boy had already disappeared into the surrounding crowd of people.

The figure on the roof's ledge gripped his sai ready to leap into action.

"Wait, Raphael."

The figure growled at the sound of his name, "What the heck are we waiting for, Leo?" He demanded, glaring at his older brother, "Last time I checked, thievery was as good a reason as any to kick some shell."

"We're here to look for more canisters, not petty thieves. We can't afford to get into a tussle carrying these around," Leo said giving the sack over his shoulder a small pat. "And see? That officer has already caught him, justice is served and we didn't even need to get involved."

Raphael sighed in annoyance following his brother's haughty hand gesture to the police officer dragging the kid by his shirt collar toward the two ladies; he assumed the boy would be forced to apologize before forking over the purse. A good old fashion butt-kicking what have been more satisfying in his opinion. He was really hoping to get some action in tonight, but instead they spent all of 3 hours combing the city for mutagen canisters.

"Killjoy," Raph mumbled under his breath before stepping back from the ledge and walking past Leo, "So, we got, what, five cans of ooze? That should be enough for brainiac to work with, right?" He asked, impatiently nodding his head toward the sack on Leo's shoulder. If he wasn't going to get any action out here then at least he could pound on his dummy post back at the lair.

"Yeah, this should be good. Let's head back."

Bout time…Raph thought as he continued toward the other side of the roof.

"Hey, wait, where's Mikey?"

Raph's body tensed and then slumped with exasperation. His youngest brother had the attention span of gnat and was just as much of a nuisance as one. "Sorry, Leo, my goofball detection is a little off tonight..." he replied with mock innocence, before raising his voice in irritation, "How am I supposed to know? He was standing beside you just a minute ago!"

Leo gave Raph a sour expression and was probably going to retort with a domineering remark, until they both heard a familiar sound of glee.

"Yo, bros, check it out!"

Both Leo and Raph turned in unison at the sound of their youngest brother's voice. They stared wide-eyed at the sight before them.

"While you guys were being all broody staring off into the abyss, I got all these. Pretty cool, huh?"

Raph smirked; Leo, on the other hand, looked rather nonchalant….until he realized what Mikey had in his hands. Then he looked like he was having an ulcer.

"Wh-where did you get those, Mikey?" Leo said a hint of panic in his voice.

"Dude, it's no biggie. That guy's giving them away for free, see?" Mikey pointed at the night club just across the street from the one Leo and Raph were watching. "Some of them floated up here, so I snagged them. You missed all my snazzy ninja moves I used to catch them," Mikey concluded with a faux face of disappointment, "Leo, you would've been proud."

Though his expression remained stoic, humor danced across Raph's eyes as he looked from the night club, to Mikey, and then Leo. Maybe tonight wouldn't be a total bore after all.

Leo did a double take looking over the ledge at the night club, and then back to Mikey, "You are not taking those to the lair!"

"But, whhhhhhhy?" Mikey whined, stomping his foot.

"There's no way we can make it back to the lair unseen with….with all of these!" Leo waved his hands in the general direction of Mikey's new possessions. "And don't you have enough junk in your room as it is?"

"You're sounding a little jealous there, big bro," Mikey said gallingly, "But I don't mind sharing, here!"

Leo's eyes widened as Mikey extended his hand, "Get those away from me!" Leo backpedaled waving the things away. Raph snickered from the sideline watching the free entertainment before him. "Why would you grab so many! You have like twenty of them!"

"They were just so big and colorful, I couldn't just grab one!"

"Here that, Fearless, he likes 'em big, do you like 'em big?" Raph could barely hide his amusement as Leo squirmed with embarrassment and a deep blush crossed his cheeks.

"Please, Leo?"

Leo cleared his throat, quickly finding his composure, "No! Master Splinter will kill me for letting you bring those things home!"

Puzzled, Mikey looked up at his possessions and then back at Leo. "Why would Master Splinter flip out over balloons?"

Leo and Raph stared at Mikey. Raph looked at Leo's shocked expression and then back at Mikey.

Surely the goofball knows that… Raph's train of thought stopped abruptly as he saw the genuine look of confusion on Mikey's face. He really doesn't know. Raph's smirk grew into a full blown grin.

"Balloons? You seriously think they're balloons?" Raph questioned, pointing at the floating items attached to strings in Mikey's hand. Master Splinter discussedthat particular topic with them a few years ago; their Sensei had not shown them what they looked like, but to be this clueless? Really? How could henot know?

Mikey looked questioningly at him, "Of course they're balloons, Raph, I'm not stupid you know."

"You sure about that?...You know, the part about not being stupid."

"Raph…" Leo gave him a warning glance. Raph responded by raising his eye ridges in a mockingly innocent way. "Mikey, those aren't—"

"Of course they are, Leo. If Mike says they're balloons, then heck, they're balloons." Raph said as he purposely interrupted Leo, trying his hardest to hold back his snickering.

"Anyway," Mikey started slowly giving Raph an awkward look before turning back to Leo, "Can I at least bring one back for Donnie?"

"Why on earth would you want to give one to Donnie?" Leo asked dubiously.

Mikey looked up shifting through his floating treasures until he pulled a yellow one from the bunch. "Well, I feel kinda bad that D's stuck in the lab while we're up here cruisin' the city."

"We were looking for mutagen canisters, not 'cruising' the city." Leo corrected.

"Anyway, he's been super stressed lately and I thought a balloon might cheer him up! Plus this one looks like a light bulb," he jiggled the yellow one in the air for emphasis, "it looks smart, he'll like it!" Leo read the marker print on the so-called balloon and his face withered.

"That's not the only thing it looks like."

Leo glared at Raph for the crude comment. "Mikey, I really don't think…" Mikey's enthusiasm visibly deflated at the start of Leo's dissent.

"C'mon, Leo. He just wants to make Donnie-boy happy," Raph said, heavily dropping his arm on Leo's shoulder as he leaned against him, "I think it'll make him happy, too, especially if he can share it with April."

"You're not helping," Leo muttered between clenched teeth as he forcefully pushed Raph's bulky arm off his shoulder.

"Not trying to." Raph said with a devious smile. He knew Leo had two options: Let Mikey bring home his beloved 'balloon,' or tell Mikey it wasn't a balloon. Judging from his annoyed and embarrassed expression, the fearless leader didn't look prepared to have that particular conversation with their youngest brother, so Raph was banking on the former.

Leo sighed. Ah, there it was, the inevitable break.

"Fine, whatever," Leo finally conceded throwing his arms up in the air in a frustrated surrender.

"Sweet!" Mikey exclaimed releasing the other cluster of 'balloons' into the starry sky and holding the yellow one in a death grip.

"If Sensei sees it, I'm telling him it's your fault." Leo said under his breath pointing at Raph as they waited for Mikey to tie the 'balloon' string around his belt.

"Loosen up, Fearless, before that stick in your shell breaks."

Ignoring the smart remark, Leo leaped to the next rooftop.

"C'mon, Balloon-boy!" Raph called over his shoulder before he tucked his body for a front flip and ran to catch up with Leo. He couldn't wait for this joke to unfold. It's not everyday he got an one-up on Mikey and he planned to take full advantage of it.

Chapter Text

Like the meticulous brush strokes of an artist detailing a canvas with meaningful marks, his hands moved with purpose and precision. They maneuvered effortlessly between test tubes and Bunsen burners, and glided with expert speed across his computer's keyboard. This was his world; his domain. It wasn't often Master Splinter excused him from missions with his brothers and allowed him to work in his lab. Granted, this was not a leisure lab time, but rather the tedious process of recreating retromutagen. Thankfully, the first batch was able to cure Mr. O'Neil. It had taken months to accurately produce it. There were dozens if not more mutated citizens still in need of this cure.

The process of breaking down the mutagen into its basic elements and extracting the appropriate amount of its essence was a painfully slow process. Unfortunately, only a small percentage of the needed element is found in the actual mutagen. Therefore large quantities of the alien ooze are needed to ensure enough of its vital element is removed to make a potent antidote.

Donnie glided from the lab table to his computer with his swivel chair. His tired eyes strained to see his typed notes. In all honesty, he should have gone to bed hours ago. He still felt lethargic and sleep-deprived from his bout with the flu last month, and the extra time he was putting in the lab wasn't helping him recover any faster.

He hated asking for help, and thankfully didn't have to. Leo was quick to see the signs of his fatigue and gathered his other two brothers to pitch in and help where they could. Right now, the three of them were scouting the city for more mutagen canisters while he continued his lab work. He had to admit, tackling this job as a team was a better idea then drowning under the weight of it by himself.

It only made sense for his brothers to look for the mutagen, while he worked in his lab.

They're better suited for search missions anyway, especially if they run into any Purple Dragons or Footbots. Donnie thought briefly, too preoccupied to dwell on his self-doubt.

Donnie's posture straightened at hearing the sudden commotion in the den. His brothers were back and from the light sounds of laughter and banter, he assumed their search was successful.

"Hey, Brainiac, how's it coming?" Raph said, his arms crossed over his plastron as he leaned against the door frame.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose," Donnie said over his shoulder. His eyes still glued to the computer screen as his fingers rhythmically tapped the keyboard and continued, "I was able to start a chemical decomposition with the small amount of mutagen I had left. It's been pretty frustrating starting the formula from scratch since my notes were destroyed when my motherboard crashed; Regardless, I've managed to make incremental progress. Oh, and I've also—"

"Okay, shut up already, sorry I asked," Raph mumbled bluntly to discontinue any further explanation from his brother. Donnie turned around giving him an unpleasant look.

"We managed to find five canisters," Leo said stepping into the lab and setting the sack on the table where Donnie was working, "How much retromutagen do you think you'll be able to make with this?"

"Well, it really depends. I discovered a fascinating property within the –"

"Hey Donnie!"

The purple-banded mutant winced slightly at the earsplitting sound of his youngest brother. His footfalls slapped loudly across the concrete floor before he skid to a halt in front of the lab door.

"Look what I brought back for you!" Mikey said sporting his trademark 50 watt smile as he held out his gift to Donnie.

Donnie cautiously took the string from Mikey's hand. His eyes followed the string up to the yellow floating….thing it was attached to. A balloon?... Donnie thought with an arch of his brow as he pulled it down to his eye level. This is the oddest shaped balloon I've ever seen. Donnie rubbed his finger along the small elevated edges. Strange, it has ridges and a bulbous… Donnie's eyes widened with realization. Reading the balloon's inscription only confirmed his suspicion.

"Don't mind Leo. He's just being a sourpuss 'cause he didn't get a balloon."

Donnie blinked incredulously at his brothers. Leo was shaking his head in his hand, his body slumped with annoyance; Raph's eyes were twinkling with a devilish glint while his lips wavered trying unsuccessfully to hold back a snort of laughter; and Mikey was smiling like an oblivious idiot. Donnie sighed. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see an embarrassing joke coming into play at the expense of his little brother.

Based on Leo's sudden uptight body language this definitely wasn't his idea. He actually looked rather annoyed, which was no surprise considering he was stuck topside with a naively persuasive Mikey and a crafty Raphael. I can't believe he let Mikey bring this back to the lair. Donnie thought to himself, but then reconsidered the momentary shock. Leo was, after all, outnumbered being the most rational one out of the three. Without Donnie there to balance out their two impulsive and rambunctious brothers, Leo more than likely gave in to Mikey's pleading and Raph's egging.

Speaking of the latter, he was still leaned cross-armed against the door frame, no longer trying to hide the grin plastered on his face. He and Donnie's eyes met briefly. Raph's face was consorted with wicked anticipation as he anxiously gripped his biceps. He stared at Donnie and Mikey like he was waiting for the proverbial pie in the face, except this time he would not be the unwilling victim. He was more than likely attempting to inflict revenge on Mikey for one of his ill-fated pranks.

And then there was Mikey, who was genuinely naïve to his current predicament and really was just being kind in bringing his big brother what he perceived to be a balloon.

Donnie analyzed his brothers' behaviors and in a matter of moments rationalized the outcome of the situation would highly depend on his reaction. There was no way he could completely avoid embarrassing Michelangelo, but he could at least lessen the blow.

"Um, this...this was really thoughtful, Mikey." Donnie said carefully offering a light smile as he tied the string to the leg of his lab table.

"Did ya see what it says, Don?" Raph quipped in, "Be Smart, Be Safe."

"Thought it was perfect for you. You're always telling us about tool safety and stuff." Mikey said proud of his attentiveness.

"Yeah Donnie, what's that you're always tell Mikey?...Stop playing with your tools?" Raph added while chuckling. Donatello wanted to smack that pervert grin off his face.

"Hey! Donnie said I could use his tools as long as he was there to watch!" Mikey said indignantly.

Leo tried to keep a stoical stance during Raph's jabbing, but couldn't help but smirk at the direction the conversation was going.

Raph's eyes widened with unadulterated glee, "So, he lets you mess with his hammer and screw stuff, huh?"

"Yeah…sometimes?" Mikey answered skeptically, looking strangely at Raph.

"Bet April'd like to use his hammer, too. She would probably makes so much noise she couldn't even hear him coming in the lab." The overtone in Raph's voice was wretchedly obvious to everyone except Michelangelo.

"Why would April care about his hammer?" Mikey paused lost in his own thought, "'Sides, the blowtorch is way cooler….yeah April would have tons of fun the blowtorch!"

Raph burst into hysterical guffaws. "Blowtorch, he said blowtorch….Oh, God, Mike, stop you're killing me!" Raph slapped his knee finding it harder and harder to stop laughing.

At that comment a crimson tone rushed to Donnie's cheeks as he glared daggers at Raph. He'd gone too far. Make sexual innuendos about him all day long, but April was off limits. To make such a filthy comment about his April was unacceptable.

Leo's smirk dropped instantly, replaced with a pang of guilt for allowing the conversation to take place to begin with, "That's enough, Raph," The perverted remark was enough for Leo to switch roles from brother to leader.

"Ha, ha, yeah…funny?..." Mikey laughed nervously, looking to Donnie for answers to questions he didn't know how to ask.

Donnie's initial anger waned as he looked at his younger brother. He sighed. Mikey had no clue he was being lead by Raph to look like a buffoon. "Mike," Donnie started calmly, "That's not a balloon," Mikey was about to object but Donnie shook his head and continued, "It's a condom."

The room fell silent aside from Raph's side-splitting laughter.

"A condom?"

"Yes."

"Dude that makes no sense," Mikey rubbed the back of his head in confusion, "that's like ketchup and mustard and stuff…." His words were less animated and more uncertain, trailing off as he looked to the floor. Raph practically convulsed from the hilarity. Leo punched him in the arm to silence him to no avail.

Donnie looked at his brother in disbelief. How did he not know what a condom was? Granted, they didn't exactly have experience in its use, but for the love of biology….

"Not condiments, condoms." Donnie corrected him with an even tone, trying to remove any condescension from his voice. Mikey stared at him with those wide curious eyes—he still didn't get it. Donnie inhale giving a quick response in a single breath, "It's a device commonly used by males and females during intercourse to reduce the probability of conception."

"Huh?"

"Maybe you should ask Leo." Donnie cut his eyes toward Leonardo who visibly shrunk at the suggestion. You should have nipped this in the bud earlier big brother, Donnie thought without an ounce of sympathy.

Leo shoved Raph out of the lab as the red-banded turtle continued to howl with laughter.

"Leo, what's a—"

"Not tonight," Leo quickly cut off any questions Mikey was about to ask, "we're starting practice an hour early so I suggest you go to bed." Still wearing his leadership mask, Leo ushered a complaining Mikey out of the lab as well before turning to Donatello, "Sorry, I had no idea it was going to go that far." Leo said sympathetically.

"You do realize this is Raph we're talking about? How could you assume it wouldn't go that far?" Donnie roughly took a canister out of the sack clanking it loudly on the lab table. His previous anger began to resurface. He knew Leo did not deserve his cutting tone, but decided he'd save his more passive aggressive tendencies for Raph tomorrow.

"You're right and I'm sorry." Leo apologized again as he walked over to help Donnie remove the remaining canisters from the sack. "I don't think he realizes how tactless he can be at times."

"Or he just doesn't care." Donnie concluded tersely, now rearranging the canisters on table so they neatly lined up with the edge of the table. Donnie looked up at Leo, who seemed sincerely shamefaced about the whole thing. He knew his oldest brother walked a thin line between joking with them as a brother and being mature and responsible as a leader and sometimes it was hard to equally balance the two roles. He gave a half-hearted smile, "Its fine….I suppose explaining the use of condoms to Mikey will make a suitable atonement."

Leo returned the smile with small chuckle as he shook his head with a groan, "Oh, boy."

Donnie plopped back into his chair with a small hum. He could feel Leo's eyes looking him over.
Then he glanced at the untouched slice of pizza beside his computer.

"You need to eat something, Don, to build up your strength."

Because it's obvious you're still weak. Donnie's inner voice chimed in, reading more into Leo's words than he should have. "I'm not really hungry," he answered absently turning to his computer once again and resumed typing. Maybe it was an aftereffect from the flu, but lately his appetite had been non-existent. Donnie felt Leo's hand press against the side of head and promptly swatted it away, "my temperature is a healthy 86.6 degrees, Leo, I'm fine."

"I'll make you some soup." Leo said disregarding his claim and taking the plate of cold pizza with him as he left the lab. Donnie groaned. He hated being fussed over especially when there was no need for it. He felt okay, a little tired but okay. He shook his head with a small smile. When it came to Leo, he supposed the mothering couldn't be helped.

Donnie glanced at the framed photo beside his computer like he did every night and gave a longing sigh. He wondered what April was doing right now. Probably cramming for the chemistry test she has Friday. Being friends with him and his brothers hadn't exactly made it easy for the red-head to keep up with her studies. Between saving her dad from aliens and training to become a Kunoichi, it's miraculous she still manage to make the honor roll. She really is amazing…Donnie thought with a smile. His thoughts were immediately interrupted as they trailed back to his brother's revolting words and he immediately frowned.

Bet April'd like to use his hammer, too. She probably makes so much noise she can't hear him coming in the lab.

As filthy as his brother's comment was, Donnie couldn't deny the fact he often had dreams of April and him doing…..things, in his lab. The fact that Raphael unknowingly brought those hidden desires to light both embarrassed and angered the intellectual turtle, but realizing the impossibility of those desires seemed to add the ultimate insult to injury.

He was simply April's smart turtle friend and nothing more. Every hug, every peck on the cheek that sent warm shudders throughout his body were merely forms of friendly endearment to her.

His heart ached for April to see him as more than just her 'science buddy'. At times he dared to think there was more behind her subtle glances during dojo training, or the gentle brushing of her shoulder against his while working in his lab was intentional and not just his wishful thinking. Even the smallest gestures were favorable to become the foundational building blocks of a respectable relationship. However, those building blocks were quickly demolished by the wrecking ball known as Casey Jones.

Lately, April was spending a lot of time with Casey, much to Donnie's dismay. Though Casey could never hold a torch to his intelligence, he seemed to trump Donnie in every other aspect.

Assertive, confident, charismatic, socially competent, and an uncanny ability to woo pretty redheads. April and Casey's flirty banter didn't go unnoticed by the observant turtle. Donnie huffed indignantly as he looked away from the photograph.

I don't have time for this. I have diagnostics to run. Donnie thought dismissively as he opened a complex software program with a few clicks on his keyboard. He found it much easier to deal with his emotions when he didn't have to deal with them at all. So, he tucked the jealousy, the wishful thinking, and insecurities back into the steel box of his soul from whence they came. He mentally sealed and surrounded the steel box of his soul with science, logic, and corporeal concepts-things that made the most sense to him.

Feeling much better after his emotional 'lockdown', Donnie's fingers were a green blur flittering across the keyboard. At some point, Leonardo came back with a small bowl of soup, in which he muttered a thank you and even gave a believable performance of eating as he crammed two spoon's full of chicken soup into his mouth. However, the rest of the soup was forgotten on the corner of his desk once Leo left the lab.

After an hour and a half of eye rubbing and yawning, Donnie unknowingly gave in to sleep, the crook of his arm acting as a pillow for his head against the lab table. The fluorescent lights flickered from overuse before settling into a dim overhead. The bluish-green glow of the mutagen canisters were reminiscent of a lava lamp as globs of light lazily illuminated the room and danced over Donnie's sleeping form.

Chapter Text

Donnie groaned turning his head side to side to lessen the stiffness in his neck. Scratching his arm, he smacked his lips together loosening a film of dried saliva. Utter exhaustion usually brought forth the shameless drooling. Thankfully, his lab notes were only slightly dampened. Donnie glanced at the time on his computer screen. It was 5:35am.

Great. Just enough time to drink some coffee and start practice at this god-awful hour. After saving his computer files, Donnie shuffled into the kitchen.

Eyes barely open, Donnie made a fumbled beeline to the coffee maker. Too early for actual words, he grunted in curious surprise to find his "Number 1 Genius" mug already filled with steamy coffee. His uncaffeinated mind could not be bothered with where the coffee came from. It only mattered that it was there and in need of drinking. Making another noncommittal noise, he shrugged his shoulders deciding not to look this vital gift horse in the mouth.

Just as he brought the brewed goodness to his lips, he noticed something white and frothy in the mug. Opening his eyes a little wider he noticed a strange design. As if painted with a miniature brush, the inside of his mug was a coffee/cream work of art. The coffee was the canvas while the fluffy cream was swirled with purpose creating a…ninja turtle?

Mikey. Donnie thought with a small smile. Only he would be so creative as to turn coffee into an artistic masterpiece. The image was surprisingly detailed yet cartoony; he even managed to make the little turtle a bo-welder. Donnie almost hated to drink it.

Almost. His need for caffeine was overriding his infrequent love of art. He downed half the mug in two swallows. Eyes closed and shoulders relaxed, he hummed in satisfaction.

"You finished with your coffee-gasm over there?"

Donnie nearly spluttered his coffee, startled by the sudden voice. In his coffee-seeking, zombie-like state he hadn't noticed his brother sitting at the table obnoxiously crunching on cereal with a rather amused look on his face. His initial shock was replaced with a narrow-eyed glare. He was still pretty irritated by Raph's teasing last night. Scratching his arm, he said nothing as he leaned against the counter and took another swallow of coffee.

"What're you so pissy about?" Taking another long sip, he continued to ignore Raphael, "What's the matter? Didn't get enough alone time with your hammer last night?"

Donnie's mouth twitched into a grimace, but showed no further sign of acknowledgement. Dumping the last few swallows of coffee down the drain, the mug clattered into the sink as he stalked out of the kitchen. He rolled his eyes as he heard Raph's snort of laughter behind him. Usually he was better at ignoring Raphael's taunting, and usually Raphael waited until after his second cup of coffee before he commenced with offensive comments. Actually, the fact that Raphael was picking on him this morning instead of Mikey was highly unusual. Not that Raph discriminated in his teasing (because he didn't), but for him to intentionally seek out Donatello for a good ribbing was rare. Obviously there was going to be a blue moon tonight.

This morning was not starting out well. Leonardo smiled at him as he came out of his room heading for the kitchen.

"Good Morning, Do-" He brushed past Leonardo with a deep scowl plastered on his face. The rest of Leo's greeting died on his lips as he caught a glimpse of the foul mood practically seething from the purple-banded turtle, "Ookay?" Leo gave him a concerned look.

Donnie didn't bother offering Leo an explanation. He was a smart turtle, he'd figure it out. Making a straight route for the dojo to avoid any further interactions, he suddenly stopped in his tracks when he saw the back of Mikey's head from the couch. He gave a small sigh before silently walking toward his younger brother. He really should thank him for the coffee.

Standing behind the couch he watched his brother. Quietly, Mikey sat cross-legged on the couch. He was fidgeting with his leg bands instead of watching the zany cartoon currently flashing across the TV screen. His shoulders were slumped forward, then there was that look on his face. Even though Mikey was easily the most readable of all of his brothers, Donnie still couldn't quite name the open display of emotions on his brother's face.

He supposed he could just ask him what was wrong, but from past experiences the bluntness of that question usually had the opposite affect. Instead of getting an accurate answer, he received a more evasive one which would result in a game of 'Guess What's Wrong with Mikey' which he wasn't sure he had the mental stamina for this early in the morning. Scratching his arm, Donnie frowned thoughtfully; he could figure this out.

Behavior and reactions were recordable, predictable, easy to decipher. Feelings? Not so much. Over the years, Donnie managed to cover up his incompetent interpersonal skills by focusing more on how his family behaved and reacted rather than how they felt. He was usually clever enough to match their behavior with the appropriate emotion.

The wheels turned fiercely in Donnie's mind as he began to puzzle together his brother's recent actions. Mikey made me fancy coffee, which Mikey doesn't do, unless Mikey wants something, Donnie thought, continuing his mental monologue, He would be cheesing up to me by now if he wanted something. Instead he's sitting in front of the TV, but not watching the TV even though his favorite show is on. Which clearly means he came to the den to avoid something, not watch TV. He's not harassing Raph….why? Because Raph obviously still has the upper-hand on him from last night's condom fiasco. So, he's avoiding Raph because he's still embarrassed...Yes, that sounds about right, but there's something else…

Donnie had only figured out half the reason for Mikey's sullen behavior, but there was something else just below the surface that Donnie was having a hard time grasping. His eyes roamed over his brother in search of additional clues. His eyes caught sight of Mikey's hands.

Fidget. Snap. Fidget. Snap.

It was a clear rhythmic sound as Mikey pulled against his leg wrappings and let it go with a small reverberating 'snap'. People make rhythmic sounds with their bodies when they are waiting for something. He's avoiding Raph, Leo just left the den, and he's definitely not eagerly awaiting practice with Master Splinter. That only leaves…me? Then the realization clicked.

The coffee, the isolated waiting; Mikey was definitely still embarrassed but he was also trying to make amends for last night. Mikey's ignorance had not only caused him to be mocked, but was the indirect cause of Donnie's teasing as well. He was waiting for Donnie to forgive him.

The internal deduction took a mere minute and thirty seconds in the genius turtle's mind, but it was still an exhausting thought process regardless.

It was beyond him why Mikey would need his forgiveness. It was a ridiculous notion. Wasn't Mikey's naiveté last night evident enough to avoid blame? It wasn't his filthy comments that were grating his nerves right now. Raph should be the one apologizing for dragging him into his mockery. Donnie never truly understood the complexity of emotions, and his youngest brother was constantly overflowing with them. As long as he used his logical 'cheat sheet' he could work around those sentiments for the most part.

Well, there is no reason for both of us to feel rotten today.

Without a word, Donnie plopped down on the couch beside him, tapping his thumbs together across his plastron. "Hey," he said nonchalantly after another moment of silence.

"Hey," Mikey replied quietly without lifting his head from the fidgeting of his leg band.

"Who knew coffee could be so intricately artsy." Donnie said causally, his eyes never leaving his hands. Half a beat later, both brothers looked at each other with a small smile and immediately the silence was broken.

"You liked it?"

"It was awesome, tasted great too," He really was appreciative of the coffee even if a certain brother kept him from enjoying the last few morsels, "So how did you draw a ninja in my coffee?" Donnie asked crossing his arms over his chest and quirking his brow.

"Dude, it was easy! I used a toothpick like a paintbrush, it's all in the wrist. The hardest part was making sure the milk was-"

He smiled and nodded as Mikey's voice took on its usual animated tone again. Donnie was glad he was able to pull the younger turtle out of his gloomy mood and in the process lightening his own mood. Now if they could just get this practice over with! He had so much work to do in his lab and—

"Don?"

Scratching his arm, Donnie blinked to attention at the sound of his name. "I'm listening….milk must be cold before steaming…pour and shake…toothpick for a brush, all in the wrist, got it." Donnie said with an impressive smirk. He was an expert at juggling several thought processes at once all while carrying on a conversation with someone. Mikey currently had about 80% of his attention.

"I was asking if we were cool?" Mikey asked again, his fist still held out to Donnie.

Make that 75% of his attention. Donnie saw the emotions dancing across Mikey's face again as he waited for his response.

"Always." Donnie said with a smile as he returned the fist bump. "It wasn't your fault anyway; Raph was being a-"

"Practice, guys!" Leo said clapping his hands together effectively interrupting Don and Mikey as he headed toward the dojo.

With a final look of reassurance to Mikey that all was well, Donnie rose to his feet scratching his arm as he reluctantly walked toward the dojo with Mikey close behind.

Chapter Text

Stroking his bearded chin, he watched curiously as Leonardo led his brothers in their morning katas. Something was not quite right; their movements were sloppy, unbalanced. They stood in their usual eldest to youngest order performing the katas, but even their stance lacked unison. Leonardo and Raphael stood closer together and farther to his left, while Donatello and Michelangelo stood farther to the right. He noticed they did not eat breakfast together as they usually did. Leonardo and Raphael were the only ones in the kitchen and appeared to be having a hushed conversation when he made his tea this morning. Michelangelo and Donatello were chatting on the couch. He only hoped it was not the 'A team vs. B team' nonsense. His sons took the internal competition too far on one too many occasions. He hoped they learned by now they were stronger as one.

"Use any good condiments this morning?"

"Shut up, Raph!"

"Silence!" Master Splinter bellowed for the third time in the past 20 minutes, "Raphael, straighten your stance! Michelangelo, balance from your center not your ankles!" Master Splinter looked back and forth between his students and saw the tension between them. Their behaviors were strangely opposing. Usually he reprimanded Michelangelo for his good-natured teasing and calmed Raphael's outbursts, not the other way around. Why Michelangelo was so irritated about food enhancements was beyond him. There was really no telling with sixteen year old mutant turtles. Raphael and Michelangelo were not the only ones acting strangely this morning.

Leonardo was generally his more focused student, always striving for perfection. However, he currently looked extremely anxious about something as his glance alternated from glaring at Raphael to smiling nervously at him.

So there is something going on after all, and it involves ketchup and mustard apparently?... Master Splinter thought curiously to himself. His eldest son's botheration was always a dead giveaway of his brothers' misconduct. What mischief were they covering up now?

Then there was Donatello, his quietest son. His movements were always concise and mechanical like a machine performing a series of preprogramed codes. His most intellectual student had the mechanics of ninjitsu down to a fine and unnerving art. It was merely a simple input/output formula to him.

Over the years, Master Splinter watched Donatello studied a variety of martial arts books, memorizing the proper stances and techniques, and permanently stored the knowledge into his expansive brain. Then, like an automated machine, the movements were reproduced—precise, but without personal rhythm; accurate, but without feeling. Splinter constantly encouraged him to be one with his movements; however, his encouragement was often met with trepidation and immediate mental shut down like a computer's defense system against a deadly virus. This more emotive aspect of ninjitsu at times seemed unattainable for Donatello, but it never stopped Splinter from trying to aid him in this area.

However, today there was something slightly awry with Donatello as well. Though his movements remained automated, if not a little sluggish, there was something just beyond the surface of his countenance that transfixed Splinter. Donatello was hardly one to be distracted by emotions while in practice, but there were obvious fragments of some sensation flashing briefly across his face before he made an attempt to mask it with indifference.

Something definitely transpired between last night and this morning, and Master Splinter planned to get to the bottom of it.

"Yame!" Master Splinter said sternly. The boys looked puzzled about being ordered to stop in the middle of a kata, but followed the instruction without question, "You will begin sparring now." He watched suspiciously as his sons looked at one another. Donatello walked toward Michelangelo as Leonardo walked toward Raphael.

"No," Their Sensei said stopping their current pairing, "Leonardo you will spar with Michelangelo and Donatello with Raphael." Both Leonardo and Donatello gave a collective sigh of complaint. Splinter emphasized his seriousness with the crack of his walking stick against the dojo floor. With lightening speed, his students immediately stood in position with their assigned sparring partner.

Donatello's body visibly tensed as he avoided any form of eye contact with Raphael. A brazen and cheeky smile was the only expression gracing Raphael's features. Both Leonardo and Michelangelo could hardly keep still, but it would appear, for different reasons. Splinter's careful observation found Leonardo's constant foot shuffling laced with subtle impatience as if he was ready for the sparring to end before it even started. Michelangelo, on the other hand, was practically bursting with eager anticipation of sparring with his oldest brother.

Splinter gave an inquisitive hum...Peculiar behavior indeed.

"Hajime!" Splinter shouted and the sparring began.

To an outsider, the four turtles appeared flawless in their ninjitsu training. However, Splinter was a master martial artist, trained to notice even the minutest details. He knew his sons' potentials on their best and worst days, and today was far from their best. Watching the spar between Leonardo and Michelangelo was interesting to say the least.

"For the last time, Not. Now." Leonardo said sharply between grinding teeth as he stood within inches of Michelangelo's face while his katana ground against the chain of his brother's nunchucks.

"Why not now? Raph's still ragging on me; how am I supposed to dish out a decent comeback if I don't even know what he's talking about?" Leonardo pushed away from Michelangelo with a firm kick to the plastron.

"You haven't told him yet?" Donatello deadpanned, while blocking a sai with the twirl of his bo staff.

Leonardo shot Donatello a look, which provoked an eye roll and a side-to-side head shake from the purple-banded mutant, before turning his attention back to Michelangelo, "If you don't know what he's talking about then don't worry about it, just ignore him." Leonardo retorted in a low tone, easily avoiding a counter-attack while stealing a watchful glance at Master Splinter.

"C'mon, Leo, at least give me a hint." Michelangelo whined as he breakdanced into a nunchuck spinning uprock, glided into a downrock, and ended in a handstand before flipping over Leonardo's head, "Is it a human thing? You know, something only humans use?"

"Nope! As long as ya got the right tools, you can pretty much use 'em as much as you want—hammer it down, screw it in—the possibilities are endless!" Raph interrupted with a sardonic quip, delivering a forceful blow to Donnie's unprotected side, "You can pretty much nail it as many times as you want, ain't that right, Brainiac?" Raphael gave a devilish grin as his sai met with the bo staff. Donatello mechanically blocked every attack, without responding to Raphael's baiting. "You got the right tools for the job, Donnie-Boy?" Donatello glared at Raph, smacking his bo staff defensively against Raphael's advancing attacks.

"Can it, Raph," Leonardo sneered over his shoulder dodging a foot aimed for his head, "And you," He said catching his youngest brother's foot in the middle of a high kick and tugging it forward, "Would you please just stop talking, please?" Leonard practically begged in a harsh whisper as he stole yet another glance at Master Splinter, who simply quirked a brow at the odd conversation.

"Aw, you guys never tell me anything!" Michelangelo whined using the twisting momentum of his other leg to perform an aerial corkscrew, nearly clipping Leonardo on the chin, but effectively causing him to let go of his leg. A whirling nunchuck made contact with Leonardo's shell. Splinter couldn't stop the amused smirk rising from the corner of his mouth. Sparring with Michelangelo was like sparring with a horsefly. No matter how often you swatted him away, he came flying back—occasionally making painful contact.

Leonardo grunted as nunchucks hit his forearm and calf simultaneously. Splinter shook his head in disapproval. Whatever it was his eldest son did not want him to know, was consuming his focus as Michelangelo continued to spar and pester him. His lack of focus was leaving him wide open for easy strikes.

"Leonardo! Focus on your opponent's attacks instead of whether I can hear your conversations," Splinter lectured with a narrowed brow.

His eldest son faltered at the accusation. Taking full advantage of the his brother's pause, Michelangelo knocked a katana out of his hand, wrapped his kusarigama's chain around his legs, and pulled Leonardo flat on his shell in one fluent movement.

"You just got shellshocked, son! Yeah, boy!" Michelangleo boasted throwing up some random hand gestures. Leonardo groaned in annoyance. A loud thud and surprised cry of pain resounded from the other side of the dojo as a bo staff clattered to the floor landing at Master Splinter's feet.

"Get off me you overgrown Neanderthal!" Donatello shouted from beneath Raphael. Using an unorthodox wrestling move, the red-banded turtle had him pinned on his shell. He leaned back on Donatello's chest and pulled his leg into a painfully awkward position.

"Say it."

"No," Donatello's voice strained as he struggled beneath his bulkier older brother.

"Say it," Raphael pulled his leg back a few more inches.

Donatello stubbornly resisted trying desperately to shove Raphael off his chest, but it only made him throw his weight down even harder. With a pained gasp, Donatello mumbled something.

"I can't hear ya, Donnie-Boy." Raph taunted in a sing-song voice.

Humiliation choked his voice as he spoke quickly, "I like playing my tools and I have a small-"

"Raphael, yame!" Splintered commanded hitting his walking stick against the floor. Raphael had been taunting his two younger brothers during the majority of practice, but he would not stand for this physical bullying, especially not with his more sensitive son.

Donatello yelped as Raphael mercilessly dropped his leg and elbowed him in the gut while rising to his feet. Donatello stood up bending his knee cautiously, before forcefully scratching his arm. He gave his immediate older brother a 'I hope you drop dead' glare. Raphael promptly dismissed the glare with smug chuckle.

"Kneel." Obediently, all four turtles kneeled before their Sensei. He silently and sternly, stared and walked around them. He was not always hip to the pop culture references and euphemisms his sons often immersed themselves in, but he was far from being born yesterday. From the ambiguous bickering, he pieced together the wayward topic of discussion. He was a teenager once and knew the 'desires' that dwelled in the minds of young boys. He also knew the ramifications of such untamed desires.

He briefly sniffed the air around them. He smelt nothing more than their usual boyish odors. Though he had no physical proof of wrongdoing, their aggravated interactions was enough for Splinter to know that something happened.

"Leonardo." Master Splintered said hovering over his knelt form.

"H-Hai, Sensei," Leonardo replied bowing his head a little lower.

"Would you care to explain the lack of balance and focus you and your brothers displayed during practice?"

"Well, we just, I mean," Leonardo fumbled over his words avoiding eye contact with Splinter.

"The truth fears no questions, Leonardo, I suggest you start there."

"It's Raph's fault!" Leonardo quickly blurted out, "He's the one that let Mikey believe—"

"And now you blame your brother? Is this the way a true leader behaves? Blaming his team instead of taking responsibility for his actions?"

"But I didn't do anything!"

"And maybe that is the problem."

Leonardo's eye ridges shot up in bewilderment and then furrowed in slight confusion, "How did you know…" his voice trailed off. He seemed uncertain of what to say without further incriminating himself.

"Know what?!" Michelangelo threw his arms in the air, "No one tells me anything, and now Sensei knows!" He grumbled from the end of the lineup.

"No he doesn't!" Leonardo snapped at the youngest, who promptly clamped his mouth shut, finally realizing his brother's irritation. Splinter observed the slight twitch in the leader's left eye, and calmly cleared his throat eliciting a nervous chuckle from the turtle in blue as he tried to smooth over his response, "I mean you don't know...because there's nothing to know, Sensei."

"Oh? Then I can assume your bickering was not about sexual double entendres?" Splinter asked watching Leonardo's face pale drastically. "That is what I thought. Your minds should be focused on more productive things instead of the use ofcondiments and your power tools." At the use of their innuendos, a muffled snicker was heard to his right, "Do you find this amusing, Raphael?"

"Actually, yeah, a little bit." Raphael said his voice low trying to control the laughter in the back of his throat.

"Then maybe you will find 50 backflips amusing as well." Raphael huffed, glowering at the floor as he clutched his fists at his sides. Donatello offered his brother a self-righteous smile, before Raphael punched him roughly in the arm. He grimaced before scratching his arm again.

Splinter sighed. He had no idea what sparked this sudden interest in condoms. The boys were growing up so fast, becoming young men. He wasn't one hundred percent sure what they were actually doing when they patrolled the city….Or were they even patrolling at all? The city held so many sexual immoralities just waiting to corrupt his boys. His furry brows rose at the possibilities. They had better not be doing what he thought they couldbe doing. No, not his boys. Maybe their squabbling was just innocently promiscuous, but just in case there were tainted actions involved….

"50 backflips. All of you."

Shocked eyes blinked at him before the simultaneous complaining began.

"I don't even know what's going on!" Michelangelo pouted.

"Now or it will be 150."

"Hai Sensei." They said dolefully.

"You should have just told him. You know how Mikey gets when we don't tell him things." Donatello said in an informative tone. Though judging from Leonardo's caustic expression, he probably came across as more of a know-it-all instead.

"Stop your complaining, Brainiac, you're just mad 'cause you can't—"

"I swear if you say, 'play with your tools' one more time…."

"That's what April said."

"Boys! More counting, less bickering!" Master Splinter massaged his temple as he listened to his students count their flips as they performed them.

60 backflips later (Raphael's heckling resulted in an extra ten for everyone), Splinter decided a meditation session would be benefical in clearing the minds of his lustful students. Sitting in front of their Sensei, the brothers took the traditional lotus position. Once certain all eyes were closed, Splinter relaxed, closing his eyes as he talked his sons into a meditative state.

"Continue to focus on your breathing. Let your thoughts pass by undisturbed; just focus on breathing as you find your inner balance." Splinter's breathing slowed to a peaceful rate as he allowed his corporal surroundings to melt away. "Your balance is in the natural rhythm of your breathing. Feel the coolness of the air drift past your nose and fill your lungs; now exhale."

After finding his own meditational balance, Splinter tuned in to his sons' presence. In the beginning their breathing was loud and rushed, but within minutes their panting mellowed into a slow rhythmic pace. Splinter allowed his spiritual eyes to open within the spiritual plane. Blinking away the last remnants of carnal sight, he no longer saw his sons before him, but a spiritual depiction of their beings. Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo were symbolized by blue, red, purple, and orange vapor-like apparitions, respectively.

The blue vapor making up his eldest son's essence formed an image of the scales of justice. A constant stream of water flowed in one scale and then the other, tethering the scale like a see-saw but never truly becoming balanced. There were constant struggles for balance within Leonardo: teenager or adult; boldness or reservation; leader or brother; self-perservation or self-sacrifice? Though the flow of water in the scale was always calm and gentle, these conundrums kept Leonardo's internal scales constantly shifting. Splinter expected him to find his balance and maintain it under the most strenous circumstances, yet a times he seemed to waver over the simpliest matters. He was confident with more meditation and training he would master this balance. As leader, this was not a option, but a necessity.

Raphael's aura was quite the opposite; more volatile and less controlled. His bright red aura moved more like a blazing flame, lapping this way and that. His soul burned with a compassion so fierce it threatened to consume him. Splinter observed his son's efforts to control the fiery emotions within him. He watched as the flame slowly simmered to a calm flicker before once again combusting into a wild fire that spread past the outlines of his body. The fiery cycle of flame-flicker-flame, would no doubt continue throughout the remainder of the meditation session. Splinter knew the temperamental struggle Raphael dealt with on a daily basis. Fear fanned the flames of his reckless anger. Fear of rejection, fear of losing loved ones, fear of self-worth, fear of simply being loved. Pointing this out to him often resulted in bigger unruly flames that took days to mellow back into a flicker again. Raphael's hotheadedness in full swing was harrowing, but his determination to control it was admirable.

As his eyes moved to his next son, Splinter frowned with concern at Donatello's meditative state, or rather his lack of meditation. Auras naturally gravitated toward one's center. Eerily, Donatello's center was a spiritual ghost town. The only mystical projection occupying Donatello's core was the illusion of a small metal box secured with a single padlock. Splinter sighed. Donatello's aura always appeared very reserved, retreating back on itself, much like his introverted personality. However, this mental 'box' was a fairly new development in the turtle's meditative state. It was dangerous to keep one's emotional state under lock and key in such a way.

Despite the grave quietness of his core, an array of activity occupied his headspace. The silhouette of Donatello's head displayed busy apparitions of purple gears clanking and turning to a numbered rhythm; long algorithm scripts warped around them like electrons orbiting an atom. The intellectual mindscape of his second youngest was staggering to Splinter. Donatello's meditative state was like standing in the middle of the stock exchange, but instead of stock prices, his mental screens displayed chemical equations with research notes scrolling across the bottom.

Splinter could barely focus on one scientific thought before a more complicated one overlapped and linked it to a mathematical equation somehow making perfect sense in Donatello's mind. Yet with all the commotion taking place in the young turtle's brain, his core remained motionless. Every now and then a shimmer of purple light glowed through the seams of the box before dying down into disquieting darkness. Such imbalances in the soul were unhealthy and chilling. Thinking about the ramifications of such inconsistencies sent a shudder through Splinter's soul.

Before Splinter could dwell on the issue any further, an orange vapor stretched into view. It clumsily extended toward the outskirts of Donatello's body. The lonely vapor was vibrant and fast, curiously clinging here and there in the meditative plane. Such a warm spirit, it felt like….

Splinter's eyes snapped open from the spiritual realm. Stumbling forward on his knees, he immediately grabbed his youngest son by the shoulders and shook him harshly.

"MICHELANGELO!" The sudden alarm in his voice startled his other three sons out of their meditation. Just as Splinter prepared to slap him across the face, his unconscious son abruptly inhaled. His weary blue eyes finally met his father's eyes.

"Mikey!...What happened?...Is he okay?" Master Splinter held up a single pawed finger effectively silencing his sons' collective voices of worry, but it didn't keep them from hovering around their Sensei and youngest brother.

"Michelangelo. My son, can you hear me?" Splinter said calmly, though his voice was laced with fatherly concern.

The youngest turtle blinked a few times, looking around as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm fine, Sensei…." He answered slowly looking around at Splinter then his brothers. He squirmed with embarassment under their apprehensive stares, "I fell asleep again, didn't I?"

"No, my son, you were not asleep," Splinter said touching the side of Michelangelo's face before letting his hand slide down to gently grip his shoulder. He sighed with relief at the sound of his son's voice and the warmth in his face, "Your spirit is very much awake...and drifting. It is very important that you focus while meditating, Michelangelo. Your wandering attention will not be as forgivable in the spiritual realm."

Splinter knew this would happen one day. Of all of his sons, Michelangelo was his most spirited. Strongly underestimated yet full of raw untapped potential. He didn't just think outside the box, he didn't see the box at all, never truly knowing his limitations. Both a unique and dangerous trait. He lived, learned, and even meditated without limitations. His lively aura often danced around the borders of his corporeal body, always testing its safety limits. This time, however, Michelangelo's aura actually left his body curiously floating beside his brother.

A wide yawn from the orange banded turtle, pulled Splinter from his thoughts. He needed to sit and talk to his youngest alone—without the distraction of his brothers—about his 'drifting' issue. But not now. The mere inches he drfited from his body had obviously taken a small toll on him. The talk would have to wait until later.

"Leonardo, Raphael. Take your brother to the kitchen and give him something to eat. Do not allow him to sleep."

"For how long, Sensei?" Leonardo asked as he and Raphael helped Michelangelo to his feet.

"Until Donatello and I are finished in the dojo." Splinter's response caused a wide-eyed double take from Donatello. He looked at his Sensei questioningly, but Splinter offered no further explanation. Leonardo nodded wrapping his arm across Michelangelo's shell to steady the drowsy turtle, "I also suggest you both take this time to clear up any confusion you and Raphael have caused your brother concerning….condiments and power tools, understood?"

"Hai, Sensei." The two oldest said in solemn unison as they left the dojo with Michelangelo between them.

Subcousiously scratching his arm, Donatello spoke in his usual quiet demeanor, "I should probably check on him, medically speaking, just to make sure-"

"Your brother is fine, Donatello. It is you I am concerned about. Sit." Master Splinter motioned to his son's previous spot on the dojo mat.

As Donatello's lips moved to form a protest, Splinter quirked a challenging brow silencing the teen. With a small sigh Donatello took his place on the mat.

Chapter Text

"Bros, I'm totally fine, honest," I protest half-heartedly as Leo and Raph lead me into the kitchen. I sigh as my words land on deaf ears. Leo fumbles through the refrigerator while Raph pushes me down in the nearest chair at the kitchen table before sitting beside me, "Okay, so I'll sit," I mumble at Raph's manhandling. He scowls at me, crossing his arms over his plastron.

"Could ya move any slower, Fearless? Geez," Raph snaps at Leo while still keeping an eye on me. Leo doesn't say anything back, but gives Raph a look that clearly says 'cool it'.

I tug at my wrist wrappings. A testy Raph is a worried Raph, but his watchful stare is making me squirm. I just feel a little tired, that's all. Nothing to freak out about.

"Here you go, Mike, eat up," Leo says quietly as he slides a plate of pizza in front of me. He sits to my right sporting a tight-lipped smile—the kind of smile he gives when he wants to hide how he really feels, but I can see right through it. He's just as worried about me as Mr. Frowny-Pants over here.

I look at my older brothers before looking down at the two slices of pepperoni pizza in front of me. I could totally get use to this kind of service! I look up again only to find Leo and Raph still staring at me. As much as I love the attention, it wasn't worth seeing the tense and worried looks on their faces. I really don't understand why their buggin' like this. It's not like this is the first time Master Splinter's lectured me about my short attention span.

'Michelangelo! You must focus. Michelangelo! Pay attention. Michelangelo! Do not sleep, meditate! '

It's the story of my life.

Funny thing is, Master Splinter said I wasn't asleep in meditation. Maybe I wasn't asleep this time, but it still felt like I was dreaming. I felt really stretchy like Plastic Man. I was reaching for these moving colors. The colors were fuzzy, but I knew if I could just stretch a little further I could touch them. Then, all of a sudden, this force pulls me down like a nail to a magnet, and then I woke up feeling kind of 'bleh' with Master Splinter and my bros staring at me. It was the strangest feeling ever. Even stranger than the time I got my t-cell stuck in my shell.

"Would ya eat the freakin' pizza already?" Raph leans forward and impatiently slams his hand on the table.

His sudden outburst jerks me out of my thoughts. I quickly pick up a slice of pizza and make haste taking a huge bite hoping to appease my irritable brother. I take two more large bites and move on to the next slice. Guess I'm hungrier than I thought.

"Raph," Leo lectures, "there's no need for the attitude."

"Whatever," Raph replies with a snort, "Just don't wanna be stuck here babysitting the runt for the next hour." He leans backward balancing on the back legs of his chair. Leo rolls his eyes. I feign a small pout.

I polish off the second slice of pizza and proceed to suck extra tomato sauce from my fingers. Pizza is officially the cure-all for the 'Bleh.' That's the name I'm giving this weird feeling.

"So, what exactly happened back there, Mikey?" Leo asks, his voice takes on a more serious tone.

I look down at my empty plate. I'm not good at explaining this kind of stuff to my brothers. They always look at me weird, like when I tried to tell them about the mutant I fought named 'PizzaFace', they didn't remember, 'cause they were turned into pizza zombies. I totally saved the day! Pretty awesome, right? Tried to tell my bros, but they said it was just a bad dream, even after I begged them to believe me. They never take me seriously.

"Yo! Earth to bonehead, ya still with us?" Raph snaps his fingers in front of my face pulling me from my thoughts once again.

Right, so I'll just tell them I was floating through empty space and seeing trippy colors, because that will totally not make me look like a goofball and a nutcase. Yeah, definitely keeping that one to myself.

So, I flash a casual lopsided smile and shrug, "I don't know, guys, guess I was daydreaming during meditation and just kind of zonked out." I force my smile a little more for a good show.

"Figures. Freakin' space cadet…" Raph grumbles more to himself then to us as he continues to rock on the back legs of his chair.

Leo doesn't take the bait so quickly. He looks me over and juts out his bottom lip as if he's inspecting the truthfulness of my words.

I relax my brows into a more apologetic expression.

Leo breathes out a sigh, "Mikey, you should at least try to pay attention during meditation."

Ha! And the award for most illusive little brother goes to…

"Sure, Leo, I'll work on it," I assure him, this time with a more genuine smile.

"No Mikey. No more 'working on it."

I shrink in my chair and pick at my wrist wrappings. He's using that tone again. This isn't going the way I planned. I feel a lecture coming on….

"You always say you're working on it, but I don't see any improvements to show for it. If you spent half as much time practicing meditation techniques as you do playing video games, then we wouldn't be sitting here making sure you don't pass out."

"I'm fine, Leo, really." I say quietly not able to look my oldest brother in the eyes. He's frustrated with me, I get it. I screwed up as usual. Getting reprimanded by Leo can be just as bad—if not worse—as getting lectured from Master Splinter.

Leo's like all kinds of awesome! He's brave, always has a plan, determined, and a kick-butt ninja….pretty much everything a superhero should be. I can imagine him standing on the tallest rooftop, mask tails swishing behind him in the wind. A ninja warrior of light in a city of villainess darkness, slashing out crime with his katanas of truth and justice….wow, that sounds wicked cool, I should make that into a comic!

In practice, I try really hard to copy Leo's sense of discipline, but I just don't have that kind of…

"…Focus is the key...If you would just take the time to….Michelangelo! Are you even listening?!"

Oops. "Er…yeah, focus is key, got it!" I quickly cover my absent-mindedness and give a sheepish thumbs-up. Leo breathes out another tired sigh.

"Really, Fearless? You gonna lecture the goofball on 'focusin' and he took you out with a single move?" Raph chimes in making air quotes and smiles haughtily at Leo.

I show off my own victorious smile. A tint of embarrassment floods Leo's cheeks at Raph's little jab. Yeah, who knew talking about condoms would have Leo in such a tizzy. Curiosity calls to me and perks my mood. My attention span holds true to its nature, as I flip to a more interesting subject, "So what's a condom?" I lean my crossed arms over the table, not wanting to miss a single word.

Leo ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. He groans. He didn't think I would let it slide that easily, did he? Besides, Master Splinter says they have to tell me and when Sensei gives a command, it's a done deal.

"Well, um, you see…"

My eyes are eagerly locked on my eldest brother, ready to hear this well-kept secret.

Taking a deep breath, Leo closes his eyes before beginning again, "You remember when Donnie's voice started changing a few years ago—"

"Ya mean when Don sounded like Darth Vader on helium?..." Raph quipped with a chuckle, "Ah, good times."

"Anyway," Leo continues, "You remember when Master Splinter took us all into the dojo and had 'the talk' with us?"

I nod slowly. That was the most awkward lesson in history of awkward lessons.

"So, you understand we have different….parts that are….different from girls? You know how our bodies and female bodies work….right?" I try to follow Leo's weird hand gestures but only find myself confused and dizzy. Leo's face grimaces into so many different shades of discomfort, it's almost painful to watch.

Now it was my turn to be exasperated, "Yes, Leo. I know our junk is different from girls' junk….probably different from human guy's junk, too…." I prop my chin under my fist; that mental image intrigues me for a moment as I give it serious thought.

"Junk?" Leo says raising his brow with a rather disgusted look on his face.

"Penises and vaginas, you dork."

"RAPH!"

"What?"

"I know what he means!"

Raph shrugs, "Just thought you needed some clarification."

Leo glares at Raph for a solid minute before turning his attention back to me.

"Okay, okay, that's good that you know….that," Leo tries unsuccessfully to casually smile at me, but it looks more like a nervous tick is attacking his face, "Okay. Right. So, condoms?..."

"Condoms," I confirm with an eager nod, hoping he will take it as a hint to continue.

"Okay. Right…" Leo repeats before rubbing the back of his neck again.

I think I broke Leo, and that usually doesn't happen until after lunch.

"Jeez, for cryin' out loud, I'll tell him!" Raph volunteers clattering his chair back on all four legs again.

This seems to loosen Leo from his broken record mode as he looks at Raph stunned by the mere suggestion.

"Oh, no you're not! You've done enough!"

"Well its better than sittin' here listenin' to you trip over your words, like a freakin' prude."

"Guys?..."

"Please, like you know the first thing about condoms!"

"Guys…"

"Ha! You wish you knew as much as I do about condoms!"

"GUYS!" I shout at my arguing brothers. Now that I have their undivided attention, I continue in my normal laid-back voice, "It's awesome that you guys know such much about condoms, really it is, but I still don't know jack! So could somebody just tell me-"

"What's going on?" I ask Sensei as I kneel under the dojo's tree, scratching that insufferable itch for the umpteenth time. "For the record, I had nothing to do with the whole condom fiasco, Master Splinter. I didn't even-"

"I know you were unaware of your brothers'….condom fiasco, as you call it. However, it is not what I wish to speak with you about."

"If it's about the security system, Leo already told me the wiring in the west tunnels need—"

"Donatello," I shut my mouth at his tone; it is not harsh, but still peaceably demands my silence. "This does not concern the security systems. Still your mind, my son….please."

He paces slowly in front of me, stroking his bread after every third step. His whiskers twitch on the offbeat of his tail as it swipes back and forth across the floor behind him. His brows furrow slightly. These subconscious actions easily tell me something is bothering him. I'm just not sure if it's frustration from our practice, or something I personally have or have not done. Let's see, I haven't disassembled or blown up anything lately. Although, I can think of a few things that need fixing around the Lair. Yes, there's the toaster, the leak in the bathroom—

"Donatello," The warm touch on my shoulder tugs me from my thoughts. I look up to see Master Splinter sitting in front of me. I didn't even notice him sit down, "Still your mind. I simply wish to talk with you."

"Okay…." He chuckles at my skeptical tone, but says nothing else as we sit in silence for a few more minutes. I absently scratch the itch on my arm.

"Let me see." Without waiting for a response, he gently takes my itching arm into his hands. Rotating it slowly he frowns at the angry red skin. The outer edges of the redness are decorated with peeling flakes of olive green skin. I grimace in disgust. I didn't realize I scratched so hard.

Master Splinter pinches off a leaf from an aloe vera plant growing in a small patch near the root of the tree. He told me once he only grew herbs that were supplemental to the body and mind. With a single claw, he splits the leaf lengthwise and smoothly scopes out the gelly substance with his finger.

"When you and brothers were twelve, you were the first to have a growth spurt and your skin shed in a similar manner," He gently brushes away the shed skin from my arm, " I wondered if your brothers would catch up to your height. It seem to trouble Leonardo immensely," he says fondly with a slight smile as he rubs the aloe vera gel on my irritated skin. It's cool and soothing. The itching stops almost immediately.

"Great, just what I need. To be freakishly taller than I am right now." I grumble more to myself than to him.

"You are neither the first nor last young man to experience the awkwardness of growing up," he says in a way that makes me slightly less miserable about the thought of another growth spurt.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me.

"My son, I have watched you master many things over the years. The brilliance behind the things you invent is truly phenomenal."

"Nothing phenomenal about it," I look down at my knees. I'm not sure where he's going with this conversation. I pensively nibble on my lip. Complements from Sensei do not come easily, so I'm not sure how to respond, "Just…just a lot of studying and tinkering I suppose."

"I suppose so." He absently hums his response, "There is one thing I notice you still struggle greatly with mastering." I quickly look up blinking in disbelief. That doesn't sound right. He smiles at my lack of verbal response, "Do not look so surprised. Even the wisest man in the world still has much to learn."

"Sorry, Sensei. It's just that everything I learn, I work hard to perfect, so it's highly unlikely that there are errors in my completed projects."

Master Splinter quirks an amused brow at my comment.

Okay, so maybe that last part was a bit….much. My brothers constantly remind me of how arrogant I come across to others, and I'm pretty sure I'm doing it again. I really do take great care in every formula, machine, or repair I work on, to ensure it all performs to perfection. I have data logs to prove it! Honestly, how is that being arrogant?

"It is not your science and engineering work that I speak of. Your struggles are in your ninjutsu training. You have shown little improvement in some of the more basic techniques."

My mouth is slightly agape as I stare at my father. I try to cover my embarrassment and regain my composure. Is he confirming the very thoughts that plague my mind?

You're not as good as your brothers.

I try to shake the words from my head and swallow my shame. I know I'm not the fastest, fiercest, or most devoted in training, but I know ninjutsu.

"Sensei, I've studied all 18 disciplines of ninjutsu. I can effectively use my naginata both defensively and offensively, if necessary. I even studied the human anatomy to better understand-."

"Seishin-teki kyôyô." Master Splinter says simply.

"Spiritual refinement." I translate without missing a bit, "I can recite and define the other 17 disciplines as well." I have to prove to him that I am just as experienced as my brothers, that I'm not some invalid ninja.

He holds up his hand putting an end to any further defense of my impressive ninjutsu knowledge.

I know the proper forms and techniques of my weapon, but every time I look into Sensei's eyes I can see the expectation of more. I know the history of ninjutsu inside and out, what more can I possibly learn to prove I am an asset? For all the ninjutsu knowledge I gained from books, my brothers always seem to have an upper hand when we practice together. Through steady observation, I know for a fact I am more focused than Mikey; I don't let emotions control me like Raph; and even with Leo's perfectionism, I remember more intricate details of the art form than he ever will. Yet I can see their growth, their acceleration in their training. Where does that leave me?

"That won't be necessary." Sensei continues, "You have an exceptional understanding of the other disciplines, but it is your lack of skill in Spiritual refinement that worries me the most."

I shift uncomfortably in my knelt position. I try not to sigh, because I already know what's coming.

"During meditation, I noticed something of great concern. Your mind, as always, an array of luminous activity, but your spirit…." He pauses thoughtfully before continuing again, "Donatello, we talked about this before and I assumed you took heed when I told you to practice your meditation skills. I do not make a habit to pry into you or your brothers' meditative states but felt the need to during today's session. It pains me to say, but your lack of spiritual energy disturbs me. I fear you are regressing in this discipline."

"That doesn't seem possible, Sensei. I always concentrate during meditation."

"No, my son, you are always thinking during meditation. Again, I tell you meditation is not only the awareness of the mind, but also of the body and spirit."

This time I can't help but allow a small sigh to escape my lips.

"You still do not embrace the spiritual aspects of meditation. Why?"

I remain silent. I know my answer will not sit well with him. He continues his lecture at my lack of response, "You are afraid of your spiritual awareness."

"I'm not afraid." I state simply. Why would I be afraid of a fictional concept?

"Then let us meditate together." He holds his hands out to me, palms up. I stare at him, but do not make an immediate move to take my father's hands. I've had one-on-one meditation sessions with Master Splinter before; he usually walks me through breathing techniques and such, and I end up just mentally reviewing computer schematics without him being the wiser. I'm not sure why physical contact during this meditational nonsense gives me pause. The whole thing just seems-

"Ridonkulous!" I exclaim between laughs, "I mean, why would a dude ever wanna put that on their junk?"

"Will you stop calling it junk?!" Leo says. His awkwardness is quickly replaced with annoyance once the conversation started getting really interesting.

"Fine, 'privates'," I correct using air quotes, "But seriously, why would a dude blow up a condom and tie it to their juh..er…privates?" Leo and Raph stare at me like I suddenly grew a second head.

The silence breaks as Raph's loud laughter fills the kitchen.

"Have you listened to a word I've said?!" Leo continues to stare at me with wide eyes. His elbows are propped on the table as he shakes his head in his hands, "Unbelievable…."

I frown at his accusing tone, "Of course I have, bro. You said guys put condoms on before they do it…..its just that….wouldn't a chick think a dude was a little weird having a condom floating from his junk?"

"You don't blow them up, you idiot!" Raph bellows between mocking laughter.

"What Raph means to say is, people don't actually blow up condoms when they are…sexually active. What you saw last night was just humans acting irresponsibly and treating condoms like toys," Leo says in his mature, 'I'm the oldest therefore I know these things' voice.

"Oh." I reply timidly after being laughed at Raph. Big meanie. "So, if you don't tie it on….how….how do you put it…?"

"Just roll it on." Raph said like it is the most obvious thing in the world. It really irks me when he does that. Like, everybody in the entire universe knows about the mysterious world of condoms except me.

"You make it sound like you're painting a wall." Leo said unimpressed by Raph's answer.

"Well, if you don't roll it on, then you will be painting the walls, if ya know what I mean" Raph wags his eye ridges at Leo, another joke I'm obviously not in on. Aside from being adorable, being the youngest sucks.

Leo narrows his eyes at Raph with a withering glare, "Real classy, Raph."

I look back and forth between Leo and Raph, waiting for more details. They can't start talking about condoms and then jump to painting walls without filling in the blanks.

"You do know condoms block the white lightening, right?" Raph says sobering up a bit from his previous laughter.

I blink and stare at him, "White lightening?" Sounds like a 70's superhero.

"Yeah, ya know homemade yogurt, baby batter, jerk-off juice, and if you gotta real lady, facial cream. Oh, there's also-."

"OKAY! I get it, dude!" I practically shout, my voice begging him to stop before I melt in my seat from total embarrassment. The dots have been connected, I reallyget it now. Condoms. Condiments. Not the same thing. Not sure where the power tools come into play, but then again, I'm not sure I really want to know, "That's just sick, bro."

"No sicker than what you do in the shower every morning."

"NO I DON'T" I cry out, mortified by my brother's declaration.

"You don't what, little brother?" He says, slyly trapping me with my own words.

"I…..shut up, Raph!" I cross my arms over my plastron and sulk in my chair, I suck in my lip so it doesn't look like I'm being a baby. I know I shouldn't let Raph get to me, but, God, sometimes he's just horrible to be around. Sure, I tease him, but never like this…..

"Hey! Knock it off you two! Sensei is still in the dojo with Donnie and I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate all the noise, so shush!" Leo says to both of us even though he's looking at Raph.

"Don't shush me, you shush." Raph cops an attitude, muttering something that sounds like 'Splinter Jr.', but, for once, Leo doesn't indulge him.

"Look, Mikey, its not rocket science," Leo starts in his matter-of-fact tone, "Guys put them on before they are….sexual with a girl, so they don't get pregnant."

"Guys don't get pregnant, Leo." I mimic his tone, redeeming myself from earlier naivety. Now who's the dummy?

"What?...No, Mikey, that's not what I meant!"

"But you said—"

"Forget what I said!" Leo snaps. I lean away from him. Leo can be a little scary when his eye starts twitching like that, "Would you just pay attention?!" His hands shake in front of him like he wants to strangle me.

I remain silent, stuck between Leo's impatience and Raph's mockery.

"As I was saying, it keeps the girl from getting pregnant." Leo continues, eyeing me pointedly, "Condoms also protects against diseases." I quirk my brows curiously. "Seriously, Mikey?...Master Splinter told us all of this when we were like thirteen! How do you not know any of this?"

"I do know this stuff!….sort of….I mean, most of it…." I trail off. I really do remember the talk Master Splinter had with us when we started becoming 'young men' (Master Splinter's words, not mine), but it's not like he had any samples on exhibit for us to see. I've never been good at understanding things without pictures and examples. Words don't always stick to my brain, so I have to see how stuff works to understand them. None of my other brothers are like that….just me.

"Another example of what happens when you don't pay attention, Michelangelo."

Great, now he's using my full name, "But, Leo-"

"We wouldn't be having this conversation if you had paid attention during Master Splinter's talk. You also would have known those weren't balloons and saved yourself a lot of embarrassment, and those backflips could have been avoided too."

Now this is my fault? Leo makes a big deal out of everything, why can't he just be on my side for once?

"The little twerp spaces out even when he is paying attention." Raph says, even though no one asks for his two cents, "I swear it's like his brain's permanently set to stupid."

'Michelangelo! You must focus. Michelangelo! Pay attention. Michelangelo, you're stupid.'

The comical story of my life, right?

"Ha!" I give an exaggerated laugh, holding my side with one arm and slapping my other hand down on the table, "Good one, Raph!"

Takes more than a lecture from Leo and few low blows from Raph to bring this turtle down.

"Thanks for the sex ed. 101, bros; I totally get the whole condom thing now, " I mask my hurt with my usual charming smile as I raise my feet in the chair, moving to a squatting position, "I've got a new high score to beat on Galaxy Invaders! Later, dudes!" And with those parting words I push off with my legs, backflipping out of the chair and make a beeline for the den. Jumping over the back of the couch, I flop down on the middle cushion and fish out the game controller from between the seats.

Would you just pay attention?!

I swear it's like his brain's permanently set to stupid.

I turn on my gaming system trying not to allow the words to sink into my psyche, but from the way my chest is tightening, I realize their words have already hit a nerve.

I sigh softly to myself as the game's intro appears on the tv screen. I just need to take my mind off things and-

"Relax," Sensei quietly says as he lightly squeezes my tense hands in his paws, "We will try a different form of meditation."

"Okay," I say, briefly opening my eyes to see my Sensei in deep concentration. This is the third time he's made me meditate in the past twenty minutes. Progress to notate? None. I exhale deeply as I close my eyes again.

"I want you to imagine a place that brings you peace."

After a bit of thought I think about—

"Not your lab."

I huff with slight annoyance as I try and think of another peaceful place.

"Let me help you," Sensei says after a few more awkward moments of coming up empty on a peaceful location, "Imagine you are sitting on a mountainside. Feel the grass beneath you. Hear the soft rustle of leaves as the wind gently blows through the trees. See the beauty of nature around you."

I furrow my brows as I try to visualize the scene Master Splinter is describing. I remember reading a geography book about the Andes Mountains. It's the longest continental mountain range in the world. They are home to many wonderful creatures, like the llama and chinchilla. And the plant life at such attitudes is absolutely—

"Donatello, you are dwelling on your thoughts again," Master Splinter says with a sigh.

Correction. This is the fourth in the past twenty-five minutes he's made me meditate. I'm so desperate to get back to my lab, if I could fake a meditative state I would do it in a heartbeat.

Sensei sighs again. He must be just as frustrated as I am, "We will try once more."

"Hai, Sensei," I say reluctantly.

"Just meditate….as you usually do."

I look at him questioningly.

"You are allowed to think," he says wryly.

I exhale, relieved by Sensei's approval. No more imaginary mountains or counting my breaths; just me and my thoughts. Logic, oh, how I've missed thee! So, I close my eyes and start thinking about alternative chemical compounds that may work with the limited amount of mutagen in my lab.

"Do you see your thoughts, Donatello?"

I frown. What does he mean do I see my thoughts? Sure, I can envision the appropriate equations, but-

Oh. This is what he means….

My eyes are closed, but what I'm seeing right now would seem impossible even if my eyes were open. I am physically seeing every idea and thought racing through my mind at this very second. I watch in awe as scripts of printed data warp across the space around me like electrons and protons orbiting an atom. I tilt my head upward to see large screens emitting a purple glow as they display the latest blueprints for a new tracking device I'm working on. It's a glorious city of perpetual science and math. "Yes, Sensei, I can see them," I confirm with a slow smile, still in wonder of this place, "How is this even possible? Am I seeing my brainwaves?"

"Not exactly," He explains, "You are seeing your meditative state. It is a figurative image of your mind"

"Why haven't I seen this before?" I ask as I literally (or is it figuratively?) grab hold of a formula I've been working on for the past two weeks. I always think about my projects when I meditate, but the fact that I'm physically holding a thought in my hands is pretty amazing.

"I am with you in your meditative state, helping you see what I see with spiritual eyes," following his voice, I turn around to find Sensei walking toward me. He moves to the side to avoid a train of thought that passes between us, "One's meditative state is a very intimate terrain. I always respect you and brothers' privacy while meditating, only stepping in your spiritual space when there is need for concern."

"Like with Mikey." I state. I still don't understand why he insists on meditating with me when there is obviously something wrong with my younger brother, "He looked pretty dazed after meditation. Are you sure he's-"

"Michelangelo will be fine. Drifting, even for a short distance, can drain one's spirit, but Michelangelo is safe now and I will work with him on meditating just as I am working with you right now," Splinter says simply.

"So if this is my 'meditative state', as you call it, then I must be meditating, so I don't understand where further training is needed."

"You are indeed in your meditative state, but you are not meditating. You are still thinking. In order to truly meditate, you must acknowledge your thoughts and then let them go."

"What do you mean 'let them go'?" I ask. With his hand on my shoulder, he motions to the formula fluttering in my grasp like a caught butterfly.

"Let it go," he repeats. I hesitate. I can't just let this go! I think I might be able to condense the reactants of this formula and-

"Donatello! Let go, now!" At the urgency of my father's tone I release the formula and watch it flutter away before falling in line with my other orbiting thoughts, "Look out!" Before I can ask 'why', he pulls me roughly to his side. I watch as a swarm of word equations dive down to the spot I was standing in before abruptly zipping up and following the formula I was holding just seconds ago. "You are not use to this spiritual realm. Do as I say. You do not realize how dangerous a place your ingenious mind can be. Stay close."

I nod dumbly, unable to articulate the proper words for what I just saw. Did I almost get mowed down by my own thoughts? Mikey would swear this is was a scene straight out of the Twilight Zone. I smirk at the thought of my little brother's overactive imagination as I follow behind Master Splinter. As we leave my spiritual headspace, our surrounds start to change. The purple glow and hum of brain activity fades behind us. Wherever we are headed is much quieter with dimmer lighting.

I wrap my arms around myself trying to stave off an oncoming shiver. The quietness is unnerving.

"Where are we going?" I break the silence as my voice echoes. I look around, but can't see much. Beyond the dim omniscient lights there is nothing. There is only endless nothingness. My stomach knots together like a cluster of screws and bolts; my chest tightens like it's in a vice grip.

I stop walking.

I feel uncomfortable, but I don't know why and not knowing why scares me beyond comprehension. Something brushes against my shell and I nearly take a defensive stance until I feel the fabric of Father's robe against me. He holds me close a moment before pulling away. I look up at him releasing air from my lungs I didn't realize I was holding.

"It is alright, my son. We are here."

"Where is here?" My voice is smaller than I intend for it to sound.

"This is the center of your being. It is what connects to your mind and body."

"There's nothing here…" Looking up, I turn around in a circle trying to find any indication of what my core looks like.

"Ah, but there is," Master Splinter says leading me to a wooden coffee table with a small steel box on it. I walk pass Sensei toward the table. My hands tremble as I reach for the box, but curiosity pushes me forward. I hold the box in my hands. It has weight to it, but it's not too heavy. There's a single lock on it. It's smooth and cold to touch, yet there is a vibrating warmness that pulses every few seconds from inside of it. The vice grip in my chest has come back with vengeance and makes it hard to breathe. A soft light glows through the seams of the box as it continues to pulsate.

"What do you feel, Donatello?"

"I feel…" But I never finish my sentence. I gasp as a sensation hums through my body. My mind drifts back to Raph humiliating me in practice and I feel angry, upset, and pathetic. Thoughts of April fill my mind and overlap the first emotions. Suddenly, I feel elated, hopeful, and sick all at once. Both sets of emotions swirl together like a typhoon and sprout forth new intense feelings of hurt, rage, and….loneliness.

The box clatters loudly to the floor as it slips from my fingers.

"Donatello, it is alright. You must become aware of…." The sound of Master Splinter's voice fades as I try to process what's happening.

My skin feels prickly, a sense of vertigo traps me in its tendrils, and I don't know how to make it stop. I don't know whether I want to laugh, cry, or hit something and I have no logic reason for feeling this way. This isn't a math problem and it doesn't follow the laws of physics. I don't understand any of this and I don't know how to fix it. So, I do what I always do. I think about things that make sense.

a2 + b2 will always equal c2. The Pythagorean Theorem will always have the same outcome no matter what. But this? This is unpredictable and irregular.

The metal box shakes violently on the floor. Then, out of nowhere, chains float and wrap around the box. A padlock clamps down on the chains holding them firmly in place, effectively stopping the convulsions within the box.

I don't like this place. I want to leave. Now.

I feel like I'm breaking a watery surface as I open my eyes and gasp harshly. I snatch my hands from Sensei as if his hands were burning coals. His lips are moving but there's no sound. I blink several times and shake my head to clear the lingering fogginess.

"….My son, calm yourself." His voice is comforting to my ears, even through my embarrassment. I take deep breaths to slow my racing heart.

"I'm fine," I say quickly and a little harsher than I mean to. I swallow the saliva that has pooled in mouth, hoping to also swallow down the mixture of sentiments stuck in my chest like bad indigestion. I sit up a little straighter and force my face into an unreadable expression. I hope to save a sliver of my dignity after such a disastrous meditation session.

"Self-discovery was in your reach, but anxiety took it from you. You cannot expect to grow if you do not understand yourself, and you cannot understand yourself if you do not face the root of your problem."

"I don't have a problem, Sensei. I'm fine. Really," I try my best to reassure him so this conversation will end.

"Tell me, son, what do you do when one of your inventions does not work as you designed it to work?"

I tilt my head slightly at randomness of his question, but answer it anyway, "Well I make note of possible variables that could contribute to its malfunctioning so I can make the appropriate modifications."

He hums as he rubs his hand down his beard, "So in essence you collect this data in order to fix the problem, correct?"

"In a sense, yes."

"In this same manner, you must also collect data about yourself; truly know and understand who you are. Only then will you be able to take this data and improve yourself.

This self enlightenment mumbo jumbo is really starting to frustrate me as I try to keep it together. "I improve myself everyday, Sensei. I read engineering manuals, scientific journals, and medical books, to make our lives comfortable, to keep us safe, to...to better myself."

"Donatello, there is more to self awareness than the knowledge you possess for the good of this family. The things you do, are not who you are, and do not compare to the things your soul needs and thrives for. Self awareness is developed by focusing your attention on your inner self."

"Right. So, I'll just look up some journals about—"

"This is not a skill you learn from a book" He sternly interrupts me, "When your focus is in a book, you are not paying attention to your own behavior and emotions, which is the whole purpose of meditation."

I usually remain silent through Master Splinter's lectures about meditation, but after such a horrible morning of practice and this crazy self-awareness session, my patience is nearly shot. "I mean to be disrespectful, Sensei, but these abstract theories of spirituality have no real merit. I don't need to focus on an imaginary spirit world to fight purple dragons or hack into Kraang technology here in the real world. It...it just doesn't make sense to me...it never has."

There. I finally said it. But instead of feeling better, I just feel anxious all over again. I can see the disappointment glisten in my father's eyes as he rises to his feet.

"Why do you still doubt what you have seen with your own eyes?"

"It wasn't real!" My voice elevates slightly as my hands flop heavily against my crossed legs. "It was just a neurological response to external stimuli and-"

"Donatello!" He barks at me. His walking stick slams angrily against the floor. Though his tone is like stone, it is the harrowing look in his eyes that startles me. "Your spiritual presence is deeply suppressed and unless you allow its release, it will rupture your mind and body; it will be your undoing."

"That's a bit dramatic" I mutter sarcastically to myself. I immediately regret my commentary when Master Splinter's head snaps back to look at me. His steely eyes are unnerving and force me to look down at my lap.

"You find my warning dramatic?"

"I'm sorry, Master Splinter, I didn't mean—"

"Perhaps extra meditation sessions will help you see a different perspective."

I give a disapproving grunt, "For how long?"

"Until you see the error in your logic. You are dismissed." He turns away like I am nothing more than a delinquent pupil.

I barely manage an audible 'Hai, Sensei' as I swiftly walk from the dojo.

My peripheral vision is a blur as I briskly walk to my sanctuary. My lab.

I meditated in the dojo for another hour after Donatello's retreat. Perhaps I pushed him too hard today, but it was the only way to show him, to make him understand. Though he is my most introverted child, Donatello, is also my most intellectual. He never takes anything at face value; always searching for the why's and how's of this world. What he cannot prove with his science and experiments, he dismisses as a fallacy.

However, there are some things that are beyond our understanding and stretch into the realm of impossibilities. He holds so much knowledge about the world around him, yet lacks true understanding of the simplest matters within himself.

When he was as child, Donatello was the most easily frightened aside from Michelangelo. My youngest son's fears were those of an overactive imagination, the boogie man and other child-like notions. Donatello's fears were similar to his brother's, until he learned better. At an early age, the discovery of textbooks and reliable facts quickly extinguished his imagination for outlandish tales and replaced it with knowledge and logic.

Donatello's intellect often outweigh his fears. In his mind, without prove or evidence, it does not exist, and therefore hold no threat.

However, it is good to have a healthy suspicion of the inexplicable.

During practice, I was sure I felt another presence within my son's aura. It was foreign, yet familiar. I only meditated with him to make certain it was merely an old rat's mistaken sight and nothing more serious. However, it is as I feared—another presence was there.

Foreign, yet familiar, it remained eerily still in my son's core.

My quietest son still hides behind his knowledge. He thinks he is protecting his emotions by locking them away. He does not understand my concern. Just as Donatello panicked and pulled us both from his subconscious state, I saw it. A glimpse of its cerise manifestation. The presence seemed indifferent, but it was watching; waiting for something.

Still troubled by my thoughts, I walk over to the small shelf dedicated to Tang Shen. Maybe I worry too much about my boys. Maybe the presence I felt was nothing more than a stray emotion; extra meditation will help with this.

"Yes, Leonardo." I don't have to turn around to know my eldest son is standing behind me. Nowadays, there is a more confidence in his walk, as a true leader should have. At times, it still falters as it does today.

"I just wanted to apologize for this morning. I should have handled things better with Raphael and Michelangelo before practice."

I turn around to face him. Though he avoids eye contact, I catch a glimpse of embarrassment in those self-reproaching blue eyes.

"Have you and Raphael explained the meaning of condoms to Michelangelo?" He visibly winces at the word 'condom'.

"Hai, Sensei," he says as he straightens his stance a little more, "I made sure Michelangelo understood what…they are," he pauses as his expression becomes more serious, " He never listens. I told him to pay attention more. Sometimes, it's like he doesn't understand the importance of anything unless its a comic book or a video game." My son shakes his head in a manner that is much too old for his teenage years.

"Your brother understands a lot more than you think," I say with a small smile as I place my hand on his shell and guide him toward the center of the room, "Come. We will practice your Kenjutsu techniques."

Chapter Text

Nothing like a game of Galaxy Invaders to unwind the mind. I reach level 50 just as I feel a sharp thump on the side of my head. I yelp as I rub the tender spot while still zapping the alien creatures. I ignore the pestering jab and deepen my concentration as the alien warlord blinks unto the screen.

"Move," Raph demands. He flops down on the couch, nearly sitting on me in the process.

"Hey!" I whine, "I'm trying to beat the boss level!"

"Don't care," he says heartless of my dilemma as he looks for the remote. Our eyes spot the remote on the coffee table at the same time.

"No!" I roar, reaching for the remote with my right hand, while still working the game controller in my left, but Raph is faster. "Don't you dare!" I say threateningly, my attention fully on Raph's hand as his finger hovers over the channel button.

Accepting the challenge with a mocking raise of his brow, he promptly changes the channel. I bellow a heart-wrenching cry of defeat, "I was here first!"

"You've been hoggin' the tube for the past hour, so shut your trap."

"You could've at least let me save my game, Raph!" I complain in frustration.

"Whatever," He mutters, totally blowing me off. He leans against the armrest causally flipping through the channels. He props one leg in the couch and shoves me to the floor with the other.

I scrunch my face into an ugly sour expression, "Jerk."

"Twerp." He says dismissively as he settles on some sort of do-it-yourself autobody show.

I huff as I walk out of the den. I want…no I need to tell somebody what a jerk Raph's being. I peek into the dojo and see Leo talking to Master Splinter. I'm about to walk in and voice my complaints, but Leo's words stop me in my tracks.

"He never listens….." I pause, my foot hanging over the threshold. With ninja finesse, I pull myself back and hide against the outside wall of the dojo. "….it's like he doesn't understand the importance of anything unless it's a comic book or a video game."

I can't make out everything Leo says to Sensei, but I hear enough to know complaining about my video game probably isn't the best idea right now. I turn on my heels and head for the only brother who hasn't treated me like crap this morning.

I stand in front of Donnie's lab door. Wasn't he in the dojo with Master Splinter before Leo? How did I miss him passing by the den? Sometimes I think Donnie has Leo beat in the stealth department, and that says a lot. But, hey, that's just Donnie; he's always been the quiet one out of the four of us.

"Knock, knock!" I shout at the closed lab door with a grin.

"I'm busy, Mikey," I barely hear his quiet response.

"Knock, knock!"

"Mikey, the door isn't even locked! I don't have time—"

"Knock. Knock." I emphasize both words with pretend aggravation.

An inflated sigh comes from the other side of the door, "Who's there?"

"Mikey," A smile is obvious in my voice; I'm thrilled my brother is playing along.

"Mikey who." He doesn't even say it as a question, just a deadpan response, but I'll take what I can get.

"Mi-Key doesn't work, that's why I'm knocking!" I beatbox the sound of a rimshot and I'm pretty sure I hear a huff of laughter on the other side. I take it as sign it's safe to come in as I crack the door open, slide inside, and gently shut the door behind me. "I've been waiting to use that one all week!"

As usual, Donnie is tinkering at his lab table with a whole bunch of wires, metal scraps, and thingamajigs scattered in front of him. He's wearing those magnifying eye glasses that make his brown eyes look super huge like an anime character. He finally looks up at me. I give him my most endearing smile.

He sighs before looking down at his work again. I almost think coming in his lab was a bad idea, until he finally speaks, "Delivery: I give it an eight. Comicality: a nine. The fact that you used your name as an actual pun: Full ten points."

"Yes!" I exclaim as I pump my fist with a little one leg hop. Donnie shakes his head at my antics, but shows no other expression as he continues to work. Across the room, there's a rolling chair beside the infirmary bed. I promptly sit in it backwards, and using my feet, push off the infirmary bed until my shell bumps the edge of the lab table Donnie's working on.

"Whatcha doin'?" I ask in sing song kind of way as I spin around twice before facing my brainy brother.

"There's a shortage in one of the security cameras. Found another one," he explains dejectedly as he holds up the camera for me to see, "just tweaking it."

"Cool," I give a head-bobbing nod, but then pause thoughtfully. That was way too short of an answer. He didn't tell me what kind of camera it was, how he was going to tweak it, or any of the other stuff he usually goes on and on about. His knuckles turn slightly off-white as he grips the camera a little harder than he needs to. He snatches up a screwdriver with his free hand and proceeds to unscrew the back of the camera. Arching a curious brow, I watch him try three times to unscrew the camera casing, before tossing the screwdriver roughly on the tabletop. He scratches at his leg before picking up another screwdriver.

Donnie never tosses his precious tools, and since when does he not know the difference between a flat-tip and a cross-tip screwdriver? He's the one who explained the difference to me!

Something's definitely bugging him. I wonder if he got in trouble with Sensei? Donnie getting in trouble is pretty much unheard of, unless he's blown up something. I think back for a moment….nope, don't recall anything going 'ka-boom' lately, so something else is up. I quickly forget about the crappy morning I'm having and decide it's up to me to crack this case. It'll take some sneaky ninja-know-how to get Don to tell me what's wrong. It's a real delicate process. He's kinda like Raph, but instead of exploding into rage, Donnie sort of caves-in on himself and totally ignores everything and blocks everybody out. One wrong move and he'll clam up. Game over.

"What did Splinter want?" I ask as innocently and causally as possible to test the waters.

"Nothing important," He gives a clipped response as his lips tighten into a thin line. Alright, so whatever happened between him and Master Splinter must have been pretty deep. He obviously doesn't want to talk about it, right now. No need pushing that button any more.

He clears his throat asking how I'm feeling. He's changing the subject—already trying to block me out.

"I was fine after I ate something," I answer him coolly. I don't want him going all Dr. Don on me. His eyes scan me like a turtle-humanoid-computer. He seems satisfied with my response and overall appearance and goes back to his tinkering. Alright time for a different approach. If he doesn't want to tell me what's bothering him, then I can at least try to make him feel better with a few jokes.

"Hey, Donnie," I start and then continue when he absently hums a response, "Why don't cannibals eat clowns?" I wait a moment for him to answer and when he doesn't, I eagerly blurt out, "Because they taste funny!"

No response, but that's okay; I've got plenty more where that came from.

"Why can't you trust an atom? Because they make up everything!" I chuckle at the last one, but the laughter dies on my lips when I look up at Donnie.

He doesn't even crack a smile! He loves these silly puns just as much as I do, especially the science ones. We share a love for corny jokes. It's one of the few things we still have in common. I remember when we were kids and Leo and Raph fought all the time (some things never change). I use to get really upset about it and Donnie would tell me jokes to distract me. Nowadays, Donnie and I are so different, it's crazy, but the jokes are just something we never outgrew. When either of us is frustrated or upset, we tell each other jokes. It's just our thing.

So now I'm disappointed that he's not laughing at my awesome jokes. I can practically see him sinking deeper into his work. At this rate, it'll be days before he surfaces again.

I sober into a more thoughtful expression. "Okay, D, serious question. I know H20 is water, but what is H204?" My question seems to capture his attention. He never passes up a chance to flash around that big brain of his.

He straightens his posture in a very scholarly way as he speaks, "Well, technically, H2O4 is a compound containing 2 hydrogen and 4 oxygen atoms. However, it's pretty much an unknown-"

"Nope!" I exclaim abruptly cutting off his bookworm explanation. I can barely hold back the smile inching across my face, "It's for drinking, for swimming, forwashing….get it? H20 for?" My eyes dart back and forth waiting for his reaction.

Donnie stares and blinks at me for half a minute before a nerdy puff of laughter escapes his lips. It starts out as a tiny snort but then the snorts become louder and more repetitive as he laughs. I join in with my own dorky treble of a giggle. It's good to see him smiling. He hasn't snort-laughed in weeks. He's been pretty busy trying to recreate that retromutagen.

"That was pretty good," He admits to me as his laughter subsides. "Do you mind grabbing the cutting pliers from my toolbox?" Sweet! When Don starts asking me to grab tools, it's pretty much a given that he's not going to block me out and I can stick around for awhile. I feel his mood shifting; I'm still not sure what happened with Splinter, but at least he's coming out of his funk.

"Sure thing," I reply still sporting a smile. I bound over to the shelf where he keeps his toolbox. Peering inside his box of treasured tools, everything is in order by tool, type, and size. It's ridiculous how organized my bro is. He labels everything. I look beside his toolbox and see a handheld label-maker, which is conveniently labeled 'Label-Maker'. I'm not sure if it's meant to be a joke or just another one of my brother's many quirks. I wonder if he labels his labels?

My short attention span wraps me in its coils again, because I hear the slight impatience in Donnie's sigh as he speaks, "Did you find it? All the tools are in alphabetical order and subcategorized by type, so it should be pretty easy to find," he continues to prattle over his shoulder, "They're the pliers with the zig-zag edges, they look like little teeth and—"

I feel a frustrating warmth rush to my face as my brother's patronizing tone makes me blurt out, "I know what cutting pliers look like, Donnie; I'm not stupid!" The words leave my mouth like pressured steam from a tea kettle. I hear something clatter from the table as Donnie slowly turns around in his squeaky swivel chair to face me. He idly scratches his ankle.

I didn't mean to yell, but Donnie's tone reminds me of Leo and Raph and their words still hurt. They both think I'm dumb and don't pay attention. And now Donnie thinks the same. Well, I do listen and I'm not dumb!

I snatch the pliers from the toolbox and shove it toward Donnie, "Here!"

He pushes his funny looking eyeglasses to the top of his head and stares at me with questioning eyes, "I never said you were stupid." He says slowly as he carefully takes the pliers from my hand and places it on the table. His eyes never leave mine. "Do you think you're stupid?" My shoulders slump as my momentary anger dissipates into thin air. I look at Donnie. He's not Leo or Rap; he isn't being sarcastic. His tone is easy and kind; he's trying to figure out why I just blew up at him.

"Yes…no….I mean…" I make a wordless sound of frustration before plopping down into the other swivel chair, "I don't know." I sit on my thumbs wrapping my other fingers around the bottom of the seat. I twist side to side in the chair and look away, embarrassed by my mini outburst. I came in here to forget about feeling like an idiot, but I guess Leo and Raph's words are more difficult to forget than I thought.

"Does this have anything to do with your condom conversation with Leo and Raph?" He asks cautiously, scratching the bottom of his foot before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his plastron.

I take a deep breath before going into a explanation, "Leo thinks all I do is goof off, don't try hard enough in practice, but I do try and I work really hard to be as good a ninja as him, but he says it's my fault we had to do blackflips….Raph says I'm stupid cause I didn't know what condoms or white lightening were, but it's not like Sensei went into detail about that stuff, ya know?...And Raph totally messed up my game and kicked me out of the den, I was on level 50. Level 50! Totally not cool….Then I heard Leo tell Master Splinter that I didn't know anything, and now Sensei's going to be disappointed in me," My heart races as the pitiful narration comes pouring out in less than two minutes.

"The pliers," I continue quieter than before as I catch my breath, "I thought, you thought I was stupid, too."

Donnie frowns and sits there for minute trying to understand the words I just vomited into his listening ears. "Okay," he says with care. For a minute, I think he's going to agree with everyone else about my level of stupidity, but then he continues, "First of all, in case it wasn't clear when I said it earlier, I do not think you're stupid." He gives me a dead serious look before getting up and walking to his toolbox. He comes back with another set of pliers. My face crumbles. I can't even find a dumb pair of pliers.

Donnie does a double take from the pliers to my crestfallen expression, "No, no, no," he waves his hand in front of me as if to wipe away my current feeling of uselessness, "Completely my fault. I didn't tell you what size I needed. Right tool, wrong size, see?" He gives a reassuring smile holding both tools in front of me, displaying their obvious size different. I nod my understanding, sniffling slightly, despite my best efforts not to.

"No one thinks you're stupid, Mikey. You know that." Donnie chastises me gently as he sits down again. He turns around to face the lab table again, but this time waves me over, "Come here. Hold these two wires like this. Perfect, thanks." I hold the wires as still as possible. You would think a guy as smart as Donnie would be super arrogant and talk down to people every chance he got, but he's not like that at all. Donnie has a way of making even the dumbest turtle feel like the smartest person in the world. That's how I feel right now, like holding these wires is the most important job ever, cause Donnie asked me to do it.

He starts tinkering again as he continues, "You know how Leo is when he goes into 'Leader mode.' He knows fully well you are just as awesome a ninja as the rest of us. He just worries and wants to make sure you're prepared. You just need to focus a little more that's all." When Donnie says focus, it sounds like the easiest thing in the world to do.

"I do focus!" I say huffily. He arches a brow as he stops tinkering to move my hand back where he originally told me to keep it, "Sorry," I mutter sheepishly. "Well, he doesn't have to be so conceited and bossy about it. And Raph?...God, he totally ticks me off! Okay, I know I tease him and stuff, but just to make him laugh, never to make him feel…" My words trail off but several words come to mind.

Stupid. Dumb. Idiotic.

"Raph is…" Donnie chimes in as he cuts a stray wire, "Well, Raph's just living up to his obnoxious, tyrannizing, crass, and barbaric nature." His voice changes to one of disdain as he describes our red-clad brother. Apparently he's just as ticked off as I am.

"If that's you're way of calling him a jerk, then I totally agree, dude."

"I got it now," Donnie says allowing me to release the wires, "Here, twist these wires together really tight and then slide them through this PVC tube," I nodded an 'Ok' and put my fingers to work, "Don't feel so bad about the whole condom thing. Just between you and me, the first time Raph saw a condom he thought it was chewing gum; and Leo thought sanitary pads were neckwarmers."

I chuckle in disbelief.

"Our big brothers don't know as much as they'd like you to think," Donnie says with a smirk. He pauses for a moment before looking at me, "You know what sanitary pads are, right?" I can hear the dread in his voice as he waits for my response.

I wave off his worries with a 'pssh' sound, "Dude, I found out about those the hard way." He gives me a curious look, so I elaborate, "April told me….after she whacked me in the face with a box of them."

"WHAT?!" I wince at Donnie's shrilled reply, "What did you do, Mikey?!" He's yelling now in that panicked tone he saves for needless freak outs.

I put my hands up as if to calm down a frightened puppy, "Chill out, dude. It was an accident."

"Telling me it was an 'accident' is not helping me 'chill out'…" Donnie eyes me with obvious doubt.

"Seriously, after the initial screaming, she was actually pretty cool about telling what they were. FYI, 28 days from now, I would totally stay out of her throwing range if I were you."

Donnie's eyelids lower suspiciously at me, he opens and closes his mouth twice, but sighs and finally give up on whatever he was going to say, "Never mind. I really don't want to know."

I shrug indifferently, but then another thought comes to mind, "There's one thing I still don't get," I start off as I try to push the twisted wiring through the tiny PVC tube.

"What's that?" Donnie says picking at the splayed guts of the camera while scratching his leg under the table.

"How do you use power tools with condoms? It sounds pretty painful." Donnie looks at me puzzled by my question, but seconds later his eyes widen as his mouth forms an 'O'. "Leo and Raph busted my chops so bad about condoms, I didn't ask about the power tools." I sigh as I finally give up on pushing the wires through the plastic tubing.

"Actually, power tools have absolutely nothing to do with condoms. It's just a figure of speech."

I think back to practice this morning…what did Master Splinter call it?..."You mean it's a double entrée?" I answer with uncertainty.

Donnie winces a bit at my wording, "Close. It's called a double entendre, or more specifically a sexual innuendo." Yeah….that doesn't make things any easier to understand. I stare at him prompting him to continue, "Sexual innuendos use everyday things to make sexual references."

Still staring. Sorry, bro, no dice. Try again.

He taps his chin and hums thoughtfully as he looks around his desk for something. He eyes the wiring and PVC tube in my hand, and promptly takes them. Holding the PVC tube and wiring in front of me, he says, "Prime example. In your own words, female junk," he wiggles the PVC tube in his right hand, "male junk," and then waves the wiring side to side in his left hand. He swiftly slides the wiring back and forth inside the PVC tube. "Voila, sexual innuendo."

He looks proud of his demonstration, but the only thing he really proves is that he's better at putting wires through tubes than I am. I still don't get what that has to do with—

"Oooh!" I say in sudden awe as I make the connections. Aside from Sensei, Donnie's the only one who tries to explain things in a way I'll understand it. "So you use other stuff to talk about sex?"

"Pretty much," Donnie agrees as he hands me another wire and tube.

"So putting the 'car' in the 'garage' is a sexual innuendo?"

"Yes. It can be." He answers casually as he installs the new wire in the camera.

"What about putting the ball in the hoop or the chip in the dip?"

Donnie rubs his hand down his face and groans with a smile he's incapable of hiding, "Great. I've created an innuendo monster."

I laugh out loud at his dry wit, and snap my fingers as I think of another one, "Hey, you can put the vomit in the barf bag!" We both give pause as Donnie stares awkwardly at the absurdity that just came out of mouth, "Uh…too much?" I cringe as I hand him a newly wrapped wire.

"Too much." He agrees, adjusting something inside the camera as he rubs his foot against the floor.

"So when Raph said I played with your tools…." My mood darkens with embarrassment as I realize what my crude older brother really meant.

"Yeah." Donnie says, his bitter tone confirming my realization to be true.

I grow quiet as I think about what a dummy I must have looked like last night. All the inside jokes suddenly make a lot more sense, and Don got the bulk of the insults. I look up at Donnie sympathetically; he's really touchy when we tease too much about him and our friend April.

He catches me staring at him, but he dismisses my concern with a waning smile, "Its fine, Mikey. I told you it wasn't your fault."

"I am so pranking Raph big time for this." I say in a tone that demands justice for little brothers everywhere.

"What are you going to do this time?"

"I'm thinking hot sauce in his Gatorade." I smirk at the thought.

"Hot sauce pranks are so cliché." He criticizes while screwing on the camera casing again.

"Well, what do you think I should do, Mr. Smarty Pants?" I challenge. I watch him press a few buttons on the camera before turning to his keyboard to press a series of keys.

"Well," he starts as he turns back around to face me, but he's holding the camera up concealing his face. I look at the computer screen behind him to see his gap-toothed smile staring back at me, "I think we could kill two birds with one stone on this prank: Get revenge on our dear older brother and prove how brilliant you are."

"Did you just say 'we' as in you and me?" Donnie never joins me in prank wars, though he does sometimes offer his room as neutral hiding ground. "Wait did you call me brilliant?"

"Yes, and yes," Computer-screen-Donnie smirks at me, "Unfortunately, I suffered through Raph's recent victimization as well and would like to partake in constructing the proper ramifications for his actions. I have a plan. Between my knowledge of simple machines and your creative skills in causative spatial awareness, I think we can pull it off. What do you say?"

"Dude, I barely understood a word you just said, but if it means we get to bust Raph, then I only have one word to say," I grab the camera from Donnie and turn its lens toward my lips, "Booyakasha!"

"Excellent!" Donnie says with a chuckle as he turns back to his computer and starts typing. My mouth disappears from the computer screen as he pulls up a bunch of videos from the internet. "Check these out," and with the tap of a key the videos play.

I place the camera on the table as I stare in confusion, but within seconds a smile practically splits my face in two. Every tantalizing detail is just amazing and makes me so giddy I can barely stop bouncing in my seat. Six videos and several brainstorms later, I look at Donnie, my eyes glistening with anticipation. This is going to be crazy fun! I can't wait!

"When do we start?" I say between giggles.

He smiles brightly at my enthusiasm, "Well, I have a few supplies here, but I'm pretty sure we'll need to make at least one trip to the junkyard for the other items. We'll definitely need to draw this out and-"

"Hold up!" I put my hand up in mock seriousness, "Before we do anything this operation needs a name." I glance over to Donnie, who is genuinely smiling. He's totally forgotten about whatever upset him earlier. I didn't exactly cheer him up in the way I expected, but hey whatever works, right?

I should probably be a good little brother and point out the fact that he has other things to do which are way more important than pranking Raph, but I don't. Everybody needs to have a little fun sometime, even my workaholic brother. "Bro, you should totally name this operation." I urge with an eager nod. He looks a bit surprised—he knows how defensive I am when it comes to naming things.

He quickly recovers with a quiet laugh, "Okay, well, what about Operation: Pink Love Glove?...PLG for short."

I'm grinning like a fool now. "I see what you did there," I wag my pointing finger at my bro with a knowing quirk of my brow, "And I love it!"

Donnie snort-laughs again before rubbing my head affectionately, "Come on, goofball, help me set up the new camera in the west tunnels."

With an 'okay', I start gathering up a few tools into his messenger bag.

I follow behind him as we head for the door, but frown as I notice a trail of olive green flakes on the floor that stop at Donnie's feet. I look at his feet and legs. He's been scratching the whole time I've been here, and it looks gross now.

"Dude, your skin's falling off." I stick out my tongue in disgust as I point to his legs. He looks down to where I'm pointing, but seems more annoyed than disgusted.

"It's just dead skin." He mumbles as he brings his leg up to scratch it again. More flakes drift to the floor.

Before I can bombard him with gross hygiene questions, his T-phone makes that catchy jingle sound. When he checks it, his lips quirk into a lopsided smile and a small blush paints his face. I already know who it is.

"Was that April?" I stretch her name as I practically sing it out loud.

His blush deepens, "Stop that." He swats his hand at me which I easily dodge. He sends a quick text and puts his phone back in his belt pocket.

"Well?..."

"She, uh, just wants me to come by later and help her study."

I raise my eye ridges and squish my face to make duck lips.

"Stop that!" He complains, even though I can see the cheerfulness dancing across his face as he pushes pass me to leave the lab.

Laughter tickles my throat as I trail after my brother, "Hey, wait up, D!"

Chapter Text

Supplemental workbooks? Check.

Diagrams? Check.

List of common Physics formulas? Check.

Kiss from April after a successful evening of studying? Highly probable.

I smirk to myself. She kissed me once already, after saving her from the Kraang, which means under the right circumstances the probability of another kiss, could increase exponentially. I think a study date constitutes as the right circumstance. I grab one more physics textbook from my bookshelf and neatly tuck it into my messenger bag.

I check my T-phone. It's 7:30pm. I already called Mr. Murakami and asked for a take-out box of pizza gyozas. If I leave now, I can pick up our dinner and make it to April's apartment ten minutes early. I don't want to be late. Confident I have all the needed study materials, I turn on my heels, and then give a startled gasp at Leo who is standing at my bedroom door, leaning stoically against the doorframe.

"Geez, Leo, would you stop doing that?" I huff in annoyance. I swear he's always sneaking up on me.

"If I was footbot, you would be dead right now," he says pointedly.

"If you were a footbot, our newly installed security camera would have easily alerted me of your presence, prompting your inevitable dismantlement long before you found my bedroom," I boast with a pinch of cheekiness.

He quirks his brow, unamused. I return the gesture. He holds my bo staff out to me. I sigh. Did he really think I would leave without it? I swiftly take it and in a single twirl, slide it into its holster on my shell.

"We're patrolling at 9:00 pm sharp." Leo emphasizes in his authoritative voice as we walk out of my room and head for the entrance. He should really save that tone for Raph tonight, not me. Wait, did he say nine o'clock?

"That only gives us an hour! That's not nearly enough time to study," I grouse, "I want to review rotational motion for at least thirty minutes and then tie in—."

"Nine o'clock, Don." Leo cuts me off with a finality I don't bother to argue with. As we reach the turnstile entrance, he looks at my arms and down at my legs. I have extra wrappings on my arms that start at my elbows and end at the palm of my hands; the ones on my legs start underneath my kneepads and continue downward to cover my feet. I look like a mummy, but the aloe vera-saturated wrappings are the only thing keeping the nagging itch at bay; it also keeps April from seeing the awkward skin discoloration its causing.

I see a gleam of my brother's genuine concern peeking beneath his leader-mode poker face as his expression softens, "So, another growth spurt, huh?" Great. He knows and it hasn't even been 24 hours yet. That has to be record. Is there nothing private in this lair?

I sigh, as I pull my leg wrappings a little higher, "Probably; at least that's what Master Splinter thinks it is. It's pretty typical for teenagers to experience at least two growth spurts before adulthood."

"Do they hurt?" He asks earnestly.

"Not yet." I mutter. When I had my first growth spurt at twelve, being taller than my brothers came at the price of throbbing arm and leg pains that lasted for months until my height finally leveled out. I'm honestly not looking forward to getting any taller or the growing pains that come with it.

"Well, maybe it won't be so bad this time around."

"Dude, maybe you'll be as tall as Sensei!" Mikey chimes from somewhere behind me before leap-frogging over me, landing on top of one of the turnstiles. He playfully hops to the next turnstile without missing a step or losing his balance.

"Mikey, Sensei is looking for you," Leo says to our energetic little brother, who is now walking the turnstiles on his hands. Backwards. Maybe I shouldn't have let him eat all those candy bars earlier. "He's in his room."

"Aw, but I didn't do anything!" He argues with slight whine in his voice, "Whoa!" His hand slips on one of the bars of the turnstile. My shoulder pitch upward and I wince as he makes harsh contact with the floor, "Totally meant to do that….ow."

I glance down at my T-cell, "Its 7:35." I sigh impatiently. I don't have time for Leo's circumspection or Mikey's clowning around. I sigh again. Now I will only be five minutes early if that.

Leo shakes his head at me negatively, but he knows my interpersonal skills leave much to be desired when I'm in a hurry. "Go. Be watchful." I jump the turnstile as I take purposeful strides down the sewer to reach a designated manhole. "9 o'clock, Donnie!" His voice is distant but I still hear him and give a give a shout of acknowledgement.

"Uh, Sensei? Leo said you wanted to see me." I stand outside his rice paper door and rhythmically drum a beat on my nunchuck belt. I anxiously stand on the sides of my feet before letting them roll flat on the floor again.

"Come in, Michelangelo."

Well, he doesn't sound angry so maybe I'm not in trouble after all! I smile as I cavort in with my usual stride of unadulterated energy and kneel before him. I thump my fingers against my knees to a catchy song I heard on the radio last week and wonder how Donnie's study date with April will go. I'm so getting details even if I have to make him smell my right middle toe to get it. I giggle as I imagine a Cartoon Donnie smelling my feet with little death X's in his eyes.

"Is there something you find humorous?" The hint of amused curiosity in my father's voice draws me from my comical thoughts as I look up at him.

"Just thinking about the power the feet." I say with a bright smile.

"Yes, Every action we take and thing we do, is either a victory or defeat in the struggle to become what we wish to be."

Amazed, I attempt to look around my shell at my feet as I wiggle them beneath my bottom. Who knew feet held so much potential.

"You seem more….animated than usual. Is there something on your mind?"

I chuckle, "More like something in my stomach; Donnie let me have some of his chocolate stash." I admit with a sheepish smile. I do my best to stop squirming so much, but it's kind of hard with all this extra energy I'm practically sitting on right now.

Master Splinter gives me an apprehensive look, "Maybe it will be best to resume this session at a time when you are more…focused."

"Session? What kind of session?" I ask curiously. He has my full attention now. I wonder if it's some ancient forgotten kata that unleashes a Hadoken special attack. I grin like a Cheshire cat.

"A meditation session."

I can almost hear my face drop to the floor. Not the type of session I was hoping for.

"Uh, you know what, Sensei? I think you're right, I'm waaay too Coo-Coo for Cocoa Puffs to focus on anything right now, especially meditation," I start to ease myself from my knelt position, "So, I'll just go bug Raph or something and we can do this another-"

"Sit." He demands dryly, "I have changed my mind. I think now would be the perfect time to redirect this energy you seem to have an abundance of this evening."

I pout and exaggerate a groaning whine as I plop down on my butt, cross-legged. Master Splinter isn't amused with my pantomimed grumbling, "Sorry." I mumble. He waits until I'm sitting relatively still before he continues.

"Michelangelo, during practice, your meditative state showed extraordinary potential." I raise my brows in surprise. Usually my name and extraordinary don't go hand in hand in the same sentence. "The natural state of an aura is to orbit around one's core," He explains, "Youraura's natural instinct is to radiate outward, away from your core, beyond its corporeal walls. In the spirit realm, this is called 'drifting'."

I stare at Sensei trying to visually comprehend what he's telling me. I'm not really sure how he wants me to respond. It sounds like my aura is doing something it's not supposed to do. So, I say what I always say when I goof up, "Sorry, Master Splinter. I'll try harder to meditate the right way." My apology is quiet, but sincere as I look down and pull at my wrist wrappings.

Master Splinter covers my fidgeting hands with one of his furry ones; he squeezes them gently to still my nervous habit, "You misunderstand my words. You are naturally able to do what seasoned ninjas take many years to accomplish in the Spiritual Refinement discipline. My son, you are truly gifted. You have an extraordinary skill that will serve you well in your training."

"So, Leo, Raph, and Donnie can't do this? I'm the only one?" When Splinter nods, my lips twitch into a small smile. He returns the smile and if I blinked, I would have missed the shimmer of pride flashing in his eyes.

"Although drifting is a higher form of Seishinteki kyōyō mastery, it is also a dangerous one. When a spirit is separated from its body for an indefinite amount of time it can be deadly."

"So….I had an out of body experience?"

"Yes, I suppose you could call it that."

"Whoa. I've always wanted to have one of those." This information is blowing my mind, seriously. What if I have some kind of ninja super power? I nibble on my bottom lip lost in my thoughts.

"You have questions." Sensei reads me like book, but I hesitate to ask anything because I know how crazy it will sound. "Do not be afraid to ask; there is no judgment here."

Accepting the gentle push, I try to describe my experience, "When we were meditating this morning, I felt trapped, like Alice in Wonderland when she ate the 'eat me' cake and grew really big inside that tiny room. Then all of a sudden all the pressure melted away and I felt….free." I give a reminiscent smile. That feeling of freedom was awesome.

"I assume the discomfort you felt was your spirit as it pressed against the boundaries of your earth-bound body and the sense of 'freedom' was your spirit leavingyour body."

I nod in agreement; that makes sense. Then I remember something else. "I saw colors."

"What kind of colors?" Now it was Sensei's turn to sound curious.

"Well, when I….left my body," I say, still trying to wrap my mind around this, "there were blurry colors—blue, red, purple, and grey—they were moving. Kinda made me dizzy."

"Transitioning from your body to the spirit world can be disorienting without proper training. I am certain the colors you saw were your brothers and I in our spiritual identity."

"Wow, I…I can't believe this. This is so trippy." I say rubbing my hand across the top of my head in shock. The knowledge Sensei is dropping on me is super deep; like Zen master deep.

"I will help you develop and control this ability with meditation exercises." I eagerly nod my acceptance. "We shall begin now." We both sit in the Lotus position, and then Sensei takes my hands and starts to ease us into a deep meditation. "Deep and slow breathes. Find your inner peace. Watch your thoughts as they pass by, but do not allow them to sidetrack you. Stay in this present moment."

This is always the hardest part for me. I've got a kazillion random thoughts zipping around my mind, and I'm not supposed to touch any of them! So, I watch my thoughts scroll by like a film reel of a movie as I channel my happy place. Yeah, that's the sweet spot. It's dark here, but not the scary monster under your bed kind of dark, but a kid sleeping safely in a 'big brother pile' kind of dark. This place of peace is safe, warm, and fuzzy; it tickles my insides like a thousand furry kittens. I open my eyes but I'm not in Sensei's room; I'm not even in the Lair anymore. I look down at my hands and then my body. I have an orange tint and look a bit transparent. Cool.

"Good, Michelangelo, self-awareness is very important. Now try to keep your aura within the boundaries of your body."

I frown to myself. Easier said than done. Almost instantly, it's starting to feel tight and cramped now. Am I getting bigger, or is this space getting smaller? The warm fuzzies are gone and now I feel overheated, sticky, and irritated, like a caged animal. There's not enough room to move; not enough room to breathe. The darkness turns into a thick smothering cloud. This tightness makes my aura fidget and bounce around in aggravation. The pressure feels like a million needles pricking me all at once. Something is pushing me down. I push back. I keep pushing until I start to feel the pressure melt away. This is when I usually break free and start 'drifting'.

"Michelangelo, stop." He chastises me just as I reach the outskirts of my bodily cage, "You must learn to keep your spirit within the confines of your body."

He's kidding, right? I can't stay here, trapped and bound by this invisible force. "I can't! I need….I need to…" I'm so hyped up in a panic I can't even express my need to be free of this imprisonment.

"My son, you are not in danger. Do not fight your body's natural boundaries. Allow yourself to be still. Imagine yourself small. Breathe; with each breath you are smaller. You are not trapped, you are safe. Breathe."

I follow Master Splinter's instructions and the four walls of pressure start to lessen with every breath.

"Before you can safely learn to drift, you must find comfort within yourself and accept the boundaries within your physical body; otherwise your spirit will float aimlessly in the spiritual world as a lost soul."

This drift training is serious business. If I'd know it was this intense, I wouldn't have so eagerly agreed to it. Leo's better than me at this meditation stuff. Maybe Sensei should be training him instead.

"Michelangelo."

"Hm?"

"You are doing very well."

Huh. I feel okay now. No more aura claustrophobia, when did that happen? Wait, did I actually focus long enough to keep my aura in check? Ha! Who says the Mikester can't focus! In your face, Leo!

It's 7:50 and I've already picked up the pizza gyozas. I'm approximately ten minutes away from April's apartment. So much for being early. Thanks a lot, Leo. I race the rooftops as the chill of fall brushes my skin with goosebumps. I tuck box of food closer to my body hoping to reserve some of its heat.

I'm in a much better mood than this morning. Even though I wanted to be left alone, I have to admit, I'm glad Mikey decided to bug me anyway. He's really great at...helping me fix surveillance cameras. I smile to myself. Like every other abstract emotion, I compartmentalize the endearing actions of my little brother into a special corner of my mind reserved for such inexpressible recollections.

I'm still miffed I only have an hour with April, but if I plan things just right, I can make the most efficient use of our time. A goodnight kiss could still be probable as long as there are no unforeseen variables.

It's 8 o'clock as I jump down the fire escape to April's bedroom window. Alright. This is it. I take a deep breath as I tap on the glass.

It's 8:02 when she appears with a warm smile as she jostles the window open, "Hey Donnie, come on in." Her voice is a sweet melody to my ears as I duck to climb through the window.

"H-Hi, April, sorry I'm late. I, uh, stopped by Murakami's for pizza gyozas and-"

"Sweet, I'm starving!"

I freeze at the sound of that unmistakable cursed voice. Before I can form an intelligent response, the take-out box is swooped from my hand.

My eyes widen in shock as I feel I've been sucker-punched, "Casey?!"

Chapter Text

"Casey?!" I instantly regret the acute pitch of my voice, especially when he gives me that smug look.

"Sup, Egghead," he smirks as he flops down in a purple beanbag chair. "So you gonna help us ace this project or what? He crams a handful of gyozas in his mouth.

So much for avoiding unforeseen variables...

"Dude, you look like a mummy," the little punk gestures to my arm and leg wrappings, "Halloween isn't for another six weeks." He let's out a blunt 'ha' laughing at his own pathetic joke.

I ignore his jab and manage to hold back the sneer that's trying to twitch its way across my face. I turn to April. This has to be a misunderstanding.

She gives me a fatigued smile, but doesn't seem to notice my look of confusion and slight betrayal.

Betrayal? She isn't your girlfriend, genius.

"Thanks, Donnie, I'm so glad you're here," she says, exhaustion evident in her voice as she gestures me further into her room, motioning for me to take a seat in the swivel chair at her desk, "Casey and I have been studying for hours but have only covered about half of the material that's supposed to be on our Physics test tomorrow. We also have a project due, which my unreliable partner hasn't even started on yet!" She raises her voice, angrily glaring at Casey whose cheeks are currently puffed full of gyozas…..The gyozas meant for April and me.

"Hey, I told you I had hockey practice this week!" He mumbles, spewing food particles as he speaks.

"You're not going to be on the hockey team much longer if we flunk this class!"

"You worry too much, Red," the hockey jock waves off her valid concerns, "I'll throw in a few biology terms during our presentation and voila…instant 'A'!"

Apparently April's had quite enough of his ill-placed cockiness as she snatches the box of gyozas from his greasy hands. I cringe at the force she uses to slam them on her desk beside me, "It's Physics, not Biology, you blockhead, and I already wrote our report; you were supposed to come up with a demonstration of Newton's Laws!" Her voice lowers to a dangerous octave, as she paces the floor with the heels of her hands pressed into her forehead, "Biology...how could you possibly think we've been studying biology for the past 2 hours..." she mutters between grinding teeth.

Casey pulls out his cell phone and immediately starts texting. I watch her pace the floor two more times before she flops down on the edge of her bed with a hopeless sigh. I can understand the frustration of someone not caring about the things you value; my brothers do it to me all the time when I try to explain my latest inventions to them.

She only called you over so she and her boyfriend would make a decent grade for class. She's just using you.

I ignore the pessimism leaking into my thoughts. April is my friend and I'll make sure she gives a stellar presentation and aces her test even if it means I have to teach her mentally-challenged partner the difference between biology and physics. My eyes skim over April's desk. Various notes are scattered around an open book with several highlighted sections. On the corner of her desk is what looks like a typed report.

With the utmost care, I pick up the stapled set of papers, "Is..is this your Physics report?" I wave it at April as she looks up and nods with a sigh. I read over the 4-page report on Newton's Laws of Motion. It's a solid and accurate description of the laws with some minor grammatical errors. "Looks pretty good, April," I confirm my thoughts out loud, "So you just need a demonstration?" I arch my brow a little surprised at the simplicity of the assignment. I don't foresee needing my Quantum physics book for this.

"It's not that simple otherwise I would just throw an apple Casey's head and call it inertia!"

"That may not be such a bad idea." I mutter to myself, although I think Casey heard it because he looks up from his cell phone and glares at me.

April gives me a no-nonsense expression as she clarifies, "It has to be a principle of physics in relation to an everyday activity," She says at the brink of panic, "And we still need to finish studying!" It's obvious my tone came across a little patronizing and my off-handed joke was not appreciated, so I hold my hands up in what I hope is a calming gesture.

"Okay. Okay," I say peacefully, "No problem. Surely we can think of a physics-based activity simple enough for Casey to explain."

"Just write down some science mumbo-jumbo and I'll memorize it," Casey chimes in nonchalantly as he continues to text someone on his cell phone.

"I am not doing your work for you, Jones. Besides you don't have the brain capacity to memorize my thesis of Newton's Laws. Even if by some stroke of genius you did manage to recite it, your teacher would immediately notice the quality of intellect, know it was well above your capabilities, and see right through to the glaring plagiarism." This time I don't try to hide the condescending flair in my voice.

"What're you tryna say, I ain't smart or something?" He bristles at my words and before I know it, he's off the beanbag chair and in my immediate personal space.

You should just punch him in the face; Knock the rest of the teeth out of that idiotic mouth of his.

Before I even consider this mental suggestion, April squeezes between us pushing us apart, "That's enough, you two," she glares between the two of us, though her eyes linger on Casey, "Stop acting so immature, Casey. Donnie is here helping us because of your insufferable procrastination!"

Told you. You're just their free pass to an easy A.

Ignoring my thoughts I look at the alarm clock on April's nightstand. It's 8:15. I backpedal a bit to bring us back to the task at hand, "its okay, April. Not a big deal," I lie, burying my irritation behind a fake smile as I glance over her report again, "I'm sure we'll cover additional study material as we plan out the demonstration—knock out two objectives in one task," I give a reassuring smile, "Newton's Three Laws of Motion deal with inertia; the relationships between force, mass, and acceleration; and action versus reaction, so we just need to demonstrate an activity that encompasses all three laws, right?"

"Right," April breaths out her frustration and sits down again on her bed as Casey flops back into the beanbag chair.

I tap my chin thoughtfully. I glance over to Casey who is still texting someone on his phone. What activity could I possibly describe so this nitwit will comprehend its relationship to physics? I'll have to speak his language somehow. I shudder at the thought.

Speak his language.

My eyes widen as the perfect demonstration comes to mind.

I'm not sure how long Sensei and I have been in my core, but it feels like forever. I'm not afraid of the boundaries anymore. They no longer feel like bars of a cage but more like padded walls that bounce me back to my center when I roam to close to edges. Master Splinter says I have an emotional awareness that draws me to others, but it's important to know myself just as well as I know everyone else. It's been pretty cool exploring the funhouse of my psyche, but I can feel myself becoming restless now. I think Master Splinter senses it too.

"I know this stillness is difficult for you, but you are doing well. I think you are ready to try a small drift exercise." Finally! I can't help but let out a small squeak of excitement. "But," he says sharply, putting a pause to my anticipation, "you must do exactly as I say, do you understand?" I eagerly bob my head up and down. I'm so ready for this.

"Release yourself from the thoughts that anchor you to your body. Let your aura float away from your core." Awesome. This is the moment I've been waiting for; I let the mantra of anchoring thoughts drop away from my aura like weights from a hot air balloon and feel myself quickly rising to the edges of my physical body. Faster and faster and fast-

"Slowly," Master Splinter says sternly. The warning in his tone makes me reluctantly tap the spiritual break pads of my aura, "Exiting too fast from your body can cause disorientation." After a few more agonizingly slow minutes, I can feel my spirit approaching the warning boundaries of my body. As I cross the threshold separating my body from the spirit world around me, I feel a sudden pressure and sensation of losing my breath, like pressing my face against a plastic wrap barrier. The suffocating feeling only lasts a few seconds as I gently push through the confinement and float lazily above my body. I blink my eyes in this new realm. I don't feel dizzy like I did this morning. Everything is clear, but fuzzy at the same time. I look down and see Master Splinter and me, or rather our bodies, sitting lotus style facing each other. Our bodies look blurry and so does everything else in Sensei's bedroom. It's like there's a thin milky veil coating everything. Wait, where's Master Splinter? I feel myself starting to panic aura form until I feel a comforting presence behind me.

"I'm right here, Michelangelo."

I spin around and stare in awe at my Sensei's aura. Even though his aura is nothing more than a wispy vapor like me, he still looks like himself. Against the murky background, Master Splinter's aura is a glowing contrast; his smooth grey impression is sharp and brilliant in color, like a raincloud right before a downpour, yet soft and gentle like the wings of a moth. The more I search his aura, the deeper it seems to extend. Just when I think I've reached the core of who he is, I am instantly surprised with a tunnel leading deeper into his being. The warmth of his spirit draws me closer with a gentle magnetic pull. Even as I brush against the unspeakable hurts and pains of his past, it's nothing compared to the endless burrows of unconditional love that I can't fully wrap my mind around.

"Have you found what you are looking for?" He asks, soft amusement ringing in his voice.

I jerk away shaking the remnants of his aura from my spirit. Suddenly his presence becomes more solid, not allowing me to dig any deeper into his being. Shame fills me as I realize I'm being rude and nosy, "Sorry, I didn't realize, I mean I didn't know—"

"It is quite alright, my son," he smiles lovingly at me as his aura radiates a comforting glow, "You are curious; it is understandable. However, from this moment on, your first rule in drifting is never to pry into the aura of another without an invitation to do so. You must respect the aura of others, for they hold one's most endearing passions and deepest fears. It is the very essence of who we are. No one has a right to pry into such realms of another's spirit. Do you understand?"

"Hai, Sensei." I say, taking his cautionary words to heart.

"Good. Now you must tune in to your surroundings."

I look in a complete circle at the fuzzy world around me, "Tune in to what, Sensei? Everything's a big blurry blob."

"You are not tuning in to the right things. Try again."

I sigh as I press my lips together in concentration. Looking around, I see absolutely nothing worth 'tuning in' on. Alright Mikey, think. I can't see anything worthwhile, but no biggie; I have four other senses to choose from. I sniff the air, but smell nothing. I strain my ears, but hear nothing. There's nothing to reach out and touch besides Sensei, and I really don't think he would appreciate me tasting his aura. I'm fresh out of senses and stumped; how am I supposed to tune into anything if none of my senses work here? I raise my brows as an idea strikes my mind. I remember watching a movie about a kid who sees dead people, like a sixth sense or something. Hmm…it's worth a try.

I take a deep breath and think about my happy place again. I think of all the emotions that tie into that special place in my aura. My feelings take on an orange tint as I release them out into this strange spiritual world. I can see all my happy feels ripple away from me like the small waves of a pebble in a pond. I watch as the sonar-like waves of emotions bounce off Sensei and return to me in waves of grey color; I instantly feel the imprint of his presence hit my aura. Two more emotional waves—one red and the other blue—make their way back to me as well. The red one hits me like a brillo pad, its ridged edges scrapping against my aura making me cringe from the contact. The blue one follows shortly behind like a cool summer breeze. Sensei smiles at my new discovery. I can't help but grin with giddiness at this super awesome ability.

"It's Raph and Leo!" I blurt out, no longer able to contain my excitement. I immediately take off in the direction of the red wave.

The red waves are starting to fade, but I find its source before it completely disappears. Raph's red aura is a blazing flame in the murky shadows of what I think is the den. I squint, forcing my eyes to see the blurry silhouette of my brother as he hits his dummy post. Cautiously floating toward my brother's aura, I reach out to touch the dummy as it swings in my direction from one of Raph's punches. My vapor-like hand goes right through it. Apparently in this world, auras are easily seen, but things in the physical world are more ghostlike, blurring in and out of view. A reversed world; totally trippy. I tilt my head slightly as I look at my brother's aura.

The edges are jagged flames licking the blurry boundaries of his physical body. My eyes drift toward the center of his aura, the source of these vicious flames. I feel a protective warmth there; the kind of warmth I only feel from Raph when Leo, Donnie, or me are really sick or hurt. I reach out to touch it, because this raw display of compassion is rarely shown by my red-clad brother and I need to touch it to know that it's real. I yelp as a searing hot pain rips through my outstretched hand when it makes contacts with Raph's aura. My whole aura aches from the sudden pain, but it quickly fades to a small numbing sensation. I back away and watch as Raph stops in mid-punch and defensively turns around. He's staring right at me, or rather right through me. Narrowing his eyes, he slowly turns around to resume his dummy-punching routine.

In my excitement I forgot what Sensei said just moments ago:

You must respect the aura of others, for they hold one's most endearing passions and deepest fears.

I get it now. Auras are filled with a lot of squishy feels that most people aren't ready to share with others.

"Sorry, bro." I whisper quietly from behind him. Even though Raph is a major jerk and deserves to be pranked every chance I get, there are some lines I just won't cross. Quickly leaving Raph, I take off in search of my oldest brother. His aura isn't hard to find, because it's nearly as bright as Sensei's. I immediately pass through Leo's closed door and stop abruptly to find him sitting on the floor in a lotus position. His true blue aura is glowing brightly just like Sensei and me. It teeters up and down like a weighing scale. Cool! He's meditating, too!

"No touching," I remind myself as I float a little closer to my brother's aura.

"Hey, Leo! Leo, can you see me bro? Look over here!" I shout and wave at my brother's aura hoping to talk with him in this strange new world. I watch as his aura's scale image suddenly stops swaying, turns into a blue vapor, and twirls calmly in a figure eight motion. I call out to him again and his aura stops glowing, dimming down to a less active shade. Leo jerks from his meditation state and looks around the room totally befuddled. Heh, I'll have to tell Donnie I used one of his 'word of the day' words.

"M-Mikey?" He whispers, probably wondering if he really heard me or if he's finally flew over the cuckoo nest. I snicker at my brother's uncertainty. Man, the pranks I could pull here are boggling my mind, yo! I gasp as a thought comes to mind. I wonder what Donnie and April look like in the spirit realm? I zip upward with all intents of going topside.

"Michelangelo, yame!" The harshness of Sensei's voice startles me to a halt. I guess he finally caught up with me. "You are never to drift topside! I forbid it!" I duck down from the ceiling, embarrassed by his yelling. He hovers over me stern and unmoving. I risk a glance at Sensei's spiritual form and sense he is fearful for me, than angry with me. I uncurl from my hunched posture knowing I'm safe from punishment.

Master Splinter sighs as he reaches out to me; without hesitation, I draw closer to him.

"It is dangerous to drift too far away from your body, my son, and even more dangerous to drift for too long. Come, I think you have learned enough for one day." And with that, he leads us back to our bodies which are still deep in meditation.

I'm in meditation watching myself meditate…did I mention how trippy this is?

Sensei does a calming countdown to slowly bring our auras back to our bodies.

I blink a few times and look around the room. There is no longer a milky covering over everything; All is back to normal…well, almost everything. I turn to Master Splinter, who looks like himself but I can still see a grey hue swirling around his torso. I blink harder and shake the fuzziness from my head, but the grey is still there.

"Sensei, I still see your color." I say, fiercely shaking my head again to clear my vision.

"It is just an aftereffect from the spiritual plane. It will fade in a moment or so." I nod my understanding. "I believe your brothers will be patrolling soon. We will continue these lessons later. While you are learning to master your drifting ability, you are not to mediate by yourself." He gives me a pointed look.

I try not to snicker at his instruction, but seriously, the last thing Sensei needs to worry about is me meditating on my free time. I make an act of mulling over his words, "No meditation on spare time, I think I can handle that." He gives a forewarning smile before dismissing me with a small wave of his hand. Rising to my feet, I quickly bow before capering out of the room.

Leo and Raph are in the den sheathing their weapons in their strap holsters apparently waiting for me. I rub my eyes with my fists. I can still see a faint impression my brothers' auras in the center of their plastrons.

"What did you get in trouble for this time, Mikey?" Leo asked automatically assuming I was being punished for something. I can't blame him, heck, I thought the same thing.

"Nothing. Master Splinter's just helping me with my meditation."

My oldest brother eyes me suspiciously.

"Were…did you…?" I smile innocently back at him, "It was you I heard, wasn't it?" Leo says pointing his finger at me with that 'I knew it' look on his face.

I grin excitedly at him as I grab my nunchucks from the back of the couch, "Dude, I was totally in the spirit world! It was so trippy!" It's the only way I can describe it as I make slow circular motions with my hands on either sides of my head. Leo and Raph exchange curious looks as we make our way to the entrance for our evening patrol. My voice echoes through the sewers while I walk backwards, in front of my brothers. I energetically give voice to and pantomime my experience in the spiritual plane.

I level my narrowed eyes at him and he mirrors my determined expression. There are a few moments of silence before I take a meaningful breath and rattle off questions at drill sergeant speed, "You're skating at a consistent speed to score a goal, but a member of the opposing team bodychecks you. What is this an example of?"

"First law of motion—inertia." Casey replies, his tone both confident and focused.

"If a hockey player has a mass of 100 kilograms and is accelerating at a rate of 30 kilometers per hour, at what force will he collide with another player?"

"3000 newtons."

"If a larger hockey player bodychecks you, how does it affect the larger hockey player?"

"The big guy's gonna get hit with the same amount of brutality that he dishes out—Third law of motion, baby." Casey answers cracking neck from side to side with that annoying smirk on his face.

"By George, I think he's finally got it," I say with forged enthusiasm.

"Oh yeah! Casey Jones is da man!" He exclaims with an unnecessary 'woot'.

April gives a sigh of relief. It's been a maddening and patience-provoking forty-five minutes of helping Casey see the physics behind his beloved sport of hockey (really, how could he not see it?). April caught on to my physics-hockey analogies fairly quickly and helped me explain the relation to the hockey jock. She would make an awesome lab partner.

She'll never be your lab partner.

I push down my thoughts, and look between April and Casey, "So, I was thinking next we could review…"

"Uh, yeah, I gotta bounce." Jones interrupts me smirking slightly as he looks down at his vibrating cell phone.

"Wh-what? But we're not finished studying," April says with irritation, but the way she holds her lips in a small pout, I can see the undertones of disappointment.

"Sorry, Red. I just…I just gotta go," Casey says distractedly as he maneuvers his thumb quickly over the buttons of his phone. He rushes as he grabs his jacket and the near-empty box of gyozas that were not for him, "I'll see you in class tomorrow, 'kay?" He gives April a wink and a quick smile before turning to me with an annoying once-over glance and a superior expression, "And, uh, thanks for the nerd session," With those eloquent parting words, he bolts out the window. April exhales with a small hum as she closes the window again. She stares out into the night streets, no doubt watching Casey disappear around the corner. She turns around to face me, though her thoughts seem to be elsewhere.

Probably wherever Casey is.

Thankfully, April breaks the silence before my thoughts spiral into further dejection, "I should probably call it a night," she walks over to where I'm sitting at her desk and gathers her notes into folders before placing them in her bookbag. In such close proximity, her body fragrance tickles my nose. She smells like wildflowers…a new body spray, maybe?

Pervert.

The heat of embarrassment burns my neck as I realize I just sniffed her like some stray dog. Luckily, she doesn't notice. A weary smile graces her face as April sits on the bed, "I guess if I don't know it by now, then I'm pretty much screwed," she says leaning her elbows on her knees and cupping the sides of her face in the palms of her hands.

I chuckle, "You're far from being screwed," I say with my arms crossed low on my plastron. Using the heel of my foot, I turn side to side in the swivel chair, "You don't give yourself nearly enough credit, April. I'm 98.5 percent certain you could ace your test, all while single-handedly presenting your project with ease tomorrow."

"You're only 98.5 percent certain?" She deadpans with a grin.

"Well, there is the 1.5 percent that accounts for school closings due to natural disasters, bomb threats, or alien attacks."

"Well, the quota for alien attacks was definitely met." We share a chuckle at our small joke as our eyes meet. There's a flush of pink in her cheeks before she looks away. Now that the 'unforeseen variable' left for the evening, the circumstances will rectify themselves and return to the original probability. I can't help but look away and smile at the thought of April's lips against my cheek again.

Leaning back on her bed, she twists to the side to reach the drawer of her nightstand. She pulls out two snack size candy packages. "Skittles?" She offers; they sound like marbles clanking together as she shakes them in her hand.

"Sure, I love Skittles. They serve as an excellent source of glucose-filled brain fuel for late night lab work." My voice sounds extra nerdy even to my ears, but she simply smiles and tosses one of the bright red candy bags to me which I catch with ease. Tearing a corner off the candy package, I turn to April's desk and pour the rainbow-colored candies onto a sheet of paper. "So how are your other classes coming along?" I ask as I begin separating the reds candies from the green ones.

"As much as I gripe about this semester, it's actually going pretty well. It just gets a bit overwhelming at times, you know?" She says, plopping a few skittles into her mouth. I nod my head affirming her words as I move on to separate the orange and yellow ones. "I'm taking two other science classes this semester and joined the debate team so I could add an extracurricular activity to my college….Donnie, what are you doing?"

"Hm?" I look up from my red, green, orange, and yellow candies piles.

"Are you….are you organizing your skittles?" She points at my neat little piles of candy. The look on her face is a mixture of confusion and amusement; or maybe she's just questioning my sanity.

"Uh, well I, uh," I stammer as I hunch over awkwardly, hoping my arm will shield my borderline obsessive-compulsive habit from her prying eyes. I've practiced this skittle-sorting ritual since I was five. My brothers call it a 'quirk', like everything else I do that seems to be out of their range of normal behavior.

April smirks at me as she bounces down on her bed using the momentum to stand and casually walks toward me. Her small fingers curl around my larger forearm. Even with the extra wrappings on my arms, her touch gives me goosebumps. She gently pushes me back until my shell meets the backing of the chair I'm sitting in. Her lips part slightly as she breathes out a small 'huh' getting a better look at my handiwork.

"….It just tastes better this way." She doesn't ask why but I feel the need to justify my silly habit anyway. My stomach knots together in unexplainable nervousness.

Now she has proof that you're a weirdo.

Without a word, she puts one hand to the edge of the desk and uses her other hand to sweep all of the green skittles into her palm. She plops them into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. "Mmm," she says in an exaggerated savory way to emphasize her experience, "it's like an apple orchard just exploded on my tongue."

I cover my mouth with my hand, smothering a snort of laughter threatening to further shame me. The snort was hidden, but laughter is still heavy in my voice as my eyes widen in agreement, "See? Complete flavor enhancement, right? Sidenote: I am slightly partial to the original lime flavor over the new green apple."

She giggles, nodding her head in agreement as she swallows, "Okay, you make a valid point, but" she holds her index finger up and sobers her expression, "I'd like to offer an opposing hypothesis."

"And that hypothesis would be?" I arch my brow and play along good-naturedly. The muscles in my stomach loosen immensely at the ease of our casual, yet eccentric conversation.

"If you combine two of the more promising flavors, then the newly created palate will override the original flavors used to create it."

"Nice hypothesis, but I think I'll just—" as I pinch a few purple candies with my fingers, I am promptly popped on the wrist, hard enough to make me drop my possession and watch them scatter back to the desk. I rub my offended hand and stare precariously at April.

"Ah, ah," she wags her finger at me while jutting her chin out rather haughtily, "I tested your hypothesis, so now you have to test mine." She doesn't give me a chance to negate her claim as she plucks up a few purple and red skittles and drops them into my cloth-wrapped palm. "Well, go on, try it," April says gesturing expectantly with her hands. I pull my lips inward, trying to fight the urge to finish separating and lining up my skittles in alphabetical order by color. "You're acting like I just asked you to eat a cactus." She folds her arms at her midsection with a less than pleased look. Then she gives me a suspiciously sweet smile, "Sometimes two things that don't seem like they go together actually make a great couple."

"I was talking about the food!" I squeak out in panic as April uses my deplorable pick-up line against me.

"That's totally what I'm talking about, too, food." She confirms seriously, though the mischievous glint in her eyes tease me and somehow imply more.

With a final look at the crafty girl in front of me, I cup my hand to my lips allowing the mismatched purple and red candy to tumble into my mouth. I chew tentatively. Saliva forms inside my mouth mixing the sugary grape and strawberry flavors over my tongue. The cheery sweetness of the strawberry and the mellow aftertaste of grape confuse my taste buds, but not entirely in an unpleasant way.

"Well? What's your conclusion?" I look up to her from my seated position. When she speaks, I can see where the apple-flavored skittles have tinted her tongue green. I feel a goofy smile spreading on my face despite my efforts to hide it.

"I conclude that while certain color combinations do yield a somewhat pleasurable taste, one cannot truly appreciate each color's vibrant flavor unless they are consumed in same-color groupings."

She snorts at my response, making one side of her face crinkle in a way that make her button nose wrinkle in fake disgust; it's extremely cute.

I shrug apologetically as I snatch up at pile of orange skittles and funnel them in my mouth. April shakes her head at me, apparently realizing this is a moot case.

I arch my brow as she reaches out to touch my head, "Be still you have something on your," April stops mid-sentence as her expression pales, "Donnie, your…your skin is…" I realize moments too late what she is trying to say when a large scale of skin, thin as a sheet of paper, drifts lazily to my lap.

Chapter Text

My face mirrors her expression of horror, but possibly for a completely different reason. Mortified, I stare at what appears to be half the skin from my head lying lifelessly on my thighs. I look back to April, her eyes wide and glossy.

She's terrified of you. You're a hideous—

"Oh my gosh, Donnie, your skin just…just fell off! Oh, God, are you hurt?" She asks, cutting off my nightmarish thoughts. Her shaky petite hands hover over my head. Perplexed, I stare at her, forgetting how to speak as my mouth gapes open and shut. "Okay, don't panic," I think she says this more to herself than me. The fright is evident in her voice as she nervously tucks strands of her red bangs behind her ear. "I should call Master Splinter." Those words snap me out of my stupor as I quickly cover her entire hand with mine before she dials the number on her T-cell.

"No," my voice unintentionally cracks. Clearing my throat, I try again, "No, April. It's okay, really." It takes me a minute to wrap my mind around the fact she's not backing away from me in pure disgust or telling me how repulsive I appear. One look at her worried face and I feel guilty for even thinking she had a shallow trait in her entire doting personality. Her concerned gaze turns into one of suspicion, and I know I'd better start explaining myself quickly, before she really does call Sensei.

"I'm not hurt. This," I gesture to the papery olive skin in my lap, "is just a byproduct of a….growth spurt," my voice drops to a mumble as I feel the heat from my neck rise to my face. I swallow back my humiliation as I shrink into the chair and reluctantly continue, "Even though my brothers and I have very human-like qualities, there are still some other….physiologies that remain reptilian from our original genetics." She looks slightly less worried but a little more confused, so I press on, "Generally, in the reptilian familial, skin does not stretch to accommodate growth." Okay, deep breath, Don. "In short as a reptile grows, it will outgrow its skin and—"

"Shed?"

"Precisely," Relief rolls over my body at April's educated guess. At least she seems to understand my predicament. "Shedding was most prominent when we started puberty, and pretty much stopped by the time we were fifteen. I honestly didn't expect to have another growth spurt—I'm already four inches taller than Leo. However, much to my dismay, I once again find myself in the midst of this unpleasant maturing stage."

"So, you're really okay?" Her brows crease in doubt.

"Aside for wishing I had a smoke bomb to escape this awkwardly degrading situation? Yes, I'm fine." I answer with a weak smile, cracking a joke at my expense. "Do you happen to have a mirror?"

April stares dumbly at me for a moment before my words seem to register. She turns to open the door of her closet, revealing a full length mirror hanging from the inside of the door. At first glance, I gasp at myself. No wonder April was so distraught.

Where the dead skin cracked and fell off, there are folds of flaky skin forming an outline from the top of my head down to my left eye ridge. Standing, I move closer to the mirror and trace my fingers along the edges of where my old skin once was. The newly revealed skin is rough and freckled with dark brown spots. Some parts my face look pale and flaky, but there are still some wrinkles of skin stubbornly attached to the membrane underneath; I dare not pull or agitate it. There's an itch just above my eye ridge, which I promptly scratch causing more flakes to litter April's carpeted room.

I don't recall shedding such large scales of skin during my first growth spurt. To my knowledge, my brothers and I are the only ones of our kind, so I don't have an example to go by. Basically, I'm learning these stages of maturity as we grow. A deep sigh escapes my lips as I stare at my blotchy, flaky face. April's hand comes into the mirror's view as she gently touches the left side of my head. Her hand is cool and slightly moist, making me shudder under her touch.

"It's just lotion," she says softly as she rubs it on my skin in a gentle circular motion, "it has oatmeal in it, so maybe it will help with the flaking and itchiness." My face twitches at the smell of oatmeal and strawberries as the lotion's scent wafts to my nose. A small lopsided smile ghosts my lips at her thoughtfulness, but I quickly look away in embarrassment as she dusts her hands together to remove the excess of shed skin from her fingers.

You're disgusting, shedding all over her room like some filthy animal.

"So, is that what's going on under all of this?" She gestures to the extra wrappings around my arms and legs.

"Y-yeah. I didn't want to freak you out, but I guess I successfully managed to anyway."

"It's not a big deal, Donnie, really. When I was a little, we use to have a dog that—" April freezes in midsentence. She turns beet red as she tucks her hair behind her ear again. Was she about to compare my shedding to her childhood pet dog? My face burns hot with utter humiliation. Someone please just end me now.

"You know what? Why don't you hold on to this," Her voice drops to a whisper as she hands me the bottle of lotion.

"Thanks," Putting the lotion in my messenger bag, I can't help but still feel ashamed. April gives me an empathetic look…or is it just pity?

Of course she pities you.

She mutely looks up at the ceiling, then down at her sneakers as she taps her hands thoughtfully against her thighs. Finally, she looks up, her eyes brimming with sudden interest, "Oh! I almost forgot I have to show you something." Thankful for the sudden change of subject, I allow her to grab hold of my thick fingers and lead me to her bookshelf. She carefully grabs a clear rectangular plastic container from the middle shelf. The container doesn't have a lid and its filled with moss, dirt, and…

"They're turtle eggs! Painted turtle eggs, if I'm not mistaken." My previous embarrassment is forgotten, as my curious nature takes over. I look in the container with amazement, taking it carefully from her hands. I've never actually seen real turtle eggs outside the pages of my reptile anatomy books. Even when my brothers and I found Raph's pet turtle, Spike, he was at least 4 months old, so we never saw the egg he hatched from. In the container, there are six eggs, no larger than a nickel, snuggly tucked in the moist dirt.

"I'm volunteering at a new animal shelter near my school. These little guys were accidentally dug up at a construction site. I offered to take them home and care for them until they hatched. I…I thought maybe you could help me with them, to make sure I'm taking care of them properly."

Recalling some research I did a few years ago, I frown thoughtfully, "I need some damp paper towels to—" before I can finish my sentence, April's already sprinted out the room and I hear water running. Before I can count 6 Mississippi's, she back in the room at my side. Thanking her, I cover the eggs with the moist paper towels and gently place the container on her desk. "Putting a damp paper towels over the eggs and keeping the room temperature between 76 to 85 degrees will prevent them from drying out. Do you know if the eggs were turned upside at any point during the transition from the construction site?"

Her ocean blue eyes expand with concern, "I don't know….is it bad if they were?"

"It could be," She's biting her bottom lip now. I don't mean to scare her, but it's important to tell her the facts if she plans to care for these little fellows, "if a turtle egg is turned upside down, the developing embryo can be crushed by its yolk sac." Scanning her desk, I find a black sharpie pen. I don't trust my large hands to do the job, so I hand the marker pen to April, "Mark a dot on top of the eggs. If they are moved again before they hatch, you'll know which side is currently up." Choosing my words carefully, I continue, "The survival rate of rescued turtle eggs is fairly low, so you should be prepared…or rather don't get too attached in case…" I fumble with the right words to say, trying to be honest without sounding too callous.

"I think they're going to be just fine." April says with a level of certainty that softens my resolve; her naïve positivity is endearing, but I push onward to make her understand.

"April, I'm glad you're being optimistic, but realistically speaking," after dotting the last egg, April squeezes my arm silencing me with the gesture.

"No, Donnie, they're really okay. Here, I'll show you." I frown in confusion, but she simply places her hand over the eggs. The fingertips of her other hand spread gently across my forehead. My breath catches in my throat at the softness of her touch for the second time this evening. "Do you feel that?"

Before I can ask her what exactly she's doing, I do feel something. It's a familiar sensation; one that I don't remember, but have somehow experienced before. Its blanketing warmth constricts me, yet makes me feel dreamy and safe; safer than I've ever felt in my life. The warmness thumps in rhythm like a heartbeat in the center of my forehead.When April removes her hand, taking the comfort of this feeling with her, I nearly whimper from the loss of this long forgotten sensation. I blink several times before clearing my throat. Looking down at the tiny eggs, I know at some point in my pre-mutated life I was also incubated in a very similar matter. Is that what it felt like? Did I really just…

I laugh with a small huff at the absurdity of the thought. There's no way I felt those eggs, or that those eggs have anything to feel. It is scientifically impossible for turtle embryos to have any instinctual infantile feelings at such an earlier stage of their development. I shake the last lingering imprints of warmth from my mind as I find my voice again, "Ah, feel what exactly? Your hands feel nice, if that's what you mean. Ever consider a career as a massage therapist?" I feebly joke with her, not wanting to share the irrationality of what I think I may have witnessed.

"Oh," The sparkle of excitement quickly leaves her eyes, "I just thought maybe you….never mind." She shakes her head refusing to finish her sentence, leaving me puzzled because she seems upset—disappointed to be exact. She quickly changes the subject, "Thanks again for coming by at such short notice to help Casey and me study. You always come through for me…it… it means a lot." Her sweet smile weakens my knees making my legs feel like wobbly jello. She places her hand in mine, and grips as much of my ill-formed fingers as she can, giving them a squeeze. Standing stoic still is the only thing keeping me from melting into a puddle of green glop.

"Nuh-no problem, April, any…anytime," Nervousness trembles through my voice nearly constricting my vocal cords completely. I want to tell her. I want to tell her the way she smiles makes something ache miserably inside me, and her love of science and math draws me to her like moths to a flame. Her eyes glisten with a brightness I'm scare to put a name to. I want to tell her all those things in this closeness. With her hand in mine, I want to kiss her.

But I don't tell her any of those things. Instead, I swallow those words and inexpressible feelings like bitter herbal tea. Those feelings for her and her alone, settle in the pit of my stomach wrapped in an uncomfortable heaviness. At that very moment, the inviting smile falters on April's face. She gently tugs her hand from my grasp, and in a habitual motion curves her fingers behind her ear, even though there is no hair to push back in place.

She's still upset.

Reading emotions are not my strong suit, but her sudden lackluster and nervous behavior sends warning signs to my brain telling me I did something wrong. I don't understand how a wonderful evening of Skittle hypotheses and turtle eggs went south so quickly? Did she prefer to have Casey here instead of me? Was she secretly sickened by my shedding?

"I guess you should get going. I gotta hit the sack, big test and presentation tomorrow!" She chuckles awkwardly, trying to lift the mood with an unsure smile and a 'go get 'em' fist gesture.

I nod before words finally stumble from my lips, "Uh, yes, of course! I have to meet the guys for patrolling so….yeah," pulling out my T-cell, I glance at the time. It's 9:30 and I already have seven missed calls in silent mode. My shoulders slouch in dread. Leo's going to kill me. "Good luck on everything, let me know how it goes," I force a smile that hurts my face as I grab my messenger bag and make a beeline for the window.

"Definitely, good night!" She gives a stiff thumbs up.

Muttering something that sounds like good night, I stumble out of the window and take to the roof. Two rooftops away, I stop running and slowly turn around. I need to know if she's watching me leave the same way she watched Casey.

My face clouds over with forced indifference when I see her window is no longer lit by her room's light, but flooded in darkness. Disappointment gathers in my chest when I mentally calculate and predict my chances of a kiss in the future plummeting into the negative percentile. Turning away, I pick up my pace to meet up with my brothers.

"Oww!" I rub the back of my head where Raph just whacked me.

"That's for messin' around my aura and crap. Do it again and I'll smack the green off ya." He gives me a warning glare before crossing his arms over his plastron and leaning against the air conditioning unit on the roof as we wait for Donnie. I can see the flames of his aura protectively surrounding and enveloping his ooey-gooey center of feelings.

"I said I was sorry!" My apology is answered with a grunt and a mumble about annoying little brothers.

"The spiritual plane is not a fun zone, Mikey, so it would do you well to pay attention during your training with Master Splinter." I roll my eyes as Leo adds in his two cents.

Leo and Raph don't know that I can still see their auras. Honestly, I don't want to get smacked upside the head again by Raph for something I can't control or Leo lecturing me, so I think I'll just keep it to myself. Besides, I'm sure it'll go away after a good night's sleep. Hearing a vibration, I immediately reach for my T-cell in my belt. Then I realize I heard a vibration and didn't actually feel it, so I pause and let my hand drop back to my side. Raph looks down at his phone. He harshly jabs a few buttons with his thumb before slipping the phone back into his belt pocket.

"Was that Donnie?" Leo asks impatiently as he dials Donnie for like the fiftieth time. His aura is practically cutting flips with anxiety.

"Nope." Raph doesn't offer any additional information and Leo doesn't ask even though I know he wants to.

"It's 9:15. I specifically told him 9 o'clock sharp." Leo pinches the area between his eyes.

"Don't get your panties in a knot, Fearless. It's not like there's an overflow of thugs to bust tonight anyway."

"That's not the point."

"It never is with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

And here we go again.

"It means chill out and get your head out of your—"

Their voices start to fade into the background as I find watching their auras more interesting than their actual arguing. Sitting cross-legged on the rooftop, I watch Leo and Raph's aura become more animated. Raph's campfire like aura is blossoming dangerously around the edges of his body. Leo's weighing scales are swinging aggressively out of balance. It's like Raph's adding lumps of coal to Leo's scales, and Leo's feeding gasoline to Raph's flame.

My eyes cross as I try to focus between my arguing brothers and their auras. It's like trying to pat your head and draw a circle with your foot at the same time, and it's giving me a headache. I shake away my dizziness, this time trying to focus on my brothers and ignore their chaotic auras, but it's not easy.

"…You're not going anywhere, Raphael. We're patrolling together and that's final!" In the short time that I tuned in to their auras, the verbal argument had escalated. Leo is in Raph's face, emphasizing his command by pointing at the ground practically daring Raph to challenge him. My oldest brother knows just as well as I do that Raph never backs down from a challenge.

"Screw off, Leo. I'll go wherever the shell I want." Raph shoves Leo away, glancing down at his T-cell before jostling it into his belt pocket again. "I'm outta here."

"Raphael!" Leo shouts at him, but he's already leaped down to a lower rooftop and melted into the shadows. His shell is facing me as his fists clench and unclench reflexively at his sides.

"Dude, you okay?" He doesn't answer my question, and I don't expect him to. I'm the brother Leo bosses around, provides comfort for, and occasionally humors when I'm being quirky. He never confines in me when the load of leadership throws his aura off balance like its doing right now. Must be the curse of the youngest—forever comforted, but never the comforter, at least not where Leo's concerned. This little blow out with Raph really isn't a big deal; I think Leo would totally get his balance back, if he just let himself vent a little. Unfortunately, I'm not the brother he vents to; Donnie's the one Leo turns to for that kind of stuff. Looking down at my T-cell, I see its 9:30 and can't help but cringe. Ironically, Donnie is also the brother that's going to get an earful when he shows up.

Standing to my feet, I stretch my arms above my head until my shell shifts upward slightly from the movement, "Bro, don't worry about Raph, he's just cranky cause he hasn't had his nightly dose of butt-kicking yet. He knows where to meet us after patrolling, just give him some space and it'll be fi—"

"It doesn't work that way, Mikey," he snaps, turning quickly to face me, "Raph doesn't get to just throw a tantrum and run off because he 'needs space.' He's making it a habit, and if he keeps doing this on patrols, he's going to do it when we're on a mission and I refuse to put anyone in danger because of his selfishness." I try to think of something else to say, but he's already looking at his T-cell again, "And why is Donnie so late? This is ridiculous." Leo mutters something else I can't quite hear as he shakes his head disappointedly from side to side.

At that very moment my immediate older brother decides to have impeccable timing…or is that improbable timing?

Donnie must have really hightailed it over here, because he's out of breath and leans over his knees before speaking, "Leo, I'm really sorry about—"

"9 o'clock, Don, I told you 9 o'clock." Leo crosses his arms sternly over his plastron.

"I know, I know, it's just that April was panicking because she has a physics presentation tomorrow and Casey—"

"I don't care, Don. Unless it was a life-threatening emergency, it wasn't important enough to be late. Patrolling comes first, you know that. Get your priorities straight, Donatello. I would expect this neglectful behavior from Raph, but not you."

Ouch, did you really have to play the 'Raph card', Leo? And what's this about Casey being there? Bet that was an interesting study date. I pout with disappointment when Donnie doesn't say anything; he's still partly hidden in the shadows of the air conditioning unit. He seems a little agitated; he's hiding something, I know it. Curious, I immediately look at his plastron wondering if it will give me a clue to my bro's weird vibes. Squinting my eyes, I shift closer to him.

Holy guacamole, Donnie, where's your aura?!

Okay, now I'm totally befuddled—I'm on a role with this word of the day thing—because I see nothing resembling an aura at his core. However, I look up at his face and my eyes widened in awe at the busy little world that is Donnie's brain. Is this the "genius" version of an aura? Wow, I've always joked about Donnie never turning off his brain, but now I'm starting to think there may be some truth to that. It's like the mechanical city that never sleeps up there. Titling my head in amazement, I watch formulas I don't understand zip by with purpose; various purple gears shift and turn as if processing some important documentation. There's a vapor-like purple ribbon flowing from Donnie's ingenious headspace down to his core. The purple ribbon is vibrant and briefly imprints some vibrations on my psyche. Donnie's vibes have a harsh sting to them, like somebody put duct tape on my heart and then yanked it off. Before I have a chance to make any sense of it, the ribbon is suddenly compressed into a tiny cube. I see a metal box at his core that I didn't notice before. The box opens just wide enough for the little cube to drop in, then closes tightly like a steel vault reinforced with padlocks.

That was really weird, and this is coming from the dude who's seeing auras. I know I'm still really new to this spiritual business, but Donnie's aura seems…offsomehow. Eyeing his boxed aura, I frown and try to poke it, but I can't quite touch it. Note to self: Can't touch real stuff in the spirit world, and can't touch spiritual stuff in the real world. I poke his aura box again for good measure.

"Will you stop that?!" Donnie snaps as he slaps my prodding finger away from his plastron. I stare at his plastron-slash-aura box and then look him between the eyes. "And stop staring at it!...its not that bad," he mumbles the latter part. He shifts timidly from one foot to the other as the moonlight offers a dim glow over his face.

Huh? Blinking my gaze away from his headspace, I look at him questioningly. What's not that bad? What is he talking….oh….

"Dude, what happened to your face?" My mouth gapes open even though I try not to. At my loud inquiry, Leo stops in mid-lecture as he also looks at Donnie's face.

"It's not that bad…." He repeats himself. His words are kind of contradicting when a few large flakes fall to his feet as he rubs a hand over the side of his face.

"Bro, half of your face is on the ground." I exaggerate only slightly, pointing to the offending piece of skin on the rooftop that's the size of an index card.

Leo's s aura scale isn't so one-sided anymore and starts to balance out a bit as his brows crease with concern. My oldest brother can be a real hardnose when it comes to patrolling and training, but Leo can usually tone it down a bit when he needs to. He's already inspecting Donnie's face under the moonlight. "You skin is peeling pretty badly," Leo confirms, "and you've never had brown spots like this."

"Maybe they're freckles! Freckles are awesome." With a cheesy smile I point to own set of dark green spots below my mask.

"I already told you guys it's just a growth spurt. Some reptiles experience scale discoloration while shedding, so could we not talk about this anymore?" The irritation is pretty obvious in his voice, so I hold my hands up in a surrendering gesture. "Where's Raph?" Donnie asks as he looks between Leo and me.

"…He started patrolling a few blocks ahead while we were waiting for you." I glance at Leo, my face scrunches into that 'What you talkin' about Willis?' look.

That is so not what happened. I feel the need to clarify this obvious confusion of events, "Actually Raph said screw—"

"We'll do a three-point patrol," Leo rudely speaks over me, "starting with the eastside storefronts, hitting the park next, and then meeting back here at the manhole near the bottom of the fire escape. Got it?"

"Yeah." I give him a withering stare and he returns it with a look that clearly says 'shut up.'

"Sure, Leo." Donnie agrees quietly.

With a running start, Leo clears the distance to the next rooftop but doesn't stop to see if we're following, because he knows we will.

"Dude, you have improbable timing," I say with playful sarcasm as we both get a running start before jumping to the next rooftop.

"That's not what that means. The correct word for your satirical comment would be impeccable." Donnie replies with a sigh as he leaps to the next roof. He's not far behind Leo now.

Picking up speed, I'm inches away from passing him, "That was my second word choice," I say, raising my finger to justify myself, "Plus, I used the word 'befuddled' twice today. Twice, and totally in the right context. You gotta give me that."

"He has not said the word 'befuddled' even once today." Leo shouts back at us.

An indignant sound cracks from the back of throat, "I have so!...Well, I'm pretty sure I said it in my head at least…" I tap my chin thoughtfully as Donnie and I catch up to Leo. I slow down a bit so I'm running side by side my brothers. I can see Leo quirk a smile as he shakes his head and Donnie snorts at me as he rolls his eyes.

"Saying a word in your head is not the same as using a word in a conversation with someone." Donnie comebacks with a smile, completely bursting my bubble.

"I was talking to myself! That counts!" At that rebuttal, both my brothers laugh out loud. The tension between my bros is practically gone. Mission accomplished. Our laughter echoes into the night sky as we continue our pointless bantering while patrolling.

I sigh as I toss in my bed for the umpteenth time tonight. Curling up on my side, I fist the covers snuggly under my chin. My eyes sullenly stare at the fire escape just outside my window. My face burns with embarrassment when I think about how horribly things turned out tonight. I've never had this much trouble with guys. I either like a guy or I don't, simple as that. But these past several months have been horrible. I feel like I can't trust my own feelings anymore.

Hanging out with Casey is always…interesting. He's a slacker, always in some sort of trouble at school, but he's a nice guy….when he's not being a pig or trying to copy my homework. We don't have a lot of things common, and honestly I find it hard to hold a decent conversation with him without it relating to hockey, hot girls, or bashing someone's head in. He always teases me about my studious habits and calls me a prude bookworm. Yet, there is still something that drags me toward him, a burning desire, a hormonal pull that I fight to resist.

Then there's Donnie; sweet, adorable, kind-hearted Donnie. He's the only reason I didn't strangle Casey tonight. If it wasn't for his quick thinking, I would probably still be cramming for physics; I can always depend on him when I'm in a crunch. Donnie doesn't tease me for my love of science, he quite frankly inspires it! I thought my dad was pretty brainy, but Donnie knocks my dad's knowledge right out of the stratosphere. For all of his shy nerdiness, his ninjutsu skills are amazing. He would be a walking paradox at my high school; an equal blend of nerd and athlete.

When he's in his element, Donnie really takes charge and confidence practically radiates from him, like tonight when he explained the laws of motion to Casey. Then there are times when he hides behind the very traits that make him shine, reducing him to stuttering words and awkward hunched-over postures. How he manages to flip this behavior on and off like a light switch is beyond my understanding, but I notice it happens more when he's around me. He's said some pretty weird things to me in the past, like calling me his sweet chinchilla….I never really knew if that was a compliment or not.

I was pretty ticked at Casey for leaving before we finished studying, but at the same time I was relieved. I hardly ever spend time alone with Donnie, without Casey or one of his brothers nearby, so I thought it would be nice for us to just hang out a bit—talk, eat some skittles, and maybe even attempt to flirt with him….and that's when everything went downhill.

I swear I thought it was lint! I was not expecting skin to just fall off his head. Completely freaked me out, God, I thought he was sick, or hurt, or worse. After he explained everything, I realized I managed to make a complete fool out of myself and embarrassed him at the same time. Humiliation scoreboard?...two points for April O'Neil.

I thought I could salvage the rest of our time together by showing him the turtle eggs. When I first felt the life force inside the eggs I thought it was amazing and wanted to share the experience with Donnie; I just knew he would say it was fascinating or something along those lines. Unfortunately, he didn't find it the least bit fascinating; in fact I don't think he even knew what I was talking about. He probably just thought I was crazy.

Just as I was thanking him for coming over I thought I felt something, a flutter of passion. I saw it in his gentle brown eyes and I instantly wanted to be held in his strong arms. I was debating whether or not to give him a good night kiss, when suddenly, just as quickly as it entered my psyche, the loving thoughts radiating from him vanished leaving behind an indescribable sense of barren nothingness. How is that even possible? It just doesn't make sense. So I pulled away to avoid further embarrassment. I obviously was sensing my own hopeless emotions and mistakenly thought they were his.

After we said our painfully awkward goodbyes, he climbed out my window and I immediately turned off my lights; I didn't want him to know I was watching him leave. I didn't want him to see my desperation especially if he didn't feel the same way about me. My heart nearly stopped when he turned around from a distant rooftop. I squeaked in surprise as I hid out of sight underneath my window sill praying he hadn't somehow seen me in the darkness of my room.

Why had he turned around? Had I assumed wrong? Was there a chance that he may actually...

The sound of the front door jostling and creaking open pulls me from my questioning thoughts. I hear footsteps drag across the downstairs floor. Dad's home. He teaches night classes at the university now. He can't go back to his old job; he never said why and I never asked. Occasionally, Dad still gets panic attacks from the whole mutation accident, but they're becoming few and far between. Part-time jobs in his field occupy most of his time; I suppose staying busy is probably good for him.

I sigh as my thoughts drift back to Donnie and Casey. Dad just wouldn't get it. I wish Mom was here. She could help me sort out these mesh-mash feelings that are having a tug-of-war my brain. Guys are so confusing. There are just some things a girl needs her mother for. I miss her so much.

I bury myself deeper under the covers as thoughts of my mother carry me into a mournful sleep.

Chapter Text

"That Sasquatch ate all the peanut butter! Who does that?! Who eats two freakin' jars of peanut butter?!"

"Dude, we have a bigger crisis at hand, the last box of pepperoni, twizzler, and candy corn pizza is gone!"

"That's not a crisis, that's a relief. The refrigerator smells like a reject candy factory threw up in it. If you're gonna put candy on a pizza at least get the good stuff."

Sitting on the couch, I listen to my brothers fuss and complain in the kitchen. Tuning them out, I mouth Captain Ryan's words in perfect synchronization as I watch the two-part special of Space Heroes. A thud, a clatter, and a strained grunt pull my attention once again, but this time from the dojo. Between the protests in the kitchen and the repetitive grumbles of frustration in the dojo, it seems pointless to try to finish this episode of Space Heroes in peace. Deciding there was really nothing I could do about the food situation, I venture to the dojo to check on Donnie.

Today's practice was pretty disastrous to say the least. Donatello was completely off-balance, which put the rest of us off-balance….no seriously, he literally lost his balance during our katas, toppled over, and knocked us into a turtle heap with everyone turtle-piled on me. After three more episodes of his ungainly sparring, Sensei made him sit-out the rest of practice.

With crossed arms, I take in my brother's appearance from the dojo's doorway. It's only been a few weeks since Donnie started his second growth spurt; the changes were small but quick.

The rest of his skin sloughed off in sizable pieces. I was afraid we had a snake infestation when I found what I thought were large skin casings in the den, but realized they were sleeves of dead skin from Donnie's arms. His new olive skin is rutted and oddly speckled with brown spots or as Mikey likes to call them 'body freckles'. He's a few inches taller but still not quite as tall as Sensei. What everyone has noticed—especially during practice—are his feet. They are huge. Not just longer, but wider as well. They don't even look like they belong on his body, but more like someone glued clown shoes to his feet. I never got a good look at them; he always keeps them tightly wrapped and covered with extra bands. His enlarged feet have played a huge role (no pun intended) in his coordination, or rather lack of it. I wince as the sound of his body hitting the floor echoes in the dojo. He's constantly tripping over his own feet. This is obviously going to take some adjustment on his part and the rest of us as a team.

He's also been a little….moody. I'm not sure if it's stress from trying to recreate the retro-mutagen, or simply a result of his recent physical changes. Either way, we all try not to agitate him, well, everyone except Raph. He doesn't necessarily go out of his way to tease Donnie, but anyone within a 20-foot radius of Raph is pretty much in his 'insult range.'

Donnie either hasn't noticed me standing at the entrance or he's ignoring me. I watch as he works through his bo staff katas. Shifting his feet into the next position he stumbles slightly but quickly catches his balance. He stands there for a moment seemingly loss in his thoughts. His forehead creases into a frown as his lips start moving; I'm too far away to make out what he's saying, but I don't need to hear him, because I already know what he's doing. He's calculating his steps.

Donatello learned ninjutsu the same way he learned everything else growing up: He studied and memorized it into formulas and codes to help him understand it better. Don will sometimes use his knowledge of ninjutsu to respectfully challenge Master Splinter; however, Sensei's life experiences always trump his intellectual know-how. My genius little brother knows every principle in ninjutsu by heart; he can strategically tell you the most viable technique to use in any fight scenario. But where he excels in applied knowledge, he lacks in instinctual finesse.

During our training over the years, I've sparred with him more times than I care to count. His technique is purely methodological, with little room for personal flair. However, every once in a while, his technical wall slips and I get a rare glimpse of his amazing unscripted skill. Hesitant of being spontaneous for too long, he always pulls it back and returns to his calculated way of fighting.

Removing something from his belt pocket, Donnie kneels down and starts drawing on the floor. Frowning in curiosity, I inch my way into the dojo. He draws as he continues to mutter something about degrees and minutes. I'm close enough to see the circle and triangles drawn in white chalk. Good grief, is all of that really necessary? I bite back a sigh and watch to see what use these mathematical diagrams have in his katas.

Bo staff in hand, he stands in the circle he's drawn, planting his right foot on a point marked '45 degrees'. Then he slides his foot slightly beyond this point while twirling his bo to his left side then his right. He swings his bo forward and down, his feet move from 45 degrees to 90 degrees and back again. He attempts a kick, but his swing is too wide. The momentum pulls him out of an almost perfect aerial kick and he tumbles to his hands and knees. With an unexpected growl, he slams his fists against the floor. I haven't seen Donnie this frustrated in a long time. When he does get frustrated, it's usually about things that are beyond his control. This is definitely not something beyond his capabilities, so his anger seems a bit unwarranted.

"How long are you going to stand there gawking at me?" He asks tersely, using his bo for support as he stands. Okay…. so we're dealing with mood swings today. I make a mental note to tread softly.

"You're overcompensating your movements." I reply, calmly ignoring his curtness.

"No, I'm not." He frowns without missing a beat.

"Yes, you are." I refuse to back down. He stares at me with that 'I know more than you' look; half the time I don't even think he knows he's doing it. He proceeds to arch his brow at me. My lips draw into a slightly sour expression….and then again sometimes I wonder….

Forcing a sigh through my nostrils, I look down at his circle; it's dissected with lines and almost looks like a pizza with number degrees around it. In order for him to even consider anything else I say, I'll have to prove my point. As much as I admire my brother's intelligence, his inability to trust that I might actually know what I'm talking about without having a thesis, theory, or scientific method to show for it, can be trying at times.

"You don't have to shift your foot back so much," I use my foot to point to the spot just outside his circle where he placed his foot before attempting his aerial kick, "keep your foot right at the 45 point."

"Angle."

"What?"

"It's an angle, not a point."

I ignore his irrelevant correction, "You're overcompensating for your foot….size when you don't need to." I make a mistake in pausing and I immediately regret it when I see a slight falter in Don's features at the mentioning of his feet.

He looks down for a moment but quickly recovers with an expression of stubborn determination, "I'm not overcompensating, Leo. I know what I'm doing."

It was then I noticed the slight tremor in his legs. I realize he wasn't compensating for his bulky feet, he was compensating for pain. Ah, the growing pains, I almost forgot. When we were younger, Donnie was the only one who had them; when the four of us use to share a room, I remember him tossing and turning at night because of the aching cramps in his limbs. Don is naturally the quietest of my brothers and doesn't often vocalize his discomfort, but from his stiffened posture, I can tell he's trying to hide how much it hurts.

His lips form a thin line of concentration as he takes his kata position again. The tremors are still twitching slightly in his calves. I frown. Don's smart enough to know he can't pre-calculate pain into his techniques. Sure, he can brace for it, and even endure through it, but the concept of pain is such a high variable—too many inconsistencies to consider. So why is he really doing this? What is he trying to prove?

Whether it was pain or the clumsiness of his own two feet, I'm not sure, but I instinctually grab hold of the back of his shell when he stumbles forward, "Maybe some stretches will help," I suggest as I stand him properly on his own two feet. He opens his mouth more than likely to disagree with me, but he pauses. He's knows I'm right and he has no rebuttal, so he settles for glaring at me instead. I take advantage of his silent (and rare) acknowledgement of me being right, and grip his wrist firmly as I sit on the floor, pulling him to sit down with me.

"What kind of stretches did you have in mind?" He asks reluctantly with a long-winded sigh.

"Remember the see-saw stretch? " I ask, and it earns me a small smile from my purple-clad brother. The see-saw stretch was a technique Master Splinter showed us when we were just kids. We'd laugh and tug one another back and forth like it was a game.

Donnie doesn't object but follows my lead as we sit directly in front of one another, our feet pressed against each other. Reaching out for his hands, I try to ignore the way his feet overshadow mine. With a firm grip on each other's forearms, I slowly lean back, pulling Donnie forward in the process. I can feel the tremble of his legs through his feet as they press hard against mine, "You okay?" He nods twice as his arms twitch in my grasp. For a few moments it's silent and Donnie and I have formed a small rhythm of 'tug-of-war' as we take turns pulling back as the other leans forward.

"Is…is April still here?" He asks quietly as he pulls me forward.

"Yeah, she mentioned a private training with Sensei." I answer while stretching him forward and holding the position to help work out the cramping muscles in his arms and legs before allowing him to pull back up. His brow crinkles into a thoughtful frown. I'm sure he's still embarrassed about this morning and the fact that April was there to witness all his mishaps. I'm not really sure what's going on with my brother and April. They've been acting weird around each other since their little 'study date'. Donnie never told me what happened and I didn't feel it was my place to pry. They still talk to each other, but their conversations look more like they're walking on eggshells while trying to balance plates on chopsticks—just strange and uncomfortable to watch.

A rumbling sound pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance at Don, but he doesn't look at me. He just continues our see-saw motion, his eyes focusing on the space between us. I'm pretty sure that rumble was his stomach, but he ignores the gurgling sound so I follow his lead and ignore it as well.

It's not a mystery where the food is disappearing to lately. Over the past few weeks, Don's appetite has practically tripled. I guess it's part of the whole growth spurt thing.

Out of the four of us, Donnie is the pickiest when it comes to food and generally eats the least. He likes grapes, but only the red ones; he likes tomatoes and tomato sauce, but hates ketchup; he doesn't like pickles, but enjoys the 'essence' of pickles by daubing them lightly across his sandwich before discarding them all together; and don't get me started on his ridiculous Skittle sorting ritual. When he did eat a full meal, it was usually after a threat of banishment from his lab.

Nowadays, it's not a matter of finding something Donnie will eat, but trying to salvage what he hasn't eaten yet.On a good day, he puts away more food than Mikey, much to Mikey's distress. According to my youngest brother, there's only enough room in the family for one bottomless pit and he plans to hold on to that title. However, at the rate Donnie eats, I think Mike better kiss his title good-bye.

Donnie's stomach insists on being heard as a muffled whine breaches the silence once again. Donnie's face hardens a bit at the embarrassing sound, so I decide to fill the silent void with casual conversation, "So how's the retro-mutagen coming along?"

"I'm working as fast as I can, Leo," I can tell I hit a nerve when his posture stiffens defensively; there is a hint of dissatisfied frustration in his soft tone, "I'm still trying to further divide the chemical makeup of the five mutagen canisters I have left. It was a cumbersome process with the required ten canisters, but working with only half that capacity is making this procedure challenging to say the least. By splitting the molecules to an even smaller size, I hope to drain the needed essence without compromising the potency of the retro-mutatgen."

"Okay, I was just ask—"

Donnie's impatient stomach, surprises me into silence as it gives an enormous and commanding rumble that could challenge Sensei's most authoritative tone. He snatches his arms from my grasp, wrapping them loosely over his midsection trying to smother the rest of his stomach's dramatic cry for food.

"If you're still hungry, I think April brought us some groceries." I say as casually as possible, trying not to make him feel bad about his recent eating habits.

"I'm not hungry, I'm fine," he mumbles as he stands to his feet. I stand as well, watching him pick up his staff to start his katas again. He's in the proper stance, but he pauses. I watch him carefully as his face sudden clouds over with an unfamiliar expression and his body tenses defensively. Suddenly snapping out of the trance, he rushes aggressively through his kata. He almost seems angry. On the second twirl-and-jab motion of his staff, his hand twitches awkwardly, causing him to drop his weapon and grasp his arm in pain.

"Donnie," I grow concerned as his face distorts briefly into a pinch of pain. I reach out to place a hand on his shoulder, but pause as I watch him breathe shakily through the spasm twitching in his arm. His arm is stiff, but he eventually relaxes it enough to cautiously bend his elbow. I could kick myself for not realizing how bad his growing pains have become. After his nasty bout with the flu several months ago , I promised myself to be more observant of my quiet brother, and yet, again I have failed to do so.

Whatever anger possessed him just moments ago has drained him into a state of dejection as his shoulders hunch forward.

"Hey," My hand finally rests on his shoulder. I try to keep my tone soft as not to sound too overbearing, "maybe you should take a break. Overworking your muscles to the point of exhaustion may not be the best idea." He cradles his offending arm in his other hand and refuses to meet my gaze as he looks to the floor, "how about some meditation? It'll help relax your muscles and your mind." I offer him an encouraging smile, but at the sound of the word 'meditation', I'm only rewarded with a shoulder shrug that knocks my hand away.

"No thanks….Master Splinter's forcing enough meditation into my schedule as it is." The quiet disdain is clear in his tone as he picks up his staff with a sigh, "I need to get back to work on the retro-mutagen anyway. Just…come get me for patrolling later." I was about to suggest he skip patrolling this evening and get some rest, but his brisk stride has already carried him out the room; I sigh, hoping this moodiness is just a phase as I trail out of the dojo as well.

I catch a glimpse of Donnie as he enters his lab and shuts the door. A second later, the door reopens and he makes a beeline for the kitchen. Cabinets and drawers open and close loudly and he reemerges with a bundle of bananas, a jumbo size bag of cheese puffs, another jar of peanut butter, and a few other unidentifiable food items. Once again in his lab, he maneuvers the lab door closed with his foot.

Raph follows shortly behind and bangs his fist on the door, "Hey! Did you just smuggle peanut butter in there? I've been looking for peanut butter the past hour and you hid it?...And were those my cheese puffs? April just bought those! I swear, Donnie if you eat my cheese puffs…." His verbal tirade continues as he hammers on the door again.

A small smirk finds its way across my lips as I shake head. It's really hard to take Don's temperament seriously when he's in one of his feeding frenzies.

Chapter Text

I really miss Master Splinter and hanging out with the guys. It's been a few weeks since I've seen them; school and extracurricular activities tie up most of my time. Luckily, I receive several texts a week from Mikey who enthusiastically keeps me abreast of the latest happenings in the lair….and he also keeps me posted on whatever else humors his attention at any given moment. Just last week, he sent me a video of a cat playing Chopsticks on a keyboard.

I texted Donnie a few times; he always replied back, very formal and polite asking about school and such, keeping the texts short and noncommittal. After the whole shedding incident at my apartment, things have been a bit awkward between us.

I have a private session with Master Splinter today, so I decided to drop by a little early to watch the guys practice. Watching them practice was certainly….interesting. Even though I knew about Donnie's growth spurt situation, it didn't prepare me for seeing him during practice. I could tell he was taller since I last saw him. His skin looked painfully rough; I wonder if he even used the lotion I gave him? His arms and legs are speckled with spots, different shades of a soft brown that stand out against his olive green skin like a mosaic of earthy hues. I found myself getting lost in its exquisite patterns, but when Donnie caught me staring at him, so I forced myself to look away. The real attention grabber were his feet. Raph caught me staring and nudged me in the arm while saying "Ya know what they say about turtles with big feet, right?" Usually I would be prepared with an equally crude and sassy remark to shut him up, but his comment about Donnie's feet left me completely flustered as I looked down and hid the immediate warmth of a blush rising in my cheeks.

Speaking of Donnie's feet, they really gave him a heck of a time in practice. I couldn't help but wince in sympathy as he tripped, stumbled, and face-planted against the floor several times. He looked so crestfallen when Master Splinter suggested he sit this practice out until he worked on rebalancing his center. Donnie stayed in the dojo to train after practice, and from the frustrated sounds I hear, he's still in there. Leo breaks away from his Space Heroes show to check on him; maybe a good pep talk from his older brother will help.

Mikey also texted begging me to bring groceries, saying something along the lines of being 'starved like a third world country child'. After empty my bookbag of various frozen pizzas and other groceries onto the counter for Raph and Mikey to divide and devour, I make my way to Master Splinter's door and knock quietly.

"Come in Ms. O'Neil," His voice is inviting as I step into his room, closing the door behind me.

The calming smell of lavender incense greets me as soon as I enter the room. There are patio lanterns draped along the walls offering a comforting glow. A few candles of varies sizes are lit throughout the small living space. There is a small chirping sound coming from somewhere in the room; probably a lonely cricket taking refuge in this serene atmosphere. Master Splinter is sitting on a pillow cushion near the center of the room. He nods to me with a smile.

Clasping my hands in front of me I bow before my sensei before taking a seat on the floor in front of him.

"Have you been practicing your mental exercises?"

"That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, Sensei. Lately, I've had a hard time concentrating…emotionally."

"Is everything alright?" His voice is filled with fatherly concern.

"Oh yes! I'm fine…sort of…it's just hard to explain."

"Try me. You'd be surprised what an old rat understands."

"It's a little….embarrassing." I mutter the latter part. I'm starting to have doubts about bring up this topic to my ninjutsu teacher.

He hums thoughtfully, "Is it a matter you would rather discuss with your father instead?"

"Oh, God, no…" I immediately shudder at the thought causing Splinter to arch a curious brow at me. I make an attempt to vaguely clarify myself, "What I mean is….it's just hard talking about my powers to my dad. After being kidnapped by the Kraang, mutated into a bat monster, and turned human again, I think the things I can do make him…nervous."

"I see," Master Splinter says in his usual perspective way, "Does Mr. O'Neil know of your partial alien bloodline?" His inquisitive eyes try to meet mine, but I look down at my crossed legs instead.

"No….I haven't told him," his eyes widen in mild surprise, "I, uh, mean I haven't told him, yet," I chuckle nervously as I tuck my bangs behind my ear.

His expression softens, "Your father's love for you goes beyond your self-perceived fears, Ms. O'Neil."

"Yeah, I know, Sensei…" I bite my lip and tuck my hair behind my ear again.

"Something tells me this unwillingness to talk to your father is about more than just your abilities."

I gasp at being found out. How does he do that? Well, there's no point dragging this out any farther.

With a preliminary sigh, I start to explain, "Well, there's this…guy..." I look up at him and he gives me a knowing smile. I can sense a wave of paternal longing wash over him as I speak. Is this a conversation he wishes he could have with his own daughter?

"And this guy..." He urges with a slight smile waiting for me to continue.

"Um, right, so there's this guy that I really like…he's smart, sweet, and just a wonderful….person," I pause for a moment and then sigh, "and then there's another guy."

"So the plot thickens."

There's slight amusement in his voice and I give him a lopsided smile as I feel the nervousness in my stomach fade away. Sensei always has a way putting people at ease with his thoughtful attentiveness. "Yeah. The second guy is cool, but I only like him as a friend….I think. It's weird, because whenever we're together I get this really overwhelming ….need to be with him. It feels like love, but it doesn't feel right…because…"

"Because your heart belongs to the first young man."

My voice suddenly abandons me, so I answer with a nod instead.

There are a few moments of silence between us as Master Splinter strokes his chin thoughtfully.

"How long have you had these….misplaced feelings?"

"I don't know…maybe a few months? I tried to ignore it all, but I can't…not anymore." I can't believe I just poured out my kooky feelings to Sensei, but who else can I talk to about this? "I know it sounds silly, and you probably think I'm just being an overly dramatic boy-crazy teenage girl, but I promise I'm not."

Please tell me you understand…

"The second young man, do you feel these strong emotions when you are separated from him?

I halfheartedly think about Casey for moment. "No, not at all; only when I'm around him."

"And the first young man, do you feel this compassion for him even when he is not with you?

A wistful smile spreads across my face as I think about his second youngest son, and answer him quietly, "Yes, all the time."

"Hm, this is very peculiar indeed."

"Am I crazy? Will I keep feeling like a slave to my emotions?" My heart quickens, afraid of what his answer will be.

He chuckles warmly at me, "No, you are not crazy, but yes, I am afraid for as long as you live you will have to navigate the terrains of your heart's desires. However, I believe another force is at work here. I would like to be certain by performing a small test. May I?"

"Um, sure." What have I got to lose? I just hope it isn't painful. I've seen some of the 'tests' and 'lessons' he puts the guys through. "So, what exactly are you going to," He raises a single clawed finger motioning me to be quiet. Aside from the muffled sounds of the guys in the kitchen, there's nothing to hear except the chirpings of a lost cricket. Rising to his feet, Master Splinter moves toward the corner of the room, his footsteps are silent under the circumference of his robe. Bending down slowly, he flexes his fingers before quickly swiping something from the floor.

With his hands clasped together he walks toward me, holding his hands out for me to receive the chirping insect he carefully captured. Mirroring the gesture, I cup the small brown cricket in my hands. He's a nervous little guy, shakily trying to hop out of hands. I gently clasp my hands together keeping him securely in my loose grip as not to squash him.

"I assume you are not afraid of this cricket?"

I shake my head, "Of course not. It's like 10 times smaller than me," I peek inside my hands again, "It's completely harmless."

"Good," he says with a nod and gently takes the small creature from my hands and into his own, "Raphael!" He yells sternly for his second oldest son.

The murmuring chatter stops abruptly from the kitchen and heavy footsteps stop right outside the room. The door slowly creaks open and Raph guardedly pokes his head in and looks at me than at Splinter, "uh, yeah, Sensei?"

"Come in, my son. I need your assistance." He again looks between me and Sensei, but then shrugs his shoulders coolly as he enters the room.

"Sure thing, whaddaya need help with?" The brash turtle asks with a cocky smile, his arms are crossed in his usual macho stance.

"Just stand there." Raph looks puzzled at the request and glances over to me. I shrug my shoulders; I'm just as clueless as he is.

"Oookay…" He obeys suspiciously, "so how is standing here supposed to help—ack!"

I do a double take. If I blinked, I would have missed the pressure points Master Splinter applied to Raph's shoulder and jawline. With wide eyes and a nervous tick in his neck, Raph looks at Splinter. I can sense his regret for volunteering so quickly.

Master Splinter releases the cricket right on the tip of Raph's beak. The little guy chirps at him and Raph immediately takes in a sharp breath of air. His eyes become tiny pinpoints as he tries to move. Unfortunately, he is locked in place and his arms simply jerk awkwardly at his sides. I'm not sure what's paralyzing him more—his fear or the pressure points.

I wipe my damp brow. When did it get so hot in here? My heart is racing like I just ran 20 laps in gym class. My arms feel itchy, I rub them nervously. There's something on my skin…like a thousand little legs searching, crawling, burrowing underneath….

It's inside your skin!...get it out….it's in your SKIN! My brain is in a blind panic warning me of this unseen danger. I look around the room frantically trying to find the source of this dreadful feeling. My eyes fall upon the hideous creature that has hopped to the top of Raph's head. His face pales and then I shriek .

"Get that thing away from me!" I point at the bug and shout as I scramble on my butt trying to get away from the insect chirping evilly on my friend's head. In a calm and swift movement, Master Splinter removes the bug from Raph, who visually relaxes as his breathing becomes more even. He releases the captured cricket outside his room and I immediately start to calm down. As the fog of panic clears from my mind, I suddenly feel confused and extremely silly for being terrified of the same bug I held just moments ago.

After a finger poke behind his inner ear, Raph collapses in a heap at Master Splinter's feet. He groans as his eye and finger twitch twice before settling down.

"Thank you for your assistance, Raphael." Master Splinter says with a sincere gratitude that would almost be comical, had I not just been scared out of mind.

"No problem," His dry retort comes across weakly as he gathers his body (and his pride) from the floor, "Warn a turtle next time, sheesh." He mutters bitterly.

"An enemy will not warn you before striking; you should be prepared for the unexpected."

Raph groans again trying not to roll his eyes at the ambush disguised as a lesson, "Hai, Sensei." After a nod from Splinter, Raph hurries out the room, rubbing the side of his neck tersely.

"Wh-what just happened?" My voice is still shaky and so are my hands.

"Your empathetic abilities are growing stronger. You are mistakenly accepting the emotions of others as your own."

"Wh-what? Are you saying I have Case...I mean...the second guy's emotions in my head?" I try to calm my mind and slow my speaking before my words slip again, "How is that possible? Why him? I mean, I'm around people all the time, and I never have trouble with emotions taking resident in my head uninvited….well, until a few minutes ago." I look up at Sensei; I need answers because I'm really starting to freak out about this whole foreign emotions invading my mind thing; and Casey's emotions are the last thing I want slinking through my psyche.

"Emotions such as fear or love can be extremely strong compared to other feelings. It is why Raphael's fear of insects so readily became your own fear." Extending his hand to me, I accept it as he pulls me to my feet, "It is very important that you do not waver in your own thoughts and beliefs, otherwise you could easily be overtaken by the emotions of others unknowingly. I will teach you a few meditation techniques to help you better block outside emotions."

"Thank you, Master Splinter, I think that will help a lot," I pause for moment, because there's something else still bugging me, "Sensei, the first guy I was telling you about, I tried to sense his emotions once…to see if he feels the same way about me, but I don't sense anything from him. Does that mean he doesn't.…"

I don't even want to form the words, but luckily Sensei understands what I'm asking, "Not sensing someone's emotions could mean many things. You must remember, some people do not project their emotions as strongly as others do. Do not completely rely on your psyche abilities to figure out the motives of others, but use your natural senses to help you decide their intent."

I bite my lip thoughtfully, slowly grasping Master Splinter's advice. He takes another thirty minutes to show me the empathy blocking techniques that will help me filter and separate my emotions from the emotions of those around me. After our session, I feel endowed with a sense of perception and wisdom that I didn't know I needed before now.

I leave Master Splinter in the serenity of his room as I follow the chatter of the guys into the kitchen. Of course it didn't take the guys long to cook two of the the frozen pizzas I brought over. Mikey's already chowing down like there's no tomorrow.

"Food, oh how I've missed thee!" Mike says around a mouthful of pizza; he then proceeds to pour jellybeans in his mouth. I grimace at his choice of food combinations.

"Slow down, ya moron. You're gonna choke yourself." Raph growls over his shoulder as he grabs bags of potato chips and cans of sodas out of the cabinets and refrigerator.

"Dude, look at me, I'm wasting away!" Mikey emphasizes his point by gestures to his plastron (which is slight rounder than his brothers', mind you) as he crams another slice of pizza in his mouth, "If I don't eat it now, Donnie will eat it later. I think he's trying to starve us out." He suspiciously glares at Donnie's lab door like he's just discovered some hidden ploy against him.

"Whatever. I'm stashing some grub in my room in case the Beanpole decides to attack the kitchen later."

"I don't understand how he eats so much without gaining any weight." Leo adds thoughtfully.

"Guess it goes straight to his feet." I glare at Raph for making such a callous comment about Donnie.

"Stop giving Donatello such a hard time." I don't try to hide my heated tone as I continue to stare angrily at Raph.

He looks over at me in faux shock, "What? Like you didn't notice the boats attached to his ankles. You were practically gawking at them in practice…." He smirks and snickers as he teases me, hinting at his earlier raunchy comment.

"I'd be careful when you go to sleep tonight; never know what could be 'jumping' around in your room," I cross my arms with a smug look. I'm not above telling his brothers about his little 'cricket lesson' if he keeps insulting Donnie. He seems to realize this as he clamps his mouth shut and simply glares back at me. Smart turtle.

"April's right, cut Donnie some lack, you two," I'm grateful when Leo steps in to defend his brother, "he can't help the changes he's going through right now. For all we know, we could all eventually have to go through the same maturing phase."

"He ate all your instant noodles," Mikey tells him before swallowing another mouthful of food.

"Man, I didn't even get a chance to try the shrimp-flavored one…."

With a hopeless sigh, I shake my head as Leo mourns his noodles, "I'm going to chat with Don before I head home," before I make it within five feet of his lab door, large hands pull my arm back. I yelp as the pull spins me around and I come face to face with Mikey.

"Hold up, homegirl, you can't just go in there."

"Why not?" I pout in slight annoyance.

"None shalleth passeth without propereth food offering," Mikey does a horrible medieval accent as he slides a Twinkie in my hand.

"Mikey, stop pestering April," Leo says from somewhere in the background.

"You shalleth thanketh me later...eth" He whispers, holding a very serious expression, but his eyes twinkle with a familiar silliness I know and love. I smile with an eye roll, rubbing his head affectionately as I turn around and head for the lab.

I rap on the metal door, "Hey, Donnie? Its April. Can I come in?" I try the doorknob. It's unlocked so I push the door open slightly and gingerly stick my hand through the door, blindly waving the Twinkie in the room, "I was told to bring a food offering."

"Very funny, Mikey." Donnie bellows to his younger brother. I chuckle as I open the door wider to step in the room. The lab hasn't changed much since my last visit; everything is still meticulously organized. I spot Donatello near his lab table putting the lid back on a canister of mutagen. He pushes the safety goggles on his face up to his forehead. "H-Hey, April," he offers me a tentative smile.

"Hey Donnie," I return the gesture as I toss him the plastic-wrapped Twinkie. He catches it with ease as I take a seat at one of the bar stools.

"So, uh, wh-what brings you into my humble domain?" He places the Twinkie on his computer desk, which is currently surrounded by a fortress of junkfood. He grabs a handful of Twizzlers and offers me one and I kindly accept.

"I didn't get a chance to talk to you after practice, so I just wanted to see how you were doing before I went home." I nibble on my string of licorice.

"Oh," was his single response as he bites off the tops of at least six sticks of Twizzlers. Poor guy. At least once a month, I can relate to his binge eating; I couldn't imagine feeling like a glutton for weeks at a time though. There's an uncomfortable quietness between us, like it has been for weeks. "Uh…" he looks down like there is a pile of conversation starters on the floor, "So, how's school?"

"Um, school is good." I'm not doing much better, searching the ceiling for words that use to come so naturally when we talked, "So, are you making progress with the retro-mutagen?" His posture slumps at my question.

"Not nearly as much progress as I should be." Donnie's making some groundbreaking discoveries with a chemical that's not even part of our dimension. He should really cut himself some slack.

"You'll figure it out, Donnie, you always do." I take in his tired expression, "maybe you should take a break; a little rest might give you a fresher perspective."

In the time it takes me to eat one Twizzler, he's already eaten the whole bag of red licorice candy and moves on to the Twinkie, "I'll rest after I finish the retro-mutagen….too many people depending on this new batch." His eyes wander to something behind me. I turn around and see Timothy encased in his icy chamber. Timothy's mutation wasn't Donatello's fault, but he still feels responsible. It's one of the traits I find endearing about my genius friend, but it is also the cause of his worse for wear appearance.

"Alright," I resign, not at all pleased with his decline to rest, "well, is there anything I can do to help?"

"Actually, I could use another blood donation, if you don't mind? Pulling extra essence from a mere five canisters of mutagen has been like trying to squeeze blood from a turnip. I'm hoping your unique DNA will serve as an adequate compensation."

"Sure, Donnie, anything to help out." I roll up my shirt sleeve as Donnie washes his hands and grabs the supplies he needs to draw my blood. Grabbing a stool, he sits in front of me taking my arm into his large hands . He ties the tourniquet and then gently cleans my inner elbow with an alcohol wipe. It amazes me how hands so big and callous are so tender and careful.

"Small prick, okay?" I nod absently as I make a fist. He always says this even though he's taken my blood on more than one occasion while concocting retro-mutagen. Ever so gentle, I never feel the needle enter my skin as the flow of blood leaves my body and enters the blood bag.

I watch him as he checks the blood flow through the tube. In such close company, I really get a good look at Donnie's post-shedding appearance. I noticed he has put extra wrappings along his arms and legs since practice. They completely cover his earthy patchwork of scales. I hate that he feels the need to hide his new appearance. Looking at his head, I can see his scales are more defined now-coarser than his brothers. His shoulders stiffen under my curious stare and he briefly turns to look at me. The leathery texture of skin deeply contrasts with the soft gentleness of his brown eyes. Quickly avoiding eye contact, he looks down at his feet. He curls his band-wrapped toes under and then stretches them back out. His chest rises and falls slowly with his deep breath.

"Listen, April, about our study night a few weeks ago..."

I push my hair behind my ear and rub my sweaty hand on my jeans. I've been waiting and at the same time dreading to have this conversation with Donnie. Why can't we just get past this and go back to being friends or whatever is was that we were...

"I'm sorry I freaked you out."

We both look each other dead in the eyes blinking in shock as we apologized at the same time.

"You didn't freak me out, I thought that I...I mean you..." We both pause our synchronize speech and laugh at each other. His laughter is cut awkwardly short as he puts his hand to his mouth smothering the rest of his chortle and hiding his sweet smile.

"Why on earth would you think you freaked me out?" Donnie gives me an incredulous look, "Out of the two of us, it's a little obvious who the freak is," he give a depreciative smile as he gestures to himself.

"Stop it. You know I hate when you guys call yourselves that." He and his brothers use the word loosely, but 'freak' still sounds like a racial (or maybe species?) slur when it comes from their mouths.

"Sorry, it's just I can only imagine how disgusted you must have been when I started shedding and I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I'm sure Casey would have made better company than someone who reminded you of your pet dog."

I stare into his eyes and see nothing but genuine guilt over something he has no business feeling guilt about. It's just like Donnie to be overly concerned for someone else without giving a second thought to his own feelings. I hold my non-blood-donating hand up in a stopping motion before he continue this self-depreciating and unnecessary apology.

"First of all, I was in no shape or form disgusted by you, Donnie. I was terrified for you. I thought you were hurt or sick…I…I just didn't know. And the whole thing about my childhood dog, was a horrible comparison. I just wanted you to know I was okay with the whole shedding thing, that's all. And, God, my whole psychic touching…I know it was weird and I promise not to do that to you again. Donnie, you're such a sweetheart and I'm so sorry for making you uncomfortable that night. I never meant to make you feel any less than the wonderful person you are."

For a moment, he doesn't say anything and just stares, tilting his head ever so slightly as if he is studying me. I try to use my empathy abilities to find a trace of any type of emotion, anything to give me a hint to what he's feeling right now, but I get nothing.

Some people do not project their emotions as strongly as others do. ….use your natural senses to help you decide the intent of individuals.

Master Splinter's words echo into my remembrance and I think Donnie is one of those people he is referring to. So, as he studies me, I also study him. His posture is more relaxed, his shoulders are straightened and no longer in a repressive hunch.

"You have no idea how awesome you are," He replies softly, his eyes are still gentle and full of something bright and genuine, "And for the record, I live with Mikey; you don't remotely fall under the category of weird."

I notice his cheeks turn a darker shade of green as a self-conscious smile crosses his face and he ducks his head down. "Oh, gee, almost forgot about this," He motions to the blood bag. In one swift movement he removes the needle from my arm, properly disposing it and places my 'alien' blood bag in a plastic storage case.

I can't help but smile softly at his sudden gawkish and timid behavior. Yeah, I think we're okay now, but I need to hear him say it, "So, we're good, right?" I ask as I roll my shirt sleeve down, "because I really miss my science buddy."

"Yeah," His voice squeaks a bit, before he clears his throat to level it out, "I mean, yeah, we're good. Just, don't compare me to anymore of your pets….unless, of course you had a pet turtle then that would be okay, but only for the sake of science." He jokes as he gives me that gap-toothed smile and for a fleeting moment I feel something a little stronger than friendship emanate from him, so small and shy that I almost miss it. "Speaking of turtles, how are the turtle eggs fairing at your place?"

And so we talk (and he snacks) another hour about turtle eggs, which leads to a discussion about sea turtles verses freshwater turtles, which strangely leads to a debate on whether or not reptiles are as equally represented in modern cartoons as amphibians.

Both of us are smiling by the time I get up to leave and I feel a lot better knowing the awkwardness between us is fading.

I slip out of his lab leaving the door slightly cracked. Mikey gives me a bright knowing smile as he glances over his shoulder at me from the couch.

"Told ya the Twinkie would work."

Donnie groans from the other side of the door, "Shut up, Mikey!"

Opening my desk drawer, I pull out my last jar of peanut butter. I spoon a mouthful of the nutty paste into my mouth as I type another entry into my Maturing Cycle log:

Increased appetite, possibly a result of accelerated metabolism. Peanut butter—good source of protein and should help slow down digestion and stabilize current eating habits. Muscle cramps easily managed by increasing potassium intake.

By notating the changes experienced through this growth spurt, I can better prepare my brothers for the developments they will more than likely face. At least they won't have to stumble through it blindly like me. Peeling a banana, I use it to scoop out another glob of peanut butter and cram half of it in my mouth. I type in another note before saving and closing the file:

No other observable changes noted.

Raph suggested I should add PMS to my data log.

Shove your naginata down his throat, show him how moody you really are.

I am not moody. I've just been a little...frustrated lately.

Finishing off the banana with another plunge of peanut butter, I roll back from my desk and look down at my feet. I wince as I cross one leg over my thigh. Gingerly, I unwrap my sore foot. It's red and swollen to the point I can barely bend my toes. I repeat the unwrapping process with my other foot . Leaning back in my chair, I sigh in relief. My feet are finally free from their confinement. Once a standard of beauty during the Five dynasties era, Chinese women often bound their feet to keep them at a very petite size, so hypotetically...

You thought you could hide your freak feet?...How's that working out for you?

I growl to myself. The height, I can deal with; the excessive eating, I can manage; but my feet have been nothing but a nuisance. It's a constant battle just trying not trip over them. I'm a ninja for crying out loud! This is just downright embarrassing. Practice today was an absolute disgrace; I could see the annoyance in my brothers' faces and the disappointment in my father's eyes. And to make matters worse, April was there to see it all. I frown spitefully at the slabs of enlarged flesh connected to my ankles.

At least you have one thing in common with your feet—you're both useless.

I try to push that cynical voice aside, but it always find a way to boil over into my immediate thoughts.

You couldn't even perform a basic kata. And patrolling this evening?...what a joke. You're a joke. You should have listened and stayed home. Your brothers see how pathetic you are. You're a sorry excuse for a ninja.

As I think about how Leo treated me today, my hands tightly clench the armrests of my chair. Being under Leo's constant scrutiny was infuriating. In practice, I knew what I was doing! I didn't need him nitpicking my every move like I was some incompetent bo-handler. Then this evening, he insisted that I stay home and 'rest'. Yes, I heard you loud and clear, Leo….translation? You're a liability; stay home, stay out of the way. Heedless of Leo's suggestion, I went patrolling with them anyway, but at the expense of clumsily face-planting into a dumpster while pridefully hiding my muscle spasms.

Contently sucking the last bit of peanut butter from my spoon, I sigh heavily. At least here, in my lab, I am truly a master of my trade. Swiveling around in my chair, I turn down the boiling mutagen in the Bunsen burner I watch as the mutagen separates into two different fluids—a dense blue sludge settling at the bottom and a yellowish fluid buoying near the top of the beaker. Grunting in slight frustration, I steady my twitching arm as I pour the heat-treated mutagen into the centrifuge to fully separate its two components. I've already used three canisters of mutagen; I stare back at the remaining two canisters, the fluorescent lights reflect against them, leaving an eerie bluish-green glow on my desk. I sigh again as I absently massage the returning ache in my arm. In my months of studying this alter-dimensional ooze, I have no real proof that a decent batch of retro-mutagen can be made with just half the number of needed canisters.

You'll figure it out, Donnie, you always do.

I smile as the sound of April's voice penetrates my thoughts. With all my rotten luck, it's hard to believe I have a jewel like April for a friend. At times, it's hard to comprehend the sincere goodness of her nature. Every day, I wait for her to realize what a freak I am and yet she continues to surprise me with affirmations of our friendship. After clearing up our misunderstanding, I know I should just be grateful with just being friends again, but I can't help but naively wish for more.

An obnoxious grumble interrupts my thoughts. Placing my hand over the middle of my plastron, I can feel the intense vibration of hunger. I turn to the jar on my desk, and grumble with annoyance at seeing its empty state. I turn to the side. My trash can is topped with empty jars, junk food wrappings, banana peels, and an empty bag of cheese puffs. There's nothing left to eat in my lab, that my appalling appetite has not already forced me to devour. I look at the centrifuge. Still another 15 minutes to go. I can hold out until then.

My stomach apparently has other plans as a pinch of pain makes me press my hand harshly against my plastron, in hopes of calming the angry churning inside.

"Okay, okay….impatient digestive system…" I mutter to myself as I rise to my feet.

I don't get very far as a sharp pain grips my leg. Taking a step back to balance myself, I trip over my own foot and hit the floor with a thud. My shell bumps my desk on the way down knocking one of the mutagen canisters on its side. It rolls to the edge of my desk before coming to a complete stop. I couldn't move even if I wanted to. The cramping pain in my leg spreads to my immediate extremities. My muscles contract painfully forcing me into a fetal position. I press my lips together, silently enduring sharp bolts of pain. I can't control the jerkiness of my limbs; all I can do is pull myself into a tighter ball and hope the compactness of my body will keep me from twitching so harshly.

And just as quickly as the pain brought me down to a crumpled heap, it was over. I cautiously uncurl my body and sit up. The growing pains are getting increasing painful, especially at night. So much for bananas relieving muscle cramps….

Still on the floor regaining my composure, I lean my head back until it rest on the edge of my desk. My eyes widen as I feel something cool and hard touch the back of my head. I slowly ease away from the desk. As I turn around, I can barely slow my racing heart. There it was, the mutagen canister, its metal-sealed top suspended just inches over the edge of the desk. Thank goodness it was sealed; it could have come crashing down on me while I was riding out the pain.

"I have to be more careful." I chide myself in a shaky whisper as I use the desk to help me stand. Double checking the seals of the two remaining canisters, I store them in my bottom desk drawer for now. I breathe out a whistle; that was too close.

The sound of a begging whine fills the lab.

"Oh, come on!" Groaning, I stalk out of my lab to appease my insane appetite.

Chapter Text

The last sprinkles of sunlight drip into the horizon like paint from a canvas as the city lights start to buzz into glow from a distance. I toss a rusty angled pipe into my crate. I glance over at Donnie as he limply chucks a combat boot into his crate.

He's been pretty bummed out lately; I guess the whole growth spurt thing's getting to him. I don't know why he's so upset. Wish I had body freckles, it would totally amplify how adorable I am. And how cool are his feet! I would obnoxiously stomp around, because…why wouldn't you stomp around with big feet? Well, on the bright side, at least he's not tripping over….

There's a small clatter of metal and a muffled thump to my right. I look, but only see a mound of junk where my brother was standing, "Dude, are you—"

Donnie's arm pops up and waves tersely, "I'm fine."

Okay, at least he's not tripping over his feet as much.

I figured getting back to our prank would put him in a better mood. I've been begging him all week to go to the junkyard. I think the combination of my signature puppy-dog eyes and a perfectly timed lip-quivering you promised finally made him give in. It's one of the many perks of being the cute one.

So, here we are finding parts for Operation 'Pink Love Gloves'. This is so exciting! I look around at the piles of junk, or as I like to call them, stacks of endless possibilities. Oh man, this prank is going to be so...Oooo, shiny!

"Hey, D, can we use this?" I wave my new discovery at Donnie, who's a few yards away from me.

He glances up from his less than enthusiastic plundering, "Mikey, that's a micrometer."

"Oh...so can we use it?"

"I really don't see how a micrometer will be very useful with-"

"Aaarrrrrrrrgh, ye scallywag!" I run and leap on top of a junk pile in front of my brother. Holding the micrometer thingy like a metal hook, I squint one eye, "This be me land yar trepassin' on, aarrrgh!" My foot almost slips on the wobbly sheet of metal I'm standing on, but I quickly recover and strike a very piratey pose, "Well? What've ya t'say fer yerself, Bucko?" I sneer at him the way any fearsome pirate would, but he doesn't look the slightest bit amused as he stares at me with half-lidded cynical eyes. "Aaargh, ye be walkin' the plank if ye don't-Oooo, what's that?"

My pirate game is quickly forgotten as I drop my play hook and jump down to the mound of scraps behind my brother. He mutters something behind me about squirrels and attention spans as I yank out a cool thingamajig from the pile of whatchamacallits. "Yo, Donnie, check it out dude! It's a mind-control blocker helmet!" I demonstrate by putting the cone-shaped metal hat on my head. "We can totally use this against the Kraang!" Donnie stares at me. It's obvious he's been rendered speechless by my ingenious mind. "You're welcome." I politely yet smugly answer before he can actually thank me. He groans as he slaps his palm over his face.

"Mikey, the Kraang have never used mind-control on us." His tone is surprisingly calm.

"But they could..." I let my voice linger as I arch a challenging brow.

"That's true, but...technically, it wouldn't…its just…." He makes a sort of frustrated wordless noise, before his voice starts getting pitchy, "That's beside the point! That's not a mind-control blocker it's a barrel funnel!"

"...Well it could be a mind-control blocker..." I mutter smartly, getting the last word in. Donnie's face pulls into a twitchy frown as his shoulders hunch up to his neck and his fists tighten at his sides.

Irritable remark coming in 3, 2, and…

"Will you just hurry up so we can go back to the lair?" He says right on cue before turning his shell to me and roughly searching through another pile. Lately, Donnie's attitude changes quicker than a mood ring with only two settings: Irritable and slightly less irritable. I think it's because of the dark clouds in his headspace.

I can still see auras from the spiritual plane. Master Splinter eventually figured it out when he noticed me zoning out more than usual in conversations. Sensei said the 'aura vision' wasn't something he could make go away, so I'll always be able to see auras even when I'm not meditating. He said seeing auras in the physical world was a gift that many, including him, were not able to do without being in a meditative state. I'm still learning, but my eyes are getting better at blurring out and zooming into auras when I need to.

Right now, I'm zooming in on Donnie's headspace; it seems to be where his spiritual energy hangs out the most. Over the past few weeks, I've noticed specks of dark clouds in his headspace, and it's getting worse. The normally colorful image of purple gears and wires in his mind are getting harder to see with that growing haze in the way. That emotional darkness is what's causing his sucky mood. I can't really explain how I know this, but I just know. Luckily, he has an awesome younger brother who specializes in lifting nasty moods.

Walking around the junk stack, I stand beside him, but he's ignoring me. "Dude, I'm just messing around with you," I say with a smile as I nudge him playfully, "Come on, bro, I dragged you out of the lab to have some fun, not tick you off. You are having fun, right? Ya know, just the two of us hanging out...devising a sinister plot of tantalizing revenge and delectable pleasure." I drum my fingers together and arch a mischievous brow at him. He stops rough-handling scrap metal long enough for his expression to change from explosive annoyance to something more apologetic. The dark haze shifts and his purple-colored aura is slightly more visible.

His shoulders slump with a sigh as he rubs the top of his head, "Sorry, Mikey….I just have a lot on my mind."

I swat away his apology with the flick of my wrist before continuing, "Dude, the only thing that should be on your mind right now is Operation Pink Love Gloves!" I wiggle my fingers for emphasis.

He studies me for a moment, "Well, this still isn't a mind-control blocker," he reiterates as he takes the funnel off my head and puts it in one of the plastic crates with the rest of our collected items, "However, it will make the perfect transportation device for the marbles." He offers a lopsided smile. My eyes brighten at his suggestion.

"Sweet! Now we need a flamethrower!"

"Why on earth do we need a flamethrower?!" He stares dubiously at me as he starts digging through the same mound of garbage as me.

"How else are we going to melt the marshmallows?"

"To avoid treating third-degree burns, let's just use marshmallow crème instead." He compromises. I think for a moment and nod, deciding this will be a suitable alternative.

I test the waters further , just to make sure he's in a better mood, "Gee, Donnie, what do you want to do tonight?" I ask in my best British accent.

He doesn't hesitate, responding without missing a beat, "The same thing we do every night, Mikey, make bad impersonations of old TV shows." His face twitches into a light smile.

We continue our small game of impersonations with me doing the impersonating and Donnie guessing the TV show, or occasionally completing the quotes. We manage to pick through a few more piles and find some mattress springs, an old car horn, and a rusty click-clack ball knocker (Donnie calls it a 'pendulum').

Donnie looks at the screen of his T-phone when it rings. There's a smile on his face that you only see in those cute teen romance movies….you know, where the guy's all funny, weird, and awkward around his crush.

"Hey April," his voice is suddenly deeper than it was just moments ago, "…No, no, I don't have a cold…just a little tickle in my throat," He coughs with embarrassment trying to play off his macho façade as he goes back to his normal-speaking voice. I smirk. Sometimes watching him talk to April is better than a teen romance movie. "…Oh, really? Like right now? That's great...fantastic! Take pictures….awesome, even better!"

"What? What's fantastic? Is April scuba diving in the Caribbean?" I'm instantly at Donnie's side reaching up to pull the T-phone from his ear so I can hear too. Scuba Diving! I'm so jealous right now!

Donnie yelps, pushing me away with the palm of his hand over my face, "She isn't scuba diving….We just saw her last week, why would you think she was in the Caribbean?!..." I give a muffled protest from behind his hand as he moves the phone to his other ear, "…Sorry about that April, I-Ack, gross!...No, not you April. Mikey just licked my hand…..don't ask." I give him an accomplished smirk just before he wipes saliva-coated hand on my plastron. He sighs, knowing I won't stop until he gives me the 411. "The turtle eggs hatched," he turns to me and says, "except for one."

"Too cool! Tell April I'm in charge of naming them!" I exclaim, only half-joking.

"You hear that, April?...She said the job is all yours, Mikey." I fist pump the air, "….I wouldn't get my hopes up on the last egg….well, yes, I suppose it could be just a late bloomer….okay, just keep me posted. So we're still good for Operation PLG, right?...Sweet. We really appreciate the assistance, April…."

They chat for a few more minutes and I can't help but notice the activity in his aura. Wow, April really has a way of chasing those dark clouds away. The aura of gears and other mechanical gadgets in Donnie's head are happily turning, whirling, and clicking into action again. There are a series of codes running at light speed across my brother's mindscape that I can't even begin to understand; all I know is that April is the cause of it.

There's a distracted grin on his face as he ends his call with April.

"Congrats, how's it feel to be a daddy?" I give him a cheeky smile.

A blushed look of shock covers his face and his aura is going crazy with activity. "I only educated her in taking care of the eggs which has no paternal applicability…." He stops his fast-talking serious explanation after seeing my impish face, "….Stop it," I laugh at his indignant tone, "or I won't show the video April sent."

"Aw, Come on, Donnie, I wanna see!" I clamor to him, pulling at his arm to see the screen of his T-phone.

The video is a little wobbly and blurring at first but then comes sharply into focus. Donnie and I watch as four of the hatched turtles are trying to climb the sides of a ceramic bowl as they continuously slide back down to the tiny puddle of water at the bottom of the bowl. I wonder if we were this cute when we were regular turtles? The camera suddenly shifts to a plastic square container. The fifth turtle has hatched…sort of. It still has a large piece of egg shell on its back. We watch as April's petite fingers come into view and gently removes the debris to reveal its little turtle shell underneath. It starts padding its little legs as fast as it can towards the last egg….I bet its waiting for its brother or sister to hatch, how sweet! It doesn't get far as April's fingers quickly pluck it up and place it in the bowl with the other turtles. After a few more moments of watching baby turtles eagerly crawl the sides of the bowl, the video ends.

"Pretty, neat huh?" Donnie gives a small toothy smile. I nod in agreement as he tucks the phone back in his belt pocket. I can't wait to meet the little guys in person the next time we go to April's.

Donnie's head is still a workshop of activity since his phone conversation with April. Maybe talking about her more will totally get rid of those doom and gloom clouds for good. "So, you and April have been talking a lot lately." I casually observe.

"It's mostly about her homework," he dismisses the possibility of anything more, but I dig a little deeper.

"She's helping us with Operation PLG and that is definitely not homework, bro."

"Well, involving April would be the most logical course of action; she's the key to us not being slaughtered before we actually enjoy the fruits of our labor. Her accommodating nature is exactly what we need to aid us in our little hijinks and—"

"And you like her."

"Of course I like April…she's my friend…uh, our friend, what's not to like?" His passive expression never changes, but I see a tiny stir of affection from Donnie's aura at the mention of April's name. Nice try bro, but I'm not giving up that easily.

"D, everyone knows you like April as more than 'just a friend'," I emphasize with air quotes, "You should totally share those squishy feels with her, cause I bet my last pizza slice she feels the same way."

Just when I think I'm getting through to him and that maybe this foreboding haze will leave my brother's aura, something else happens instead. All of the soft squishy good feelings of April are crammed into that pesky metal box at his core. I frown thoughtfully. After weeks of watching, I think I finally figured out how Donnie's aura works. All of his emotions go through an assembly line in his aura headspace where he pokes, prods, and analyzes them like one of his science projects, and then he just dumps it into that metal box. He never gives himself a chance to really take in and embrace those emotions; they just—voosh!—go in the box.

Has he always done this? Before this whole drifting and aura-reading happened, I took it for granted that Donnie was just secretive about his feelings; I didn't realize he was completely ignoring them. I gotta show him there's a healthier way to deal with his feels.

"She's totally into you, bro, and not because you help her with homework." Donnie's face is like a blank slate—unreadable, and the dark haze is now occupying the forefront of his headspace, but I press on, "Don't you see the way she looks at you? Trust me, dude, I've got a sixth sense about these things, and I know April's got a lot of squishy feels for you. Can't you feel it…here?" I tap his metal box in hopes something I say will unlock his captive emotions.

He pushes my finger away from his plastron, "No, I can't feel what someone thinks about me, and neither can you. Emotions are fickle and unpredictable. You can't read people's emotions to know what they think, you have to analyze their words, behaviors, and reactions to come to an accurate deduction." He says it with such certainty and I almost believe him, but I shake his inflexible logic from my mind.

"Yes, I can, and so can you, if you'd just try." I pause a moment as something in the back of my conscious warns me to stop, but I ignore it and take a chance, "You should talk to Master Splinter about the metal box!" I blurt out before I give myself a chance to take it back. His posture stiffens at my words.

"….What are you talking about?" He plays dumb and it just makes me that much more passionate to prove my point.

"You know what I'm talking about. The metal box, your aura! Dude, you've got some bad vibes hanging around it, you really should—"

"Michelangelo, stop!" His demanding tone and the use of my full name makes me clamp my big mouth shut. Maybe I brought up the metal box too soon.

"I don't know what Sensei told you, but I'm fine. I don't have bad vibes or any other alchemy nonsense that Sensei's putting in your head." The calm of his voice is touched with a shocking bitterness that catches me off guard.

"Dude, Sensei didn't tell me anything…I can...I can just see it!" I let out my concern as I gesture passionately to his plastron. "Look, bro, sometimes feelings are squishy and gross like cottage cheese, or super hard like week-old pizza crust, but it doesn't mean you throw them in a dumpster! You gotta open the lid get a good smell, ya know?"

I'm hoping my poetic words of profound wisdom will give my brother a much needed revelation, but I have no such luck. There's a moment of silence as Donnie blinks at me in confusion, "…...Okay, now you're just making things up."

"Well…so what if I am? That doesn't mean I'm wrong." When I actually try to be serious, he dismisses me like my words are meaningless gibberish. I try not to pout at his patronizing remark as I tug on my wrist wrappings.

"Mikey, please, I have to hear this abstract babble at least 3 times a week from Master Splinter," his quiet voice is almost pleading, "Just drop it, okay?"

I silently reply with a nod. I really gotta start listening to that tiny little voice in the back of my head that sounds like Raph and says 'Shut up, Mikey!' In just a matter of minutes, I manage to make things worse in Donnie's aura. The gloom clouds are weaving in and out, and over and under his aura like a tapestry of bad news.

He studies me for a moment and then shakes his head with a sigh before picking up his crate of collected junk, "Come on, Mikey, I think we have enough items to work with, let's head back to the lair."

Before I can object, my eyes widen at the growl from the beast that lives in Donnie's stomach, "…After we stop by Murakami's." He gives me a sheepish look before leading the way. I pick up my own crate of treasures and jog to catch up beside him. "We can split a box of pizza gyozas."

"No thanks, D, I'm getting my own box." I answer him with a warily smile. Last time, I got too close to Donnie's feeding range, I almost pulled back a stub instead of my hand.

My stomach is somewhat appeased after eating a box of gyozas and half of Mikey's box, which he claims he was too full to eat. I know it was a lie but I appreciated the gesture anyway. The walk home from Murakami's is pretty uneventful. Mikey fills in the void of silence with his endless chattering. I don't mind his idle words as we walk through the sewers. He is more or less just talking for the sake of talking and not necessarily expecting verbal responses from me, for which I am immensely grateful. I really don't trust myself not to snap at him if our conversation starts to veer toward the nonsense of spirits and auras again.

Usually, I don't mind indulging Mikey's imagination into the realm of paranormal fantasies; I just treat them as silly 'what if' hypotheses. But this evening, Mikey wasn't just goofing around; he seriously believes in this aura business. Actually, it really shouldn't surprise me. Mikey's always been more susceptible to believing whimsical notions without questioning the rationality. It's one of the things that intrigues me, yet leaves me completely perplexed about my little brother.

I still can't believe he tried to lecture me on feelings. He has a few meditation sessions with Sensei and suddenly he's a self-proclaim psychic? The idea of it is absolutely ridiculous! How I feel is irrelevant to how I act. It's all about actions and reactions; regular versus irregular behavior. April and I have an understanding of our relationship based on our logical actions toward one another, not flittering emotions. What difference does it make how I feel? It won't change anything. She will always see me as her science buddy and….I'm okay with that.

No you're not, but it doesn't matter because she doesn't like you like that anyway.

It's an unnecessary waste of energy to dwell on emotions. They require so much effort to concretely articulate, it's just more efficient to rely on direct words and actions instead. I've never been comfortable with sentences that start with 'I feel'. My words and actions are solid, tangible; I can always find logical ways to prove them. With logic, I always know what to expect, it never fails (unless of course it's a logical fallacy, then that's a different case all together).

Emotions...I can't help but frown at the frustrating thought of them. Nothing more than a useless byproduct of our behavior...or maybe it's the cause of our behavior?...Ack! See?... it's impossible to draw any concrete conclusion from emotional concepts.

Furthermore, what gives Sensei the right to divulge our confidential sessions to Mikey? Mikey of all people! Its irritating and I can't help but feel a sense of betrayal from the act.

He told your brother what an incompetent student you are.

I take a slow quiet breath to calm the bubble of anger expanding in my chest. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what Sensei tells Mikey, me, or anyone else for that matter. This whole theory of spirit worlds and auras is fictitious. Meditation is all about focus and concentration—a state in which my mind practically livesin. My brain is the epitome of meditation….give me a telescope, sandpaper, a mouse trap, some mothballs, and little cleaning fluid, and I can make a pretty impressive harpoon gun….and maybe even a bit of mustard gas on the side. I don't understand what Master Splinter expects me to learn that I haven't already proven myself capable of accomplishing.

If I can just wait out these sessions with Master Splinter, things can go back to normal. Eventually, Sensei will see reason and drop these pointless sessions….and if he doesn't, I'll just keep mentally working through calculus problems until he feels I've 'learned' my lesson.

Excited chatter wafts its way to the outskirts of the Lair as Mikey and I approach the turnstiles. We exchange a look, both wondering what our brothers are up to now. The octave of their voices hasn't dropped, so at least we can rule out a potential fight taking place.

Immediately, I tense at the sight of my brothers and Casey fraternizing in the den. Whatever Casey is talking about has their undivided attention. Great, maybe we can slip into my lab without being—

"Yo, Case-man, what up, bruh?" Mikey loudly announces our arrival. Curse my little brother and his social butterfly tendencies. Dropping his crate of supplies beside me, Mikey immediately joins the others. I sigh. Now I have to go over and make nice, and act like I don't want to kick Casey out of our home. Using my knee, I heft the crate in my arms to maintain a secure grip as I trudge over to the others.

"Oh look, Jack and the Beanstalk are back." Raph taunts with a smirk from the armrest of the couch. I roll my eyes.

"Well, then you must be the ugly troll." Mikey retorts smugly, sticking out his tongue at Raph.

"I think you mean giant. It was a giant in the story 'Jack and the Beanstalk', not a troll." I dully correct him.

"Nah, Raphie's too short and stumpy to be a giant; troll suits him better. Ah!" Raph doesn't waste any time putting Mike into a choke hold.

Casey chuckles at my brothers' antics, "Hey Mikey." He eyes purposely pass over me, and then finally make contact with mine, "Oh, hey Don, didn't notice you there with all that junk."

No one ever notices you, do they?

"Hey guys, Casey was just telling us about a new movie," Leo intercedes when he sees me cut my eyes at Casey, "What's the name of it again?"

"Die Hard: The Final Destination of the Fast and Furious Hidden Dragon."

"Please tell me your joking." I can barely contain my non-existent excitement beneath my apathetic tone.

"Dead serious, the movie is stupid sick!"

"Stupid and sick? Sounds absolutely riveting."

"Better than the nerd-fest movies you watch." Raph takes up for Casey as Mikey pulls himself out of the headlock.

"Secret agents, ninjas, car chases, hot chicks, and explosions out the ying yang! What more could you possibly want in a movie?" Casey shrugs with that stupid lopsided smile.

"A plot…." I mumble.

"You guys should come with," Casey offers ignoring my current disdain, "For real, I could slip you guys in through the side door."

"We can stealth our way into a movie theater; ninjas, remember?" Raph boasts with a smirk I've grown to despise these past few weeks.

"Well, I suppose it will be fine; it gets dark earlier now, so we'll be less likely to draw attention to ourselves," Leo agrees without much hesitation.

"Sweet!...Ooo! I bet April will want to come too!" Mikey squeals as he plucks out his T-phone to start texting.

"Already asked Red when she came to watch me at hockey practice," he shoots me a sly look that makes my hands tighten their grip on the crate I'm still holding, "said she was having a girls' night or something," Casey says with a shrug as he looks at his cell phone, "the next showing is in twenty minutes, so we better get moving."

The guys are chatting as they start to migrate toward the entrance.

"You guys go ahead, I need to work on a few things tonight."

It's not like they want you to come anyway.

"What?! No way, D, come on!" Mikey whines as he shakes my arm almost making me drop my crate. "You can miss one night of lab work for a guys' night out, right?"

"You could use a break, Donnie, come with us." Leo chimes in with a head nod.

They are all standing, waiting for my response. I'm really not looking forward to this latest monstrosity that Hollywood is calling a smash hit, but I know I should make an effort to be more 'social', to at least try to enjoy a movie outing my brothers are so eager to go to with Casey.

"Um, yeah, oh-okay. Let me just put this away," I give a small smile as I gesture to the crate in my hands.

Mikey gives me a huge grin that I'm afraid may split his face in two, before he runs to pick up his crate, "I'll help!"

We both hurry to my lab putting the crates near the garage area where I keep the patrol buggies. Mikey makes a beeline for the door and gives me an impatient groan when he realizes I'm not behind him, "Donniiiiiie, come ooooooonah! I wanna see the previews!" He skips from foot to footbarely able to contain his excitement. Group outings like this tend to overexcite him.

I start to follow, when I hear a small beeping noise coming from my computer. "Sorry, just give me a second." I set a reminder to unthaw the mutagen I was working on. If I take it out of the mini fridge now, it will be ready for further manipulation when we return from the movies.

"MIKEY! DONNIE! HURRY THE SHELL UP!" Raph bellows to us.

"WE'RE COMIIIIIINNNNNNG!" Mikey screams back as he sprints out the lab to join the others.

After a few more minutes of prearranging a few items, I shut the door to my lab.

"Okay, I'm ready. I hope this movie is better than it….guys?" I look around and find myself in an empty den. I assume they're at the entranceway waiting, but my face drops when I turn the corner and see the area unoccupied. Surely, I didn't keep them waiting that long. "Mikey?" I can't keep the hopefulness out of my voice. If no one else waited for me, surely my younger brother would. Unfortunately, I'm sorely mistaken.

They left without me. I press my lips together as my tongue subconsciously rubs over my diastema. A familiar feeling of loneliness shrouds me. I assume in their excitement, they didn't noticed I wasn't with them.

Why would they want a wet blanket like you tagging along?

It's not a big deal. It isn't the first time this has happened, and probably won't be the last. As kids we were pretty much inseparable, until we all developed our own interests and hobbies. Even with their differences, somehow Leo, Raph, and Mikey still manage to relate to each other, to form a kind of faction. A fraternal faction that I seem to invisibly flicker in and out of without them noticing or caring.

They don't care about you or your nerd hobbies.

Even though they never take interest in my intellect and knowledge, I still try to bond with them, I mean, they are my brothers.

Brothers who would rather hang out with a human boy than with you.

Sometimes, I feel like a hodge podge piece that doesn't fit in their mix anymore.

If you're honest with yourself, have you ever really fit in? Ever? That's real sad. A freak among freaks.

I tear my gaze from the turnstiles, and look down. My enormous feet are unavoidable as they come into view. I loosely grip my forearm with my opposite hand. A freak among freaks.

"Donatello? Is everything alright?"

My posture stiffens at Sensei's voice. My back is to him. I compress my thoughts of dejection until it is nothing more than a mild discomfort at my center. Keeping my face as dispassionate as possible, I turn to face him, "Everything's fine, Sensei." I do my best to reassure him by offering him what I hope is a believable smile. He looks at me curiously, both hands behind his back.

"You did not wish to socialize with Casey and your brothers?"

"No…they didn't, I mean, I still have lab work to finish." I mentally curse my incompetent tongue.

"Hm. I see." He strokes his chin three times with his right hand. His eyes are attentive as they roam over my body and then meet me with a piercing stare. My shoulders curve forward as I stare at the floor. I hate when he looks at me like that.

It's because you reek of disappointment and uselessness.

"A meditation session will be a good use of this time." My head jerks up as I stare at Sensei with wide eyes. Twice in one day?! He just force me to sit through a session this morning! Once a day is more than enough meditation for me. A sudden indignant anger takes over me at the thought of him telling Mikey about our sessions.

"I think a better use of my time would be to finish the retromutagen." I can't keep the audacity out my tone. Technically, I can't work on the retromutagen right now until the mutagen unthaws, but I will find anything in my lab to do if it means I don't have to meditate.

Sensei raises a stern brow at me. He doesn't look pleased by my remark, "It was not a suggestion, Donatello." Without another word he points to his left. With a small disgruntled huff, I sulk toward the dojo.

I give a low hum as my son begrudgingly sits in lotus position under the dojo's tree. Donatello is second only to Raphael in his temperament. However, unlike his older brother, Donatello's temper does not explode within seconds of ignition. His anger caves in, simmering for days at a time before the slightest shift in the air causes a short burst of anger to erupt from him. The flare of anger is here and gone before anyone has time to dwell on it. It is always vital after those quick outbursts to confront him, otherwise he will harbor the issue and never speak of it again. Over the years, through trial and error, I learned this the hard way about my most reserved son.

As a child, Donatello had very few 'outbursts', but when they did occur, they were horrid. I assumed he was merely throwing tantrums, and I regret not observing my timid son more carefully to understand the reason for his upsets. He always had a way of melting into the background, making it difficult to know what feelings were bubbling in his brilliant mind until an unexpected outburst ensued.

I hoped our meditation sessions would help him better understand his most inner emotions. So far, these sessions have done nothing more than test my patience.

There is air of a condescending challenge within my son that grows stronger with each of our sessions. Conscious of this uncharacteristic behavior, I do not pry into his spiritual being in fear of pushing him further into this rebellion. I encouragingly try to guide him to his personal spiritual exploration.

Donatello fails to realize even though I am an old rat, I am not a stupid one. He thinks I do not notice his looks of over-concentration or the way his lips move ever so slightly to recite a math equation. I do not know which wears my patience more, his insult of my intelligence or his disregard for his spiritual well-being.

Breathing out a slow and purposeful sigh, I mentally prepare myself for our session. Sitting in front of him, I cannot help but take in his full appearance. This secondary growth spurt has been a taxing experience for Donatello. He hides too much of himself as it is without having the self-consciousness of his appearance plaguing him. During practice, I see his determination to adapt to his larger feet and keep up with his brothers; I also see the self-loathing when he fails miserably to do so.

I patiently wait for him to meet my gaze, but he continues to scowl down at his crossed legs. His foul mood rolls off him in dangerous waves. Instead of going straight into meditation, perhaps a different approach is in order.

"We will start this session a little differently," his dispassionate eyes meet mine. I remain unmoved by his blunt display of boredom as I continue, "define the word 'self'." He stares at me, no doubt analyzing my intent, but my expression gives nothing away.

Unable to determine my purpose for such a simple question, he sighs, "It's an individual's typical character or behavior."

"Define 'aware'."

"To have knowledge of what is happening around you." His previous irritation is replaced by curiosity. I can imagine the wheels in his mind turning, trying to determine where this conversation is leading.

"So, then would you agree the term 'self-aware' can be defined as having knowledge of what is happening inside one's character?"

"I suppose it would be the primary definition of the word…" He pensively makes an effort to follow along.

"Good, we can agree on this. Now tell me, Donatello, what makes you 'self-aware'?"

"Well, I have an ample amount of knowledge on a variety of subjects ranging from—."

"I did not ask about your awareness of things aroundyou. Tell me your awareness of things within you."

"I understand your question just fine, but I can't possibly explain the awareness within me without first telling you about the things around me," he speaks as if he is addressing a pupil and not his Sensei, who is trying very hard to be patient with him , "Everything here," he points to his temple, "is a concise duplicate of the things I learn. It's my knowledge and understanding of the world around me. It's what makes up my…'self' so to speak."

"This knowledge does not make you fully self-aware. The things you learn from your books only make up a fragment of who you are. So tell me, what else makes you aware of your self?"

He doesn't have an immediate answer as his brows furrow in thought. It is a relief I still have the ability to make my brightest student stop and think.

"…Self is the typical behavior of an individual…" he mutters to himself more than me as the logical wheels of his mind begin to dissect my question more than necessary, "applying the definition to the question translates to what makes me aware of my behavior." He is pleased with himself, because he thinks he on the verge of answering my question. "Well, my behavior is a conscious decision, so I'm always aware of it, unless of course a chemical compound is introduced to my blood stream affecting my usual behavior, then –"

"Donatello," The sigh of his name is enough to stop his lengthy explanation, "You overthink the simplest of questions." I thought appealing to his intellect would help, but still he does not understand. I really should know better. Matters of the heart cannot be explained with book knowledge alone. I close my eyes a few moments before trying a simpler approach.

"What brings you joy, my son?"

He blinks a few times with a rather puzzled expression, "…what brings me joy?"

"Yes. It is not a difficult question and does not require scientific analysis." He huffs at the light correction in my tone. "What brings you joy," I repeat.

"I...well, I…um…I suppose building multifaceted machines gives me…joy?" He answers in a very rare tone of uncertainty. Perhaps his arrogance will subside long enough for spiritual understanding to penetrate the logical walls of his mind.

I nod at his response, "What makes you angry?"

"Unforeseen obstacles…" He frowns as he absently rubs his thumb over the wrappings of his foot. My son, he is so enigmatic with his words, but I sense it is more than his growth spurt that has triggered his recent moodiness.

I attempt to dig a little deeper, "And what brings you pain?"

"Electric jolts from the fuse box, MIG gun burns, sparring with Raph—"

"No. Tell me a pain that is not physical."

"Pain is a result of a physical action. Damage to any tissue of the body activates signals in the nociceptors which connect to the spinal cord and travel to the brain relaying the message to the somatosensory cortex, therefore, making pain a physical sensation."

His response concerns me. Has he immersed himself so deeply in his intellect that he no longer recognizes the pains of the soul?

"Donatello, surely you understand pain comes in other forms? A broken heart can be just as painful as a broken arm."

"A broken heart?" He scoffs at my sentiment, "That's just a metaphor. A heart attack is more realistic and preventable. Physical pains are symptoms, symptoms can be traced to physical problems, and physical problems can be fixed."

"So you feel emotional pain cannot be fixed?"

"The fact of the matter is emotions hold no empirical or measurable value so how can you determine a proper diagnosis on its obstruction alone?"

Filled with pity for my wayward son, I shake my head, "Emotions are not an obstruction, Donatello; they are the gateway to self-awareness. You continuously seek to understand yourself through logic and textbooks, yet you fail to see the true lesson comes from the teachings of your own heart. You must learn to connect with your aura." His face hardens as I mention his aura.

A fiery spark of defiance ignites in his eyes, "Emotions are illogical and a constant array of unnecessary confusion. I don't need erratic emotions to determine my self-awareness. Logic and reason are the key to being emancipated from ignorance, which is clearly evident in this topic of auras. "

My fur bristles and my whiskers twitch at the blatant disregard of my words. My lack of patience is transparent as I resist the urge to smack this conceited and insolent child over the head with the end of my walking stick. These off-handed remarks and disrespectful commentary have gone on for weeks. I will not stand for it much longer, but I must not succumb to my anger. For the sake of his spiritual well-being, I try to peaceably put an end to my son's rebelliousness.

However, the time for soft words has passed. Bluntness may be the only way to make him understand. "You use logic as an excuse to hide from the things you are afraid of," I uncover the truth that is clearly written over his countenance, "Fear is twice as powerful when we call it by other names, Donatello."

"Afraid?" He resentfully raises his voice, "Afraid of what?"

"You are afraid to acknowledge your aura, your emotions, your insecurities; afraid to give them a voice because you do not know how to handle the intangible. It is why you are so defensive when we have these sessions."

"I'm not defensive!" He blurts out as his fists slam against the concrete on either side of his seated position. My brows raise slightly at his outburst but I do not stop it, "Dwelling on emotions won't fix anything; it won't make the things they do hurt any less."

He is still trying to use his logic to find discrepancies in the lesson I am trying desperately to teach him. Nevertheless, his outburst reveals a sliver of his true feelings. I try to grasp at what he inadvertently let slip in his moment of frustration.

"Yes, it is true, dwelling on emotions is not always profitable, but it is vital to acknowledge its existence in our lives. Anger, hurt, love….these are all healthy emotions to embrace. Do you not value your own emotions?" This gives him pause as his shoulder curl inward and his head bows slightly. His body is tense, still as a rock.

"It doesn't matter." I barely make out his quiet response, but hear the stubbornness behind it.

"Yes, it does matter. You matter, Donatello. You matter not for the knowledge you have or the things you do, but for who you are. Do you understand?" I receive no response so I continue, "Who you are, is not here," I brush my fingers against his temple, "but here," I gentle tap the center of his plastron. "The sooner you nurture your spiritual self, the easier it will be to accept your emotions. A true ninja finds balance with his mind, body, and spirit."

I think I am finally getting through to him, that he finally understands, but I notice his breathing quickening. His eyes are screwed shut consorting his face into a distressful grimace. Then he looks up, staring at me with indescribable disdain.

"Stop trying to force me to believe in this stupid spiritual nonsense," he sneers through grinding teeth, "It's a bunch of malarkey. Spirits don't exists, auras don't exist. They're just ridiculous notions people make up when they can't deal with reality."

"My son, I am trying my best to help you, to understand your plight, but your sharp tongue is uncalled for."

"No, you never try to understand me, I'm never enough! You're supposed to be a master in the art of Ninjutsu teaching us things we'll actually need in combat, not filling our heads with fictitious fables of ghost realms!"

"That is enough, Donatello!" I rise to my feet, walking stick dangerously in hand, "I will not be insulted by a child who thinks himself wise."

"I'm wise enough to know this is hogwash."

"Hashi, now!" My voice booms throughout the dojo. I tightly grip the head of my walking stick as my chest tightens and burns with barely contained fury. Donatello's eyes widen, whether from my command or the realization of his disrespectfulness I do not know, and at the moment do not care. I fear I will strike him if he does not leave my sight.

"But I—"

"Since physical attributes appear to be more logical to you than spiritual growth, your meditation sessions will be spent in the Hashi instead." I am too furious to hide the bitterness in my tone. I watch my son recover from the initial shock of his punishment. I wait to see if he will apologize for his insolence, or show any form of remorse, but he does neither.

With steely movements, he stands and glares coldly at me; challenging me with the arrogance and stubbornness of a boy who has smelled the scent of manhood too early. He mutters something as he turns on his heels toward the Hashi corner.

"If I hear another muttered remark from you, I will add Randori to your session as well!" I shout at his retreating form.

I massage my temples as Donatello sets a wooden board across two cinderblocks, retrieves a small ball, another board of plywood, and then sandwiches the ball between the two pieces of wood. I lost my temper. In my frustration, I nearly hit my son. A small part of me wonders if a more physical reaction to his condescending words would have been more effective. I sigh as I once again take the lotus position watching as he balances himself upon the wobbly plywood that is poised precariously over the small ball. I do not understand this new demeanor of my second youngest. Never did I fathom Donatello would challenge me in these teenage years. Raphael, yes. Leonardo, potentially, but never Donatello.

Closing my eyes, I take soothing breaths as the rhythmic sound of ping-pong balls encourage my meditation, calming my frayed parental nerves.

"Dude! That movie was AWESOME!" Mikey shouts for the tenth time tonight as his squealed voice echoes through the sewer passageways.

"Shell, Mike, would ya shut your face hole for five minutes? Geez…" Raph gripes as he swipes at Mikey's head; he ducks under the swipe and walks in front of Raph and me.

"Come on, you have to admit the car chase was epic!"

"Yeah, I guess that third car explosion at the end was pretty cool." Raph admits with a smirk.

"And the ninjas….Ooooi-ya!" Mikey emphasizes his point, with a well-timed backflip and a few forward punches in the air, "Did you see that one guy who did a 360 wall run with a matrix back bend? You think Master Splinter can teach us that?"

"I don't think so," I say with doubtful smile, "I'm pretty sure those were special effects."

"No way, bro, I totally bet it's doable." I shake my head at my little brother's antics.

"Yeah, and you'll be makin' a trip to Donnie's medbay, too." Raph snorts.

"I wish Donnie came with us. He would've got a kick out of the corny one-liners." Mikey says wistfully.

We thought he was right behind us as we left for the movies, but when we reached the manhole near the theatre, he was nowhere in sight. We figured he had opt to stay in his lab instead of joining us at the movies, which is pretty typical of him.

"Ya know how that Brainiac is; work, work, and more work. He'd probably sizzle and burn if he's outta his lab for more than an hour." Raph says with an eye roll.

I can't help but be a little concerned. Donnie spends way too much time in that lab. I know he's working on the retromutagen but he's been a bit extremely temperamental lately. Between growth spurts and lab work I know he's stressing out. It's a miracle Mikey managed to drag him out to the junkyard earlier this evening. I guess one outing was enough for my reclusive brother.

The light in the dojo is still on when we walk in the lair. Usually Master Splinter is in bed at this time, so we all exchange curious glances as we ease our way to the dojo entrance.

"Donnie got the Hashi?...whoa." Mikey says in a loud whisper. I gasp hardly able to believe the sight before us. Low and behold, Donnie was indeed in the Hashi teetering haggardly on a board of plywood balanced on a ball while bouncing two ping-pong balls on paddles in both hands.

"Didn't think the Beanpole had it in him."

"I don't believe it." I can't contain my disbelief.

Donnie never gets sent to Hashi (unless, Raph is involved, then we all get the Hashi). I can't imagine what my timid younger brother could possibly have done to be rewarded with such an intense form of punishment.

Master Splinter is sitting under the dojo's tree. His ears twitch at our hushed chattering.

"Yame! Your brothers have returned; you may stop now."

"Wait, he had to do Hashi until we came back?...We should have walked slower." Raph snickers. I elbow his arm and glare at him to be quiet.

Donnie collapse into a heap unable endure anymore. Mikey is the first to step into the dojo to help our fallen brother, but Sensei puts his hand up stopping him in his tracks.

"Stay where you are. Donatello will put everything away by himself."

Mikey obeys but is obviously just as worried as I am about Donnie.

Raph shrugs his shoulders before wandering off to his room, "Better him than me."

Mikey stares at Donnie before casting a worried glance at me. Crossing my arms I jerk my head toward the doorway. With a small pout, he also heads for his room, but not before looking over his shoulder once more to see Donnie gathering the plywood in his shaky arms. With my two brothers gone, I walk over to Sensei and quietly stand beside him. We watch as Donnie struggles to place his Hashi items against the wall with the rest of our training equipment. He grunts as he attempts to move the cinderblock that his taut arm muscles are no doubt too exhausted to lift. From across the dojo, he looks up at Master Splinter; his misery evident in his tired eyes. Sensei is completely unmoved by my brother's silent plea for help. My fingers clench and unclench at my sides as I curl and uncurl my toes.

"Do not assist him," Sensei's tone leaves no room for disobedience, "this is your brother's punishment and he will take it in full." I don't understand what's going on, but I nod anyway, dropping my gaze from my brother to the floor.

After what seems like an hour, Donnie finally manages to drag the twin cinderblocks to the corner. Head bowed and shoulders hunched, he takes wobbly and painful-looking steps out of the dojo. When I hear his lab door shut, I turn to Master Splinter.

"What happened, Sensei?"

"Everything is fine, Leonardo." He says in his usual calm demeanor as he stands.

"Oh….it's just that we're only sent to the Hashi if it's really serious, and well, Donnie never gets in trouble, at least not that kind of trouble."

"Your brother's defiance is troubling to say the least. His stubbornness has caused a simple lesson to be learned the hard way."

Sensei doesn't go into a lot of detail as he tells me what happened, but apparently Donnie hasn't been very receptive to his meditation lessons.

I feel like I'm treading on a raw and sensitive incident that maybe I shouldn't have stuck my nose in, "Sorry, Sensei, I did not mean to pry. I was just concerned about Donatello."

With a weary sigh, he straightens his posture. Maintaining the lotus position, he places his hand on his knees, "You will lead practice tomorrow morning, so I suggest you prepare your body and mind with adequate rest. Good night, Leonardo." And with those final words, he closes his eyes and presumes his meditation.

"Good night, Sensei," I quietly return the response as I bow before leaving the dojo.

Chapter Text

My nerves are a jittery mess of excitement and palm-sweating fear as I watch my brother work. We're in enemy territory and we only have 20 minutes max to make this work. Ah! The waiting is driving me crazy! I hook my thumbs in my nunchuck belt and drum against it with my fingers.

The repetitive noise draws his attention, "Why are you so nervous? This was your idea."

I give my brother an incredulous look, "Dude, this," I motion to room we're in, "was not my idea."

"Yes, it was!" I narrow my eyes with a pout, my brother simply rolls his eyes, "Well, you were going to prank him anyway, you said so yourself."

"Not like this!" I squeak, trying to keep my voice down. I look through the door for signs of discovery…nothing so far. "This is so much bigger than anything I would have planned. We should have written a final will and testament for Master Splinter and Leo just in case."

"Hey!" He whispers harshly, "Do not get cold feet on me now, Mr. Prankenstein," Pointing a mattress spring at me; it jiggles and bounces with every enunciated word, "we are in far too deep for you to start having second thoughts. Hand me that golf ball."

"I know," I sigh as I plop the small white ball into Donnie's hand, "But what if it doesn't work?"

"It will."

"But what if it doesn't? " I can't hide my hysteria as I think of all the many ways this prank will backfire leaving Donnie and me either beaten to a pulp by Raph or meeting a torturous punishment courtesy of Master Splinter, "Maybe you like hanging out in the Hashi but I don't, bruh." He gives me a withering look. I chuckle sheepishly; guess that joke was a little too soon. But seriously, Donnie practically lives in the Hashi now, it's like the only place I see him outside of his lab (and the kitchen he continues to raid). Donnie never told us what happened between him and Master Splinter that caused the continuous Hashi punishment. The vibes between him and Sensei are like sharp electricity, shocking and painful to watch. Ever since the 'incident', Sensei lets Leo lead practice. I think Leo knows what's going on, but he's being pretty tight-lipped about it too.

"Trust me. It'll work. The timing, the measurements, and the mechanics are perfectly orchestrated. Everything's going according to plan. Besides, have my calculations ever been wrong?" He challenges my doubt with a smirk.

"I don't know." I sigh with a shrug. Like I'd really be able to point out a miscalculation in his diabolical charts of physics formulas and algebraic equations.

"Right….Because my calculations are never wrong. " He shakes his head at me as if to say 'duh'. I chuckle as I crack a smile. We can do this, and it will work. We have to do this for little brothers everywhere. Tonight, vengeance belongs to us!

"Yeah, you're right. This is no time to freak out!" I give an affirmative nod, "And its Dr. Prankenstein. It's important to be accurate." Donnie snorts at me while tying a wire to the leg of Raph's bed. "Seriously, though, thanks for helping me put all this together. No way I would've been smart enough to do this by myself."

"Don't count yourself short. With a little practice and patience, you could do this by yourself, no problem. You already have the creative flair for it." I give him a doubtful look. When he sees I don't believe him, he turns around from his seated position on the floor and points to the corner, "What's that?"

"Um, a lever?"

"that?" he points to the ceiling without looking at it.

"a pulley," I smile, realizing what my brother is doing.

"And that?" He points over his shoulder.

"A pendulum, though I prefer the name 'click-clack ball knocker.'" I don't even try to hide how proud I am that I actually remember some of the stuff Donnie's been showing me over the past month.

"See? Just basic mechanics, and you remembered them." He smiles at me and it just makes me beam even more. "Technically this is your brain child," he compliments while gesturing to the rigged room we're standing in, "Sure, I helped with the some of the more difficult mechanisms, but the spatial calculations and visionary structures, I can't take credit for. That's all you little brother; brilliance at its best."

If Donnie is anything its critical, he doesn't just toss out unwarranted words of praise. He is a genius after all so, if he says I'm smart, then heck, I must be a freakin' wiz-kid!

"There that should do it," he says dusting his hands together. He makes a motion to stand but winces with the movement. He stays knelt on one knee while firmly kneading the other. I offer him a hand up which he accepts without much hesitation. He bends and stretches out his right leg. The motion seems to alleviate whatever spasm he had, because he's not making that pained expression anymore. I still worry about him though. When he thinks no one is watching, I catch a glimpse of his pained expression as he rides out spasms that are becoming more frequent.

Now, he's fussing over the alignment of the barrel funnel; such a perfectionist. I feel a little guilty for begging Donnie to follow through with this prank. I know he's been super busy with the retromutagen. Every time I crash out in his lab, he's hunched over a beaker of green ooze. Even now, he just looks exhausted.

"Are you going to be able to run?...because you know we will have to run after all this is over…." I question him as gently as possible. I don't want him mad at me, but I really don't want him to hurt himself over a silly prank.

He looks down at his feet and just kind of zones out for a minute, but then shakes his head at whatever haze he was in "Yeah, I'll be fine." His eyes are soft and his voice a little strained as he offers me a tight-lipped grin. I think I hurt his feelings, but he interrupts me before I can ask, "C'mon, let's get out of here. Raph will be back from his blockhead session with Casey in approximately ten minutes," he walks past me, toward the door, "watch out for the wire," he warns just as I overstep the nearly invisible string of nylon. I quietly step out of the room, leaving the door cracked just a smidgen as not to disturb the gorilla glue in the strike plate of the door. I give Donnie an 'okay' hand sign. He nods and gestures toward the den where Leo is currently parked in front of the TV doing katas.

My eyes are closed as I pivot my hip to flow into the next stance of my kata while listening to Captain Ryan give another heroic command to his crew. I don't need to see the episode to know what's happening as I drop and rise into another kata; I've seen this episode a hundred times and can quote it by heart with my eyes closed.

I also don't have to see Donatello or Michelangelo to know that they're up to something.

It's not uncommon for Mikey to make himself cozy in the lab, but even Donnie has his limits on how much 'Mikey time' he can take in one sitting. Usually, after an inevitable crash, Donnie kicks Mikey out of his sacred lab. However, for the past few weeks, Mikey has managed to stay in the lab with Donnie for hours at a time without so much as an aggravated shout from Donnie. Between Mikey's knack for mischief and Donnie's mad scientist tendencies, the two of them together for any length of time is disconcerting. Their bathroom fiasco of '06 still makes me shudder.

Donnie's been making himself extremely scarce lately, only emerging from his lab to eat or train, but mostly eat. Having a conversation with him is nearly impossible since he only ever says enough words to answer my questions before retreating back to his lab.

Sensei started instructing me to lead our morning training sessions. Usually, I can depend on Donnie to be focused during training, but now he zones out more than Mikey. When Donnie loses focus, it's pretty much free range for Raph and Mikey to goof off and completely disregard my instructions. Our training session have been anything but productive lately.

Considering how much time they spend together, I'm not sure how Mikey wormed his way into Donnie's good graces. Well, now that I think about it, Donnie seems less irritable when he's with Mikey. My youngest brother tends to have a way of pulling people out of their funk….when he's not being utterly incorrigible.

"Are you sure we used enough cornstarch?"

"Yes, it's the perfect consistency. I'm telling you, the schematics are flawless. Don't worry….shush, he's still in there, be inconspicuous."

"Huh?"

"Just act normal."

I sigh as I hear their hushed voices coming from the kitchen. They're definitely up to something. Eyes still closed, I continue moving soundlessly through my katas. I hear their padded footsteps and the squeak and plop of the couch behind me as they sit on either side of it. There's a small clacking noise that sounds like glass being tapped behind me. The sound makes me pause in the transition of my last kata. The clacking noise is followed by a sucking and smacking sound. My eyelid twitches slightly, but I continue my kata. They will not punk me into paranoia with their antics. I hear the sounds again.

Clack, suck, smack.

Clack, suck, smack.

Clack, suck….

I can't take the obsessive sounds anymore and slowly turn around to face my youngest brothers.

Both of them—Mikey on the left couch cushion and Donnie on the right—are quietly watching TV. They purposely ignore me for a moment before returning my stare. Mikey, sitting cross-legged, gives a small wave before turning his attention back to the show playing behind me. Another sucking sound draws my attention back to Donnie who has a jar of peanut butter in his lap, sucking idly on the spoon in his mouth. He pulls the spoon past his lips with a resounding 'smack' before plunging it into the jar with a 'clack.' His brows raise with an unspoken 'what?' as he crams another glop of peanut butter in his mouth.

My lips twitch to the side as I look back and forth between them. "Okay, what are you two up to?"

"Watching TV?..." Donnie says questioningly as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Mikey just sits there, feigning an exaggerated interest in Space Heroes. Donnie gives me an innocent smile before turning his attention back to the TV.

"Uh-huh," I say crossing my arms, "You can cut the act. I know you two are planning something."

"Leo, we're not planning anything. Mikey just dragged me out of the lab for a break, that's all." Donnie replies a little to casually and Mikey hasn't breathed a word yet.

Something is horribly wrong with this picture.

"Fine, don't tell me, but don't expect me to bail you out of whatever you're not planning to do." Before I can further interrogate my deceitful brothers, my other brother's insulting voice cuts in.

"I shoulda known you dorks would be watching that stupid Space Zeros show."

"It's Space Heroes," I correct Raphael as he saunters pass us.

"Whatever, Lame-o-nardo." He shrugs rudely at me before heading for his room.

I turn back to Donnie and Mikey who both still look overly suspicious to me, "I'm watching you both," I narrow my eyes as I point two fingers at them.

"You have nothing to worry about, Leo."

I pause as Donnie's words sink in. I arch my brow unable to hide my curiosity, "What are you guys going to do to Raph?"

It's great just to get outta the lair without having my brothers breathing down my neck, stifling me all the freakin' time. They can be so annoying, always in my space being….well….annoying.

Running into a puck-head like Casey is the best thing to happen to me since Spike was turned into Slash. Yeah, Casey ain't much of a listener when I wanna vent about my idiotic brothers, but he's the first one to suggest head-bashing Purple Dragons as cure-all for my frustrations which is good enough for me. I've always been better at venting with my fists anyway, especially when they're breaking some thug's jaw. I'm still on an adrenaline buzz after that neighborhood patrol with Casey. Nothing too serious, just roughed up a few hoodlums, but it was enough to let out some pint up anger.

Coming back to the lair, I feel claustrophobic, like I gotta bottle everything that pisses me off until I can let it all out again with Casey in blaze of satisfying and unfiltered fury. My brothers are in the den watching that stupid show. After such an awesome head-bashing session and I wanna hold on to that feeling of gratification for as long as I can before Leo starts bossing me around, Mikey starts pestering me, or Donnie starts being an PMSing emo chick. I plan to just chill in my room until my brothers disperse, then I'll get a few rounds in on the old punching dummy. Opening the kitchen cabinet, I reach for my bag of cheese puffs. My eyes widen and then narrow as I grab a nearly empty bag of my favorite snack. The bag crinkles loudly in my fist as I snatch it from the cabinet. I don't ask for much, really, I don't. I'm not a hard turtle to please; just leave me the shell alone, let me burn off a little steam, , and don't touch my freakin' cheese puffs.

I gather as much air into my lungs as possible, "DONNIE! STOP EATING MY CHEESE PUFFS OR I'LL SMACK THE FREAKIN' SCALES OFFA YA!" I bellow with immediate anger I don't bother to hide. See? This is the crap I'm talking about. I ain't home five minutes before one of my brothers decides to tick me off. "…Sick and tired of him, eating every freakin' thing in the freakin' lair…." I mutter and head for my room, "Giant, cheese puff-eating Sasquatch." I slam my door, putting all of my merited anger into it as it rattles into the doorframe.

I sigh, as I lean back against my door. Is a little respect too much to ask for? Stepping further into my room, my ankle catches on something. Looking down, I see a broken piece of string that must've snapped against my ankle. I huff nonchalantly and shrug my shoulders as I—

"Gah!" I nearly jump outta my shell as a huge book falls and slams against the concrete floor with a loud thud. I look down at the book to the right of me. An encyclopedia?...What the heck is an encyclopedia doin' in my room?...

Suddenly I hear a rapid thumping sound. Snapping my head upward, I watch as a series of pizza boxes on my shelf cascade into one another like a row of dominoes. The last box hits a cue ball that rolls off the edge of the shelf landing on a spring that catapults it toward my stereo. The ball hits the foot pedal for my drum set which hits a button on my stereo.

The sound of eerie static feels my room as my stereo whirls to life. What the shell?...

Is this thing on?...Sweet!...*ahem* Good Evening Raphael Hamato.

I growl as Mikey's voice wafts through the speakers of my stereo. I shoulda known that moron would pull something. It's been too long since his last idiotic prank.

Welcome to Michelangelo and Donatello's Epic Room of Revenge. Muahahahahaha!

Ah, revenge. Cold, yet sweet, and we plan to serve you a full course meal of it. It's time for us to enjoy the show and get a good laugh at your expense, dear brother.

Yeah, bruh, its going down in Chinatown; it's on like Donkey Kong, son!

Crap. Mikey and Donnie are in on this? The Bathroom fiasco of '06 sudden flashes like a crack of lightening to my memory.

Uh-uh. I gotta get out here. Turning on my heels, I reach for the door knob.

Ah-ah-ah. I wouldn't open that door if I were you.

"Screw you, Donnie," I mutter to the prerecording as I turn the knob of my door. A small irritated panic grips my chest when the door doesn't open. I forcibly jiggle the knob as I pull it. "Hey! Hey! Open the freakin' door, you idoits!" I shout as I pound on my door to be let out. I give one more pull on the doorknob and stumble backwards as it comes off the door with a small pop. There's a wire attached to the knob that triggers a humming sound in my booby-trapped room.

We warned you, dude.

Try to escape again and we'll tase you.

Nah, we're just messin' withcha, bruh…..or are we?...

I back away from my door as I realize I probably shouldn't test that possible bluff unless I want an electric current seizing through my body. The humming is a mini fan suction-cupped at the top of my door. An animalistic screeching sound takes me off guard as I duck toward the center of my room. The fan blows a chain link of little plastic monkeys down a homemade zip line to the other side of my room. The chain of monkeys hit the wall, falling into one side of a balance scale causing the other side to lift. As the other side of the scale lifts, the string attached to it pulls the crank on a jack-in-box

How about some music before your demise?

One way or another, I'm gonna find ya, I'm gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha….

Oh, that's real cute. That stupid song just adds to my paranoia as I turn a slow circle around the various little bootleg machines coming to life in my room, one mechanical action triggering another. The tinkling melody of the jack-in-the-box is still winding down quietly under the blaring sound of the stereo. I snatch up the stupid box toy with every intent of shattering it against the door. At that moment, the last note plays before the lid 'pops' open.

Dropping the box, I gasp as my heart gets stuck in my chest. A horrifying screech pierces my ears and then I realize that god-awful sound is coming from my mouth as a giant roach springs out of the jack-in-the-box. Within seconds, I pull my weapons from my belt and start pinwheeling them at the disgusting vermin.

*HONK*

"GAH!" My foot steps on something pliable and loud as it sounds like a long distance truck blew its horn behind me. Stumbling forward I snap another wire which triggers….

What the frick? "Vibrators?" I frown in confusion. There are at least 6 vibrators duct-taped to a liter of soda on my bed. Squinting my eyes, I notice the lid is missing and there's some sorta ball stuck in neck of the bottle.

"Oh, crap."

My eyes widen with sudden realization as I hit the floor just in time to miss a pressure-induced golf ball soar over my head. I'm still pressed against the floor as a stream of soda spews over my shell running down my face from the sudden release of pressure. I lick my lips. Orange soda. I hate orange soda.

I can hear the pinging sounds as I imagine the golf ball zipping and bouncing at top speed against every surface of my room. Sais still in hand, I cross my arms over my head, but resist the urge to pull into my shell. I will not give them that satisfaction no matter how freakin' terrified I am of being taken out by vibrators, a jack-in-the-box, and a haphazard golf ball. Turning my head to the side, I jerk away from the roach beside me until I notice not so much as its antennae is moving. It's plastic. I clench my hands into fists and hammer the floor cursing loudly. I am gonna kill them….

As the pinging stops I rise to my feet just in time to hear a click. I take a fighting stance, ready to rip apart whatever else those dorks have planted in my room.

"Argh!" I stab my sai at a flicker of movement behind me. I'm greeted with a resounding 'pop' as my plastron is splattered with a syrupy glop. I touch my plastron with apprehension. Pulling my fingers away with disgust at the strings of stickiness, I shudder at the thought of what it could be. There's a similar popping noise behind me as something splatters my shell. I spin on the balls of my feet. Nothing. My shell is once again bombarded, except this time it's an annoying feeling of several little feet plopping against my shell. I growl, gripping my sais tighter than necessary as I grow tired of this never-ending prank. Like a fool, I spin around again in hopes of catching a glimpse of whatever is attacking my abused shell. I come face-to-face with three Nerf guns that click simultaneously before pelleting my plastron quicker than I can blink. I look down at my torso. I try to pull off the offending objects but they're stuck.

Condoms. There are freakin' condoms stuck to my plastron. I ain't gotta be a genius to figure out that's probably what's stuck to my shell, too. Wait, is this about the stupid condom balloon thing last month? I am gonna kill them….

And now for the grand finale!

My eyes widen. What more could they possibly do? I freeze as a small hissing sound penetrates my thoughts. The hissing grows louder and louder with each passing second. I look up just in time to see several condoms taped to my ceiling being instantaneously blown up to gigantic proportions. The chorus of hissing slows as the condoms reach their limits.

Hey, Raph. Do you like 'em big?

The irony of Donnie's words ring a sense of dread in my center that radiates in a tingling sensation to my arms and legs.

"Oh, Sh—"

Before I can vulgarly express my distress, the condoms burst over my head, clouding my room in a sparkling pink haze. As the powdery clouds thin out, my room is completely coated in pink crap and glitter. My fists shake uncontrollably as I slam my sais back in my belt.

"I am gonna—" As I stomp toward my door my threat goes unfinished as my foot loses purchase and slips clumsily from beneath me. I take another step to try regain my balance but my other foot meets the same fate as it rolls behind me. My feet scissor back and forth as I circle my arms trying to keep from face-planting on the floor. I vaguely hear a cranking sound and a 'whoosh' before something collides with my face. I'm suffocated by something thick and…sweet? Marshmallow crème?

HA!...Guess who's brain isn't permanently set to stupid? MINE!

Guess who looks like a promotional ad for sexually active teenager girls?

YOU DO!

With irritated force, I wipe the crème from my eyes and beak, and blow the spluttering mess from my lips. The recording ends with Donnie's nerdy snort-laughing and Mikey's idiotic giggling. I just wanted to be left alone in my room….

"IS THAT TOO MUCH TO FREAKIN' ASK?!" I bark out to the ceiling not expecting any real answer in response, because my life sucks like that. I feel like I'm in a furnace; my skin is hot with barely contained rage as I stand there for a moment taking in this horrible mess that is my room. This peaking fury can't wait until my next hang-out with Casey. No. This must be dealt with now. My heart thumps loudly in my ears like a war drum as I prepare to give my stupid little brothers the inescapable butt-kicking of a lifetime.

We all stand outside Raph's gorilla-glued bedroom door listening to the random screams of vulgarity, horror and surprise.

"I can't believe you two booby-trapped his whole room." Leo says with a rather comically stunned look on his face. Telling Leo about this wasn't part of the plan, but there's only so long Mikey can go without blabbing about a prank.

"Actually, it's a sequence of Rube Goldberg machines." I correct him.

"A bunch of complex machines used to do simple stuff." Mikey pipes with a definition, looking to me for confirmation. I offer a smile and nod, which is enough to make him grin with pride and for Leo to stare at him in amazement. It's really not that hard to believe that Mikey understands simple mechanics. Leo should give Mikey a chance; sometimes he can be pretty amazing.

They never give you a chance. Always excluding you, using you, and belittling you….he's using you now. Are you so desperate for your little brother's admiration that you can't see how pathetic you are? Do I need to remind you about 'movie night'?...

I'm not really angry with them about that…it's not a big deal; nothing worth mentioning or getting worked up about….

But you still want to bash their brains in with your staff, don't you?

I push down my thoughts with the shake of my head as I tune back to my brothers' conversation.

"Did you really have to do this right before training?" Leo asks with an exasperated sigh.

"Dude, he totally had it coming! He's always raggin' on me about being dumb. Ha! Guess I'm not so dumb now, am I?"

"Well, it wasn't a very smart thing to do considering Raph's track record for pounding you."

I ease a little closer to Raph's door and hear the long awaited 'splat' of marshmallow crème pie in the face. I grin to myself. Mikey's right; he really did have it coming. It's really annoying constantly be the butt of his crude jokes. If I had a penny for every big foot joke he's made….

"IS THAT TOO MUCH TO FREAKIN' ASK?!" I pull back from the door at the sound of my brother's sudden outburst.

My T-phone jingles merrily before I quickly answer it, "Hello?...Hey April….why of course I can come over and help you with Trig…." I continue talking as I backpedal my way to door, "…and I'm sure Mikey would love to see the baby turtles….see you in a bit, bye." I grab my bo from the side of the couch. I meet Mikey's eyes with a purposeful look, "We should get going, Mikey."

"Wait, what?...Oh, no, uh-uh….I see what you're doing," Leo points an accusing finger at me, "We have training in twenty minutes, you two aren't going anywhere! Whatever mess you two have made with your little Rube Goldberg prank you will clean it up."

"Mikey, come on. We need to go now," I ignore Leo as I tug on Mikey's arm. Leo never steps in when Raph taunts me, and he always belittles me during practice—pointing out every feeble strike, every misstep, everything that sets me apart from my skilled brothers. Training with Leo is just as bad as training with Sensei.

Why do you think Sensei put Leo in charge of training?...He was tired of dealing with your pathetic shortcomings.

I push down the thought of Master Splinter. The extra hashi sessions are a constant reminder of his obvious disdain for me. Whatever. Let 'Perfect' Leonardo deal with the soon to come 'Raphael fallout'.

"Dude, just a few more minutes. I gotta see how he looks!" Mikey says as he giddily skips from one foot to the other.

"That's why we put the video-cameras in his room, Mikey. The footage will go straight to my PC, I can access it later!" I remind him with another tug.

"I know, I know, but don't you wanna see—"

All three of us jump at the sound of metal piercing wood. We all look back at Raph's door to see a sai sticking through it. The tip of the sai disappears and reappears with a resounding 'thunk' as it plunges through another part of the door. The door mincing continues several times with an intensity that reminds me why we should have left five minutes and twenty-five seconds ago, "Mikey…." Apprehension grips me as I start walking toward the entrance, but never taking my eyes of the splintering door as Raph continues to hack at it from the inside out. A ferocious growl erupts from the room as my red-banded brother kicks a hole through the weakened part of the door. Busting the rest of the way out, he stands there, shoulders heaving exaggeratedly from the exertion. I smirk at the sight of him. Even Leo blurts out a laugh. It is absolutely priceless.

There he is with powdery pink skin that sparkles with every intake of his breath. The condoms cling to his plastron and carapace like stubby tentacles; they are also slightly tinted by the pink powder. And then there's the icing on the proverbial cake as thick marshmallow crème coats his face. Two smeared holes show his beady glaring eyes as he spots Mikey and me.

"You…." He growls in a dangerously low tone. If glares could kill, Mikey and I would be vaporized from our shells right now.

"How'd you like that face full of 'baby batter', Raphie?" Mikey teases with just the right amount of turpitude.

"AAARGGGGH, BOTH OF YOU ARE DEAD!" He takes a menacing step toward us, but Leo steps between him and us.

"Be quiet, Raphael!" Leo says blocking him from us as he tries to keep a straight face, "Master Splinter's in the dojo and said he did not want to be disturbed."

"I DON'T CARE, TWIDDLE NERD AND TWIDDLE DORK JUST TRASHED MY ROOM AND TRIED TO KILL ME WITH VIBRATORS AND A LITER OF SODA! JUST WAIT 'TIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU TWO!...I'LL FREAKIN' RING YOUR NECKS RIGHT OUTTA YOUR STUPID LITTLE SHELLS!"

With that lovely threat, I bound toward the entrance and jump the turnstiles. I turn around to make sure Mikey is following, but of course the show-off is blowing raspberries and shaking his tail at Raphael, who wasted no time charging pass Leo to get to him. I'm not too worried about Mikey, he's been dodging Raph after his notorious pranks for years; he has it down to a fine art. I watch this comical cat-mouse chase as Mikey maneuvers over, under, and around the TV, couch, arcade, and other miscellaneous items in the lair. Each time he cuts a corner, he narrowly misses Raph's enraged grasp. While Mikey practically glides around the room with his verbal hecklings, Raph simply burrows through everything in his path, leaving a trail of glittery pink powder and sticky marshmallow crème in his wake as he curses with enough passion to make a Marine embark on a monastery life.

The laughter is gone from Leo's face as he panics and rushes behind the two of them trying to reposition everything Raph knocks over; his efforts are pointless as they circle around and knock everything over again. Mikey dives head first for the couch, rolling and tucking to the floor to retrieve his nunchucks before finally running toward me.

"Are you finished?" I ask with sarcasm that lost its bite after watching my brother's obnoxious tomfoolery.

"Yep!" He jumps the turnstiles with a playful laugh and a smile I find difficult to not to return in earnest.

"Raph, Stop!...Mikey! Donnie!...Get back here this instant!" I rolls my eyes at Leo's command. No thanks, I don't plan to die tonight.

As Mikey and I run through the sewers, I can hear Raph's labored grunts and curses echo with vehemence down the tunnels.

"Hey!" I lean over the turnstiles as I shout at my brothers, "You guys, better get back here NOW! I mean it! I'm not kidding! I'll—"

"Leonardo!"

I yelp as the sharp tone of my name cuts into my flesh like a whip. My eye ridges shoot up in surprise as I turn around and find Master Splinter standing in the middle of what was once our living quarters.

"Why are you shouting and what is the meaning of this mess? Did I not make myself clear that I did not wish to be disturbed?" He leaves no room for nonsense as his eyes penetrate me in search of answers to the chaos around us.

No, no, no…he cannot think this is my doing! I immediately start to panic, "This isn't my fault! I had nothing to do with this—nothing!" I scissor my arms in front me to further negate my involvement.

"Yet, you are the only one here. Where are your brothers?"

"In the sewers?..." I instantly regret how uncertain my response sounds as it leave my lips.

"I left you in charge, yet you deny responsibility for this mess and you do not know where your brothers are."

"It was a prank that got a bit out of hand." I admit with a sigh, "The guys are just goofing around in the tunnels; I think Donnie even had a good time. I'll clean up the mess." I haven't seen Donnie smile in weeks. If a little prank at Raph's expense , pulls Donnie out the sulky mood he's holed up in, then I'll take the blame for it. Besides, Raph had this one coming for weeks.

"You should be leading your brothers in training right now, but instead you allow your brothers to partake in childish behavior and leave our home as a pigsty. You cover for your brothers, yet where are they? Are they here to help you clean up this mess? No. Your brothers need more discipline, not games, especially Donatello. "

I swallow back a lump of guilt in my throat as his disappointment grips me like a vice.

"Leonardo, I expected better from you."

"But, Sensei, I tried to stop them, but they wouldn't listen." Okay maybe I didn't initially try to stop Donnie and Mikey's prank but I did try to stop Raph from clobbering them.

"Your brothers do not respect you because you try too hard to please them." His words sting like a slap to the face, or maybe it's just the truth behind his words. "Sometimes you will have to make decisions for your brothers that they will not like, but it does not mean the decision must not be made."

I stare at my feet pensively considering Master Splinter's words. I thought being a friend to my brothers was enough to make them respect me, acknowledge me as their leader. But I was wrong; it only gave them reason to take advantage of my lenience.

"Your brothers disregard you because you desire to fit in their ranks outweighs your responsibility to lead them."I see now I should have stood my ground and stopped their horseplay before it even started and began practice on time, even if I had to drag them by the tails of their masks.

"I apologize, Sensei. I will work harder to find balance in my leadership responsibilities." I bow with humility, sincere in my desire to meet his approval.

"Good. I do not wish to be disturbed the remainder of the evening. This mess is to be cleaned by morning, and you will lead an extra two hours of training with your brothers; you will also oversee Donatello's Hashi session tomorrow. Good night, Leonardo."

"Good night, Sensei," and with those instructions, he leaves me in the middle of our sparkly pink and sticky den. I sigh as I drag to the kitchen to retrieve wash rags, a bucket, and a mop.

"Holy crap, he's really ticked. Maybe this prank wasn't such a good idea," Mikey shouts beside me as we run through the maze of sewer tunnels.

"Too late for regrets, now," I state the obvious shouting back as we make a sharp left into another tunnel.

"Come back here, you yellow-shelled cowards! Take your beat down like a real turtle!" Raph barks as he gains speed behind us. Mikey reaches the manhole before me and immediately starts climbing. I'm right behind him as my trembling legs bend for my feet to connect with each ladder step on the way up to the surface.

A sharp gasp leaves my lips as my leg spasms and I miss a step. I'm one bar away from the top as my arms start to shake with fatigue. Raph is already at the bottom of the ladder, skipping a few rudders to get to me.

"Gotcha!" Mikey grabs my arm just as it starts to slip from the ladder. He pulls me up and through the manhole and in seconds, the metal cover is put back in place to keep our fury-crazed brother from following us topside. We manage to push a dumpster over the mancover just before Raph starts banging on it.

"Arrgh! You little punks, just wait, I'm gonna knock the green off the both of ya, then I'm gonna use Donnie like a stick to beat the that stupid smirk off your face, Mikey! You gotta come back to the Lair some time!" The dumpster rattles as Raph punches against the manhole. After a few more minutes, the rattling stops and we hear his colorful language fade further and further away.

"Do you think he's going to another manhole?"

"No. He looks ridiculous. The probability that he will bother to hunt for us up here are slim to none," I reassure him as we walk toward a fire escape ladder with plans of sprinting the rooftops to April's apartment. I gesture for Mikey to go first; my arms tremble with the onset of a spasm as I follow him up the fire escape. It's a small spasm; it'll work its way out of my muscles by the time we get to April's.

The rooftop jumps are mostly filled with sounds of Mikey's 'woots' and victorious gloats as the cold evening air nips at our skin. Showboating, Mikey backflips onto April's roof. I roll my eyes, and jump down with a simple landing. As I step down from the ledge, I suddenly crumple painfully to the roof.

The spasm didn't work itself out like I thought it would, but instead intensifies one hundred folds as my leg jerks violently with tremors. I force my shell against the raised ledge, holding my leg tightly in hopes of stopping the throbbing pain exploding from it.

"Donnie!" I barely registered my name as I try to slow my heart rate and breath through the pain. I squeeze my eyes shut as I white knuckle my leg until the tremors cease and the pain fades. I finally open my eyes, but only when I'm sure the warm wetness has receded back into my eye sockets. "Dude, one minute I'm showcasing my awesome new roof jump, and the next you're screaming."

Did I scream? I don't remember screaming.

"My triple axis backflip wasn't that bad, was it bro?" He tries to crack a joke to lighten the mood, to ease my embarrassment. "Are you okay? Was it another spasm?"

Weakling.

I release the death grip on my leg, flexing my knee in and out of a bent position to test the muscle strength, "Its fine. I just landed wrong, that's all," my voice is detached as I lie to my brother. He still has an overly concerned look (or maybe it's just pity) on his face when I refuse his helping hand. I manage to steady myself using my own equilibrium to stand, "Come on, April's waiting for us." I stiffen my stance as I lower myself from the ledge to the fire escape just outside April's window.

The window is cracked, so I jimmy it the rest of the way open and climb in. Mikey is right behind me as he closes the window snuggly behind him.

"April, Operation pink love gloves was an EPIC success! Oh, man you shoulda seen—"

I pull the ridge of his shell roughly to silence him. It doesn't take him long to notice the same thing I saw when I first stepped through the window.

There she is pacing in the center of her room, occasionally tucking her hair behind her ear.

"April?…." I call out to her calmly, but can't hide the concerned and questioning tone of my voice. She abruptly stops pacing as her glossy eyes meet mine. Without a second thought, I close the gap between us and gently take her shoulders into my grasp. "April, what's wrong?"

Chapter Text

“April, what’s wrong?” She shakes out of my grasp and kneels beside her desk. Her eyes are focused on the clear plastic container on top of it. 

“It’s the last turtle… I think it’s hurt.” I relax a little knowing she isn’t the one injured, but when she looks up at me with those pleading blue eyes, I waste no time kneeling beside her to get a better look at the baby turtle in question.  

Its body is partially exposed, only its head and front legs sticking out of its egg shell. The hatchling doesn’t seem to be making any additional efforts to loose itself from the egg completely. If anything, it just looks tired. 

“It’s probably just resting; hatching from an egg is no easy feat. Some emerge from eggs completely within a few hours, while other turtles may lie in their eggshells several days after breaking them.” I thought my explanation would reassure her, but her brows are still slanted with worry. Mikey flops down on the other side of me peering into the container. 

“Maybe she just needs a little help,” Mikey suggests with his usual over-helpfulness.  As he reaches in the container, the turtle immediately pulls itself back inside its crumbling egg shell.  

“No, don’t,” I chastise as I smack Mikey’s hand away from the container. “It’s best to let it break free on its own, so it can build up its strength.” 

“She, not it. She’s a girl.” 

“Mikey, there’s no way you can possibly know that until it fully hatches.” 

“I already know she’s a girl,” he states plainly with a shrug as he continues to watch the hatchling, “And her name is Darla.” 

“I suppose she told you that, too.” 

He gives me a strange look as he tilts head.  “Of course not. Normal turtles don’t talk, duh.”  I give him a sidelong look just as April pats me on the shoulder. 

“Look.” 

We all stare as the hatchling starts to move from within the cracked egg. Pushing its head through the small shell opening, it looks around curiously before making a small sound that resembles a squeaky door.  All of us remain perfectly still and silent, even Mikey, afraid even the slightest movement or sound will cause the small turtle to retreat into its fractured egg again.  

The turtle shrills again as it rocks side to side trying to free the rest of its body from the egg shell. This is truly amazing; the intertwining beauty of science and nature bestowed on this tiny hatchling. It’s hard to believe my brothers and I all started out this way; following our biological nature to survive and live. 

“Something doesn’t feel right, Donnie,” April whispers to me, the sincere worry never leaving her face as she continues to stare at the struggling turtle. 

“Give it some time. It’s already more active,” I give her an easy smile, before glancing over at the larger plastic container on her desk, where the other five baby turtles are resting comfortably.  “It appears to be a little smaller than the others, so it’s just working a little harder to break free, that’s all.” I have no idea what April means by ‘feel right’, but I don’t see anything out of the norm with this hatching process. Sure, it may be a late bloomer compared to the other eggs in the clutch, but— 

“Dude, what is that ?” Mikey points at the little turtle. I look in the container and see that something is indeed ‘not right’. 

“It’s a yolk sac,” I breathe out a disappointed sigh.  The runt of a clutch finally managed to escape completely from its egg, but not without the sake of bodily harm. Attached to the hatchling’s plastron is a yolk that is nearly the size of its entire body. The yolk sac is not only abnormally large but also bloodied, torn, and darkened with infection. “All turtles are born with yolk sacs. Hatchlings generally live off the nutrients until the sac is absorbed into their plastrons. On rare occasions, a hatchling’s yolk sac can become damaged in the hatching process, tearing on a piece of its eggshell.” 

“The others had yolk sacs, but not this big,” April says, looking to me for answers. 

“It’s possible this turtle is premature, and did not absorb much of its yolk sac before starting to hatch. It would explain why the yolk is still firmly attached to the inside of the eggshell. The yolk is contaminated and will pump bacteria into the body cavity until it…...” The baby turtle chirps pitifully as if understanding and agreement to my synopsis. It tries to crawl toward the side of the container, but doesn’t get very far with the infected yolk sac attached to its plastron. 

“D, you gotta save her!” Mikey is frantic as he grips my bicep. I forget how sensitive he is about things like this. The biological circle of life and death is always hard for Mikey to accept; all hurt animals could and should be saved according to him. Unfortunately, that’s just the way nature works—life and death; survival and extinction. 

“Mikey, I don’t think—” 

“Please, Donnie, there has to be something you can do,” she pleads to me in a tone that plays a morose melody on my conscious. 

I take a moment to think. “Okay, I’ll need to perform an emergency omphalectomy to remove the infected yolk sac.” I look on either side of me to make sure both April and Mikey understand.  “Even if I manage to successfully remove the contamination, it’s highly unlikely the hatchling will survive.” 

“We still have to try,” April says with a fierce determination I feel compelled to follow. I nod once before rattling off my list of necessary supplies. 

“Alright, I need rubbing alcohol, thread, a razor blade, a lighter, and gauze.” 

“On it,” April is up and out of the room in seconds. 

“Don’t worry, Darla.  My bro’s gonna get you all patched up. You’ll be better in no time,” Mikey whispers, pressing his finger against the side of the container. The poor thing is on its side, completely off balance by the oversized yolk. It lifts its head slightly at the sight of my brother’s finger against the clear container, only to lethargically lower it again. 

“Here’s everything you asked for; I didn’t have any gauze…  Will a strip of this t-shirt work?” April kneels beside me again, placing all the items on the desk. I answer her with a nod, and she proceeds to rip the t-shirt into workable pieces of cloth. 

Unscrewing the lid, I pour some of the rubbing alcohol over my hands, before dipping the thread in the bottle, “Lay it… lay her on the desk so I can get a better look,” I amend my words when Mikey cuts his eyes at me. With the utmost gentleness, April cups the turtle, yolk sac and attached eggshell in her hands and carefully places them on pressed-wood surface of her desk. I wrap the thread once around my fingers to pull it taunt as I inch my hands closer to the sluggish turtle. My wrist twitches. I stop and take a breath, willing the oncoming spasm to stop, “Mikey, burn the tip of the razor with the lighter.” 

After stalling for a moment, I try again and manage to tie off the infected yolk sac two centimeters away from the base of the plastron. Just as I pull away from the hatchling, the muscle in my right arm contracts with a gripping pain. I clutch it tightly with my opposite hand, biting back a shout of pain at the tip of my tongue. 

“Donnie?” April stares at me with immediate concern. 

“I’m fine,” I grunt between grinding teeth, “I just…. I can’t finish it; I need you to do the rest.” 

“Me?!” Her voice pitches with sudden shock. “But Donnie, I don’t…  I mean, what if I can’t…” 

“I’ll tell you exactly what to do.  It’s fine,” I assure her as I try to massage the spasm out of my arm. “Take the razor and make a clean cut about a centimeter from the where I tied off the yolk sac. Mike, hold the hatchling still so she won’t squirm while April’s removing the yolk sac.”  

Mikey wastes no time, putting a single finger on the side of the turtle. “Alright, Darla, we’re almost finished, hang tight.” From this side angle, I can see the hatchling’s plastron is slightly convex and has a very short tail. I lean in a little closer. There’s small anal opening just before the carapacial rim. Huh. What do you know, it is a girl. 

With a small snip of the blade bearing down on the cord of yolk, the deed was done.  “Nice job, April. Now, just take a piece of cloth and wrap it around the plastron and tie it gently at the carapace; hopefully it will be enough to protect her from further infection.” After April wraps up our patient, Mikey places her back in the container. 

“What do we do now?” April asks as she stands. 

“We wait.” I follow suit beside her.  “There’s nothing else we can do. I tried to save as much of the undamaged part of the yolk sac as possible so she would at least have a some of nutrients to feed from.” 

“What’s wrong?” She gestures to my arm, which I am still firm holding in my grasp. 

I shamefully drop my hold even though I can still feel the throbbing sensation of a thousand hammers in my arm. I told April about the growth spurts but never really went into detail about the spasms or their severity. 

“He’s had a lot of Hashi time.” I whip my head around and glare at my bigmouth little brother.  “Oh, heh… guess that wasn’t the best cover up, huh?” April looks between us curiously, before she can question me, Mikey leaves his perch over Darla’s container to join us.  “So, now that little Darla is resting, can we please watch Operation Pink Love Gloves?” Even with his annoying knack for being a blabbermouth, I’m thankful for his uncanny skill of smoothly changing the subject in awkward conversations. 

April chuckles, “Since you’re both in one piece, can I assume it went well?” 

“’Well’ is an understatement,” I boast with the arch of my eye ridge as I retrieve my T-phone from my belt pocket.  “The prank was perfect genius! It was—” My face pales with embarrassment at the sound of my noisy stomach as it rudely interrupts me. 

“Oh, thanks for the reminder,” she chuckles softly as she looks down at my arms which are firmly wrapped around my middle.  “I almost forgot about the pizzas in the kitchen! Be right back.” 

When she leaves the room, I sigh as my arms drop to my side and I flop down in the beanbag chair behind me. 

“I know I’m not one to talk, but dude, you just ate!” Mikey states in mild astonishment as he sits cross-legged beside me. 

I glare at my brother for stating the obvious, but I know he’s right. I shouldn’t be this hungry after eating a whole jar of peanut butter, considering I also ate a bag of cheese puffs and a box of leftover pizza gyoza right before the prank went down. I wince and rub my plastron when another pain claws at my stomach. I’m always hungry; it’s like a never-ending sensation of starvation. I’ve never been a big eater, so the amount of food I now eat in one sitting is a bit unsettling. Maybe I should run some tests on my standard metabolic rate…. 

Before I can give it much thought the smell of garlicky seasoned pizza wafts into the room moments before April enters with two boxes of pizza. 

“Dig in, guys,” April plops down on the other side of me. She doesn’t have to tell me twice. With hands quicker than Mikey’s, I flip the pizza box open

and nearly drool at the sight of my favorite toppings: chicken, mushrooms, green peppers, and tomatoes. My body is on autopilot as I grab a slice and proceed to cram it into my mouth. I don’t even stop when the smoldering cheese burns the roof of my mouth. I barely maneuver the half chewed pizza down my esophagus before I start cramming a second slice in my mouth. I’m so hungry . 

Oink, oink, little pig.  

Mouth full  of pizza, I stop eating when I realize the room is dead silent aside from my occasional grunting from stuffing my face. Mikey stares at me wide-eyed clutching his hands together as if he’s scared I’ll eat them as well. I painfully swallow the food in my mouth before looking hesitantly at April. I’m not sure if the expression on her face is amazement or fearful shock at the rate at which I just devoured two slices of pizza. 

See the way they stare at you? You disgusting freak.  

I put the third slice I’m holding back in the pizza box, embarrassed and a little sickened by my own behavior. “Th-thanks, April. It’s… um… good. I’m actually pretty full now,” I lie as humiliation is evident in my forced chuckle. 

April and Mike share a look, before April shrugs her shoulders and grabs the slice I just put down, “Your loss, just means more for Mikey and me, right Mikey?” 

They exchange a look before Mikey cracks his trademark winning smile and digs in with gusto, “Yeah, bruh, totally your loss.” 

Even with their efforts to accept my gluttonous consumption habits, I don’t eat any more, much to my stomach’s disappointment. Grabbing my T-phone, I tap a few buttons with my thumbs.  “April, do you have your laptop handy?” 

“Yep.” She reaches behind me and pulls her bookbag toward her.  Taking out her laptop with one hand, she hands it to me while taking another bite out of her slice of pizza.  “Here you go.” 

“Great.”  Shifting a bit in the beanbag, I prop the laptop on my bent knees and start typing. After a few more keystrokes, I connect my T-phone to her laptop with a USB- cable. Sliding the pizza boxes to the side, I place the laptop in the center of our little half circle.  “And now for your nightly entertainment, Operation Pink Love Gloves, in high definition.” 

We all huddle around the screen of April’s laptop and watch our prank from beginning to end. There were plenty of giggles, chuckles, and outright rolling on the floor laughing between the three of us as we watch my red-clad brother’s debasing, but well-deserved, demise. April leans against my shoulder as her body shakes with unfiltered mirth. 

“Oh my God, Donnie, I can’t believe you guys pulled that off,” April says as she wipes tears of laughter from her face. 

“Neither can I!” Mikey interjects before jumping to his feet. “The best part was the roach-in-the-box! Did you see his face? Check it out, Matrix style:  Waaaahhhheeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaah….” My goofy little brother does his best impression of Raph screaming in slow motion while pinwheeling his arms and making exaggerated facial expressions. He leans backward in a Keanu Reeves fashion, flopping on April’s bed, causing it to give a squeaky groan from his added weight. 

I frown. He’s getting too hyper. He’s going to start jumping on the bed if I don’t reel him back in from his silly antics. 

“Mikey…”  

Before I can attempt to tone down his ridiculousness, April gives my knee a squeeze. “He’s fine,” April says with a whispered giggle. I sigh, but allow myself to relax a little while still keeping my eye on Mikey in case he gets terribly out of hand. He continues to ramble on excitedly about various parts of the prank, cracking April and me up with his impersonations of Raph.  

“This is like a blockbuster hit!  I gotta watch it again!” He grabs the laptop from April and me, bouncing on the bed once to comfortably lay on his stomach while watching the video footage again.  

“So he actually chased you guys around the lair?” April asks turning her attention back to me. 

“No, actually he only chased him around the lair.” I jut my chin out toward my brother.  “You know Mikey, ever the showman.” She chuckles, nodding in agreement. 

“So how exactly do you plan to sneak back into the lair without Raph clobbering you guys?” 

“With all the commotion Raph and Mikey caused before we left, I’m pretty sure Sensei gave Raph an earful this evening, so he won’t risk causing a ruckus while Sensei is asleep tonight. Tomorrow morning, is another story. Mikey and I will have to cross that bridge when it comes.” I really should have thought the after-effects of this prank through a little better. Being around Mikey so much is making me a little more spontaneous than I’d like to be. 

“So what’s this I hear about you getting the Hashi?” April says with a raised brow and a smirk. “I thought that punishment was only reserved for the truly treacherous of deeds.” She’s only teasing, but the thought of the Hashi still makes me shudder with anger at the unfairness of it all. 

“It’s… nothing. Master Splinter and I just aren’t seeing eye to eye on some things.” A small pout crosses her lips as she tilts her head inquiringly to the side. She’s about to pry again, but quickly stops as the sound of a short circuiting buzz saw fills her room.  We both turn toward her bed to find Mikey asleep on his plastron. The streaming video is still playing on the laptop, but Mikey’s head is turned to the side propped under one arm while the other arm dangles carelessly off the edge of the bed. 

“Well, that was fast,” April smiles with amused sarcasm. 

“Yeah, he really put his brain in overdrive with this prank. We’ve been at this for weeks. He’s not used to burning the midnight oil like that unless he’s trying to beat a high score on one of his video games.” Of course I’m joking, but I’m actually rather proud of him. The amount of focus he unknowingly put into learning physics and basic mechanics was quite impressive.  It catches my attention when Mikey’s mouth starts moving in a chewing motion in his sleep. I roll my eyes with a sigh as I push off the beanbag and walk over to April’s bed. I jab my brother’s puffy cheeks a few times and he starts chewing again. The goofball fell asleep with food in his mouth. When he instinctually swallows and opens his mouth to snore again, I take a peek inside and feel better knowing his mouth is clear of additional food. I huff as I shake my head. April stifles a giggle, mimicking my head shake. 

“It’s sweet how you take time with him; I know he’s not the easiest brother to have patience with,” April says softly as I take my spot again, relaxing into the beanbag. She nestles beside me, resting her head against my shoulder. “But you have to admit he has this adorable little brother vibe going on.” 

I turn to give her an incredulous look. “You want him? Keep him for a day and see if he’s still adorable. I guarantee you’ll return him within two hours, and that’s being lenient.” 

“Oh, stop it, he’s not that bad,” she says swatting me playfully on the arm. “Still, it must be nice to have brothers. I wish I had brothers when I was growing up.” 

Brothers.  Sometimes it feels more like Leo, Raph, and Mikey are brothers and I’m just …. 

A black sheep?  A misfit? A Freak?...  

Well, I’ve always been closest to Mikey, so maybe that’s not entirely true. 

You think because you helped him with his silly little prank, he suddenly sees you as a brother? As something more than the things you fix? The things you create? You really are dumber than you look.  

I start thinking about my worth and what I actually mean to my family; if I really mean anything to them at all. A giggle at my side pulls me from my thoughts. 

“There’s something I never noticed about you.” 

I shake my head briskly at April’s harmonic voice. “Huh?” Her statement throws me off guard. “Like what?”  

“Like the way you put your tongue between your gap and make that face when you're thinking.” 

My cheeks and mouth pinch together in a curious expression. “What face?” 

She looks at me smirking.  “No, not that face; you know, the face .”  

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” I deadpan a response while shaking my head slowly from side to side. 

“You know, when you do this…” She props her hand under her chin thoughtfully as she distorts her face to look like she's sucking a lemon while smirking. Her expression is too goofy; I laugh so hard I snort. I do my best to cover my mouth with my hand to prevent any additional snorts from escaping my nasal cavity. 

“No, don't do that!”  She gently removes my hand from my face and cups it between her own. “I love to hear you laugh.” 

“Well, my Urkel-like laugh can be classified as lame, dorky, and lets not forget the ever-popular nerdy, so I suppose it does make for a good comic relief.” I give a diminishing smile at my own expense. 

“Stop doing that.” 

“Stop doing what?” 

“Saying deprecating things about yourself. None of it is true.”  

I look down at her as she crosses her arms over her stomach. Her brows furrow in a stubborn expression of hurt.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just thought…” 

“I was making fun of you?” 

“It’s not a big deal if you were, I get it. It’s  funny.” 

Make fun of the nerdy little turtle freak, because he’s always available for a good laugh.  

“No, you don’t get it, and it is a big deal.”  She twists away from my shoulder to purposely narrow her eyes at me, making me shrink away from her intimidating feminine glare.  “Stop putting yourself down; I hate when you do that.” 

“Sorry, I guess it’s just second nature.” Her glare hardens at my self-jab, “…sorry,” I amend with a sheepish smile. 

“I wasn’t making fun of you, Donnie. I would never make fun of you like that.” Once she makes this point her eyes soften and a small smile touches her lips.  “I love your laugh because I get a chance to really see you, the real you, even if it is just for a moment. You should laugh more.” 

“Yeah… okay, I’ll work on that.”  I’m uncertain what she means by the ‘real me’. She sees me all the time—at the lair, in my lab, when we train, on missions…. it doesn’t get any realer than that. “We should probably check on the hatchling, or Darla, as Mikey so fondly named her.”  I change the subject out of necessity and also to quell the light fluttering in my stomach. Shifting off the beanbag chair, I shuffle on my knees toward her desk. I sigh as I look inside the container. Little Darla’s glossy eyes are nearly lifeless as she lies on her side. The only sign of life is the little puffs of breath she is still managing to take into her underdeveloped body. I tried to warn them; I knew this would happen. 

“Oh, no…” April gasps on her knees beside me. “I thought we had at least given her a fighting chance. I probably cut too much of the yolk sac off, or—” 

“No. There’s nothing you could have done differently. The odds were stacked against her  the moment she hatched. It’s not your fault.” I give her shoulder a squeeze, searching my brain for something comforting to say. “When you think about it from a biological standpoint, our bodies all start dying the moment we’re born.” 

“Wow, Donnie, that’s pretty morbid….” 

“It’s not morbid, it’s just life.  Death is inevitable. Some organisms just reach it a little faster than others.” I’m not trying to be morbid, just logical. How else does one make sense of death?  

“She’s not…. she hasn’t passed yet, Donnie.” I can see the hopefulness in her blue eyes, but I won’t be cruel and let her entertain such a thought. 

“No she hasn’t, but she will…. in a couple minutes at most.” 

April doesn’t seem to be paying me much attention as she focuses all her attention on the pitiful turtle in the container. She gently strokes the carapace with a fingertip, “Poor thing. She’s scared.  It’s okay Darla, Donnie and I are right here. Closing her eyes, Darla breathes out a final whine that we otherwise would not have heard if we weren’t in such close proximity. “She’s gone.” 

April leans against me and I, in turn, hesitantly drape my arm over her petite shoulders, trying to awkwardly offer some form of comfort. April is a lot more upset about this than she should be. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t necessarily like to see animals die, but it happens whether by sickness, a hit and run accident, or a simple survival of the fittest as in the case with Darla.  

I don’t hesitate to position myself against Donnie’s side as he drapes a comforting arm over my shoulders. This is so weird. I love animals, but I’ve never been this torn apart over the passing of one. Its times like this when I hate my abilities for making me look so weak. If I can’t tune out the fuzzy feelings of a baby turtle, how the heck am I supposed to handle life-changing emotions that take place around me on a daily basis? As Donnie squeezes me in a half hug, I close my eyes and take slow breath in and out like Master Splinter showed me, clearing my mind of the residual emotions of bereavement. 

“She was terrified and hurting so badly…. I could feel it,” I whisper at his side as I tuck my bangs behind my ear. 

“Hmm… it’s possible your abilities give you a heightened sense of smell allowing you to pick up on the hormonal scent animals give off when in distress or near death situations. Some biologists describe it as—” 

“It’s not a smell, Donnie!”  I twist out of his shoulder hug, to look up at him, “I can sense it, like they were my own emotions.” 

I can’t help but feel a little hurt by his doubtful expression.  “Sometimes people associate smells with certain memories or thoughts, so it’s possible you simply associated the smell with a depressing memory.”   

I want to be angry with him for labeling my feelings, my ability, as a trivial biological process, but I can’t.  I can’t be angry because I know he’s not trying to belittle the way I feel, he’s just trying to make sense of it the only way he knows how.   

Tilting my head, I stare into his eyes and search. I search for something, anything, beyond the veil of logic and intellect, but he hides it so well.  

I give up my emotional search with a wistful smile and sigh, “Some things aren’t as simple as biological psychology.” He stares at me like I just told him Thomas Edison didn’t invent the light bulb. “Sometimes, I just wish you understood.” 

He seems puzzled by my words. “Understood what?” 

“…Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” I give him a tight-lipped grin and look down at my lap. I shouldn’t have said anything. 

“Of course it matters.  Everything you say matters to me.”  

I’m both shocked and touched by his words. He’s not usually this open with me. I look up at him again, but say nothing. I just stare at him like a doe in headlights. 

Did I just say that? ....that was meant to be thought, not spoken out loud.  My unintentional words give her pause as she looks up at me with something akin to awe glistening in her eyes.  “I…I…I mean the important things matter…. not to say that you don’t say anything important, because you do all the time…. not that you talk all the time, because you don’t and—” 

“Donnie.”  The way she breathes my name is the only thing that keeps my lips from digging a deeper hole of stupidity. I clamp my mouth shut as heat rushes to my cheeks and I suddenly find my sweaty hands interesting as I look down at my lap. She’s going to let me down gently, tell me to get over this ridiculous infatuation.  The anxiety, disappointment, the foreseeable hurt and rejection, I push all of it down, all the way down until I am positive I will feel nothing; until I’m sure I will be able to keep a blank expression no matter how she decides to reject me. 

“I wish you understood how I feel…. about you.”  

I knew it. I really should have saw this coming. 

Are you really that dumb to think you had an inkling of a chance with her?  

I was stupid to think our late night instant messages and texts meant anything more than what they were. Stupid. She shifts awkwardly on her knees rubbing her hands up and down her thighs, looking anywhere but my face. I should just save her the trouble, make it easier for her. 

“It’s…. its okay, April, I do understand.  I know we’re just… friends.  I get it. It was absurd of me to think differently…. I know you and Casey…” 

“No,” she cuts me off, shaking her head firmly, “I don’t feel the same way about Casey like I do about you.” Her small hands reach out to rest on top of my larger ones. There’s a small tremor in my fingers, but this time it’s not from a growing pain, this time it’s from a warm place in the center of my chest that I’m trying so hard to ignore right now. 

“Donnie, you’re my best friend; you mean so much to me,” it was then I noticed that it wasn’t my hands trembling, but hers. 

God, what am I doing? ...Oh, that’s right, I’m making a complete fool of myself as usual. Why did I have to open my big mouth? 

I can’t stop my hands from trembling on top of his. He doesn’t understand… he thinks he does, but he doesn’t…. not really.  If I could just sense a flicker of his feelings, feel a small ting of the emotions he guards so closely, I would know for sure if I should risk exposing my heart to him.  I close my eyes and try again. I feel nothing; just a blank callous slate where an array of emotions should be. 

I remove my hands from his and pat my thighs with a sudden decisiveness. It’s now or never; put up or shut up, O’Neil. I lower my head and close my eyes, “Donatello, I love being with you, I love everything about you…. I really like you.” I finally look at him after uttering those words in the truest and most sincerest way I know how. I’m putting my heart in his hands for him to cherish or crush with his next choice of words.  

“…I…well….”  He’s fumbling in his obvious discomfort.  Just when I think I may have ruined our friendship beyond repair, something brushes against my psyche. It’s gentle and sweet, with a rare emotional innocence that’s so skittish, I’m don’t want to mentally touch it, afraid it will suddenly disappear. It’s a shy and curious sentiment of kindness, compassion, and other loving things I immediately associate with Donatello.  His noticeable discomfort pains me as I feel his fear snatch those beautiful emotions away from me; he doesn’t even realize how intimately his distinct feelings have touched my soul as he tries to hide them away again. 

I have the proof I need. If only for a fleeting moment, I felt the purity of his love reach out to me.  “I know you feel the same way… Why can’t you just tell me?” I’m stepping out on blind faith and trusting him with my heart… why can’t he do the same for me? 

I reach for his hands again, but he stiffens and slowly pulls them away, refusing to look at me. I’m losing him before I even get a chance to have him. I have to do something quick. 

I try desperately to get my tongue to cooperate, to actually form words instead of making unintelligent sounds. Eventually, I give up and sit there dumbly, unable to articulate the things I want to say to the sweet girl in front of me. 

You’re beautiful, smart, fierce—all the things that make me love you so much. That’s what I want to say, what I long to tell her, but my lips refuse to do anything more than stutter.  

What does it matter if I say it or not? Don’t actions speak louder than words? I’m always there when she needs me, whether it’s helping with homework or fixing the motherboard of her laptop. I even keep her company with instant messages when she has a restless night. In the past year, I have protected her life countless times with my own from Purple Dragons and Kraang aliens without a second thought. Isn’t that enough? Yes, logically it makes sense, so it must be enough. The things she said about loving me...  Did she really mean them? A warm sensation balloons in the pit of my stomach, spreading to my chest, moving upward, bringing a fierce rush of heat to my cheeks before settling in my head with an intoxicating yet welcoming buoyancy. How else can I possibly show her…. tell her that…. 

Tell her what? That you love her? Silly turtle, so naïve to think a human girl could love something like you.  

“Why are you so afraid?” Leaning into my personal space, she whispers like she’s talking to a scared animal, but the concern in her voice is enough to pull me away from my unpleasant thoughts. It’s funny how a few minutes ago her close proximity was a comfort, but now it’s threatening to be the very undoing of everything that makes sense in my life.  

There has to be a logical way out of this situation, but my brain isn’t cooperating. Something else kicks In instead; an instinctual need to flee.  “I’m not… I mean, I should go—” I make a motion to get up, but I’m quickly planted back in place when a pair of lips press against mine. I immediately freeze at the intimate contact as my eyes nearly bug out of their sockets. Her eyes are closed, her face passionate and serene.  

I don’t move, blink, or breathe as she holds the kiss softly against my lips. Time stands still, or maybe it’s moving at the speed of light…  I’m too dazed to care as I slowly close my eyes and allow myself to melt into the kiss. Her lips depart from mine with the sound of a small ‘peck’.  A slight chill replaces the warmth of where her lips were, but when I suck my bottom lip I can taste remnants of her strawberry-flavored chapstick. My brothers and I always get sisterly hugs and kisses from April, but that was not a sisterly kiss.  I selfishly wish it had lasted more than 45.3 seconds. 

Then I do something in which I have no logic to justify. I kiss her back. 

Just when I think my impulsive actions will make him flee like a bat out of hell, he takes me completely by surprise when his hands gently hold my shoulders and he pulls me in for a second kiss. I barely have a chance to gasp as his lips gently collide with mine. His touch is tender, as if he’s scared anything more forceful will shatter me like glass.  

His emotions almost drown my psyche as they flood me with his anxiety,  joy, and overflowing affection.  I can’t help but lean slowly into the kiss, cherishing the moment. With a bit of awkward hesitation he pulls away, making me breathe out an airy sigh. His breath is both garlicky and nutty; the thought of that quirky combination makes me smile. 

I blink lazily through distracted eyes, still in a haze from that incredible kiss.  

“I’m sorry.” It doesn’t take long for his self-consciousness to rear its ugly head and try to ruin the moment. 

I shake my head with a frown. “Don’t be. You just made this the best night ever.”   

“Same here.”  And then he gives me that adorable lopsided smile that makes me feel all kinds of special. What really brings a smile to my face are the impressions I still sense from him. When we kissed his emotions washed over me like a tidal wave, but now they simply ripple calmly at a distance, occasionally lapping against my inner thoughts. No walls or protective guards up, just Donnie in all of his goodness. 

“Why are you guys staring at each other like that?” 

Both of us jump a mile high, falling backwards on our behinds at the sound of Mikey’s voice. 

“Mikey! ...What… how long have you been awake?” Donnie squawks in his trademark voice of panic. 

“Not long enough, ‘cause I get the uncanny feeling I missed something epic, bruh.” Mikey looks suspiciously between Donnie and me. I tuck my hair behind my ear and look down when I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. He gives an exaggerated gasp. “I did miss something epic, didn’t I?” He’s smiling like a Cheshire cat now, “Did Darla make a full recovery? I knew she’d be okay!” 

My head snaps up at the same Donnie’s does as we share a look of regret and sadness. Mikey’s fast as he hops off my bed and zips behind Donnie to peer over the container. 

“Mikey, no, don’t—” Donnie tries to grab him, but he’s too late. Mikey’s countenance of joy immediately crumbles into deep sadness that should never be found on his sweet freckled face. 

“Darla?....”  His voice is small and filled with disbelief.  “I thought she was going to be okay!” He looks at Donnie with watery eyes in a way that I suppose all little brothers look to big brothers when they need answers. 

“Mikey, I told you it was highly unlikely she would survive.” Donnie is to the point with him, but not unkind. “There’s no telling how long her yolk sac was infected while she was cocooned in her eggshell. I’m surprised she lived as long as she did.” 

“It’s okay, Mikey. Donnie and I were right here the whole time.” 

He sucks in his bottom lip taking in both our words and seems to accept them somewhat.  “That’s good… at least she wasn’t alone.”  

Standing, Donnie and I sandwich Mikey between us. We all look down at little Darla, giving a small moment of silence. 

“I’ll take her to the park tomorrow and bury her near the pond.” 

“Really?” I nod at Mikey as his eyes twinkle with an innocence that seems far younger than his sixteen years of age. 

“We should get going,” Donnie says and I can’t help but pout. I wish he could stay longer. 

“Okay. Text me?” 

“Yeah, of… of course.” I return his warm smile. Mikey’s halfway out the window, but before Donnie can follow, I take his hand in mine looking up to meet his mahogany eyes. He’s gotten so tall. I tug his arm slightly while standing on the tips of my toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. A blush hits his olive cheeks like circles of red paint on a canvas. “Bye,” he says softly as I release his hand. 

“Bye.” I wince as his head makes contact with the window pane when he forgets to duck. I cover my mouth to hide the smile ignited by his clumsiness. 

“Heh... bye,” he says awkwardly, again, before disappearing on the fire escape. I lean out the window, hoping to catch one more glimpse of his slender physique, but he’s already melted into the shadows of the night, just like Master Splinter trained him to do. I return to Darla’s container, wrapping her gently in the remaining strips of cloth from my old t-shirt. This evening was Darla’s tragic birth and death, but even in this little blot of sadness, something else was born tonight. Something amazing and new that I hope will blossom into something remarkably beautiful. 

Chapter Text

“Donnie?...” I curiously call to my brother, but he’s not paying attention. He’s still looking back at April’s window. I can’t keep myself from grinning as I tease him.  “I saw that kiss on the cheek, bruh.”  

“Huh?”  That seems to get his attention. 

“Yep! I saw it. Way to go, Casanova!  Keep that up and you’ll get a smooch on the lips before you know it!” I wag my eye ridges up and down with a cheesy smile. 

Under the moonlight, his face flushes with an undeniable blush as he ducks his head.  “Then I suppose I’m ahead of schedule…” 

I give him a curious look. “What you talkin’ ‘bout, Donnie?” I question him using my best 70’s sitcom impersonation as I pooch my lips out for dramatic affect.  

He looks at me, mouth pressed tightly shut as if he is trying desperately to keep something under lock and key. I squeak excitedly when I realize exactly what happened before I woke up at April’s.  “Oooooooooooooh, snap, bro! You kissed her?! ...On the lips ?!”  I hold my fists under my chin as I dance from foot to foot barely able to contain this motherlode of joy. 

“No…. yes…. I mean, technically she kissed me first, I just… kissed her back.” He stumbles almost shamefully through the confession, but it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I know Donnie hates for me to talk about his aura, but oh man, it’s like a Katy Perry music video up in there! I can’t help but gape in total shock and awe at the little metal box in his aura…. It’s finally open!  Oh, the feels! 

There are streams and bursts of purple vapor that spark into starry fireworks from the box at his core. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such passionate vibes coming from my brainy brother.  I watch curiously as the image of computer screens in Donnie’s aura start processing all those good feels. This time he doesn’t cram them back in the box, but allows them to float contently in his headspace. I wonder if this is what Master Splinter means when he says happiness is found in the harmony of the body, mind and spirit…. 

“DUDE! THAT’S AWESOME!”  I shout from the top of my lungs, crushing my older brother in a hug. He yelps and eventually pries me off. I stare at him with a knowing smile and eyes so big, I probably look like a Manga character. 

“Shh! Keep your voice down… and stop staring at me like that!” I keep staring. “Stop it!” 

I giggle at his annoyance. “So, bro, what was the kiss like? Was it wet like a doggy kiss?.... Oh! Did it taste like a Choco-bar?” 

“What? No, of course not! ....It tasted like strawberries,” he cheekily mutters the latter part as he jumps down to the next rooftop. 

“Dude, wait, I want the deets!” I shout as I drop down after him.  Over the next rooftop leaps, I pester him for juicy details, but don’t manage to get any more out of him. Guess he’s not a ‘kiss and tell’ kind of turtle. That’s okay though; his aura is telling me everything that he isn’t.  I grin to myself. He really is head over heels for April, and from the occasional glimpses of her aura, she’s pretty wild about him too. 

The sound of glass breaking pulls my attention as I skid to a stop on a roof. “Look, D.”  I point to a group of kids vandalizing a charity donation storefront. “That is so not cool.” 

Donnie sighs through his nostrils. “We should be getting home. They’re just a bunch of juvenile delinquents staying out past curfew. The police circuit this area pretty regularly—let them handle it.”   

Another window shatters as the boys whoop and cackle at their malicious aim. One of them climbs through the window and moments later emerges with a wad of cash. He starts distributing the money to the other three guys. “Bro, they’re stealing from charity. We gotta do something! C’mon!” Without waiting for a response, I leap into the shadows of the alley, hoping to catch the amateur troublemakers off guard.  

With a little stealth and my trusty kusarigama, I manage to take out two of the teens. I drop them into an unconscious heap at the entrance of the alleyway, but not before swiping the stolen money from them.  

“Mikey! I told you to let the police handle it!” Donnie chastises me as he front flips from the fire escape to the dumpster and then lands with a thud on his large feet.  He strikes another kid, who looks a little younger than me, with the end of his staff. The kid pulls out a knife, but D easily uses a series of pressure points to his shoulder, elbow, and wrist causing the knife to clatter to the pavement. Dumbfounded at being whacked repeatedly by mutant turtle, the boy drops the money and takes off in the opposite direction. I could still hear the kid screaming bloody murder down the street. Tuh!... Donnie barely even touched him! 

“Dude, these rookies would have been long gone with a load of cash by the time the police came. Good thing we were in the ‘hood, huh?” I gather the scattered cash from the ground to safely place back in the shop. 

“Mikey, look out!” Just as I turn around to follow Donnie’s line of sight, something hard connects with my head making stars burst into view. With doubled vision, I manage two steps toward Donnie before my world tilts and goes black. 

Would it kill my brother to think before impulsively deciding to scare off a handful of wanna-be gangster teenie boppers?  

I saw the bat in the last kid’s hand before Mikey did. He’s fast, but not fast enough to heed my warning. Dazed from the impact, the money falls from his loose grip. His eyes cross before rolling back in his head as his body hits the pavement.  

Something fierce and dangerous makes my blood boil when that piece of wood cracks against my brother’s skull. Aggressive protectiveness overwhelms my senses as I snarl at the detestable human boy. Shock and horror swells in his eyes as he looks from my fallen brother back to me. His fear only drives my infuriated mind. I train my eyes on him, violently spinning my staff to rival a propeller’s velocity.  

He hurt my brother…. my brother. Mine. The instinctual need to protect consumes my thoughts like a vicious mantra. My movement shifts to autopilot as the only thing I process is the need to make this boy pay dearly for his actions. 

Make him pay.  

Twirling my staff from left to right and back again, my hate-filled eyes never leave his face.  

“Hey look, green-man, I’m sorry, yo.  We were just messin’ around and he came outta nowhere!” He points a shaky finger at my unconscious brother. “I didn’t mean to hit ‘im that hard, ‘kay?” The kid is starting to panic as I approach him. “Huh-here! Here! Just take the money, yo, I’m outta here.” He scatters the money at my feet, but the green paper merely sticks to the moist pavement as I walk over it.  

Stop him! Don’t let that disgusting insect get away!  

He tries to run out of the alley, but I mercilessly swipe his legs from under him. Satisfaction fills me when I hear a bone-fracturing crack from his left shin upon contact with my staff. 

Holding his leg, the boy howls in pain on the ground.  

Make him pay.  

I snatch him by the injured limb and drag him back into the shadows of the alley. He screams in agony clawing at the ground, trying desperately to escape my iron grip. With a firm yank, I twist the boy off his stomach and onto his back. I purposely place my foot on his broken leg and grind it into the ground. His screams irritate me. 

“Puh-please, please, let me go,” the boy whimpers through hiccupped tears, “I’m sorry! I wanna go home! Please just let me—” 

Make him bleed.  

Gripping my staff like golf club, swing down at his face. His head snaps to the side as he cries out and spits up blood. 

Feels good doesn’t it?  

“Help me!...Somebody please help—” 

“Shut up!” I glower at him as I bring down my bo across his temple. I strike him again in the face, as his sniveling becomes more frantic. I’m pretty sure I just shattered his jawbone as the blunt end of my staff pounds into his face again. 

And again… and again. 

Groaning, I open my eyes. I touch the back of my head expecting to feel a throbbing pain there, but to my surprise it doesn’t even hurt. Everything looks blurry as I stand, but I can vaguely see I’m still in the alley. Looking down at my feet, I see my body collapsed on the pavement. Am I drifting?  

My mind starts to piece together everything that’s happened. “Donnie…” I look around for my brother. I can feel his presence but don’t see him yet. Turning around, I see Donnie’s aura near the entrance of the alley, but something is wrong. There’s something dark seeping into his spiritual presence. It reminds me of the dark haze I saw in his aura weeks ago at the junkyard, but this time it’s not a haze. It’s more like thick, black turpentine with tentacles that is slithering through his aura. “Oh no,” I whisper to myself as the invasive presence attaches itself to the mental computer screens and gears operating in his headspace like a syrupy web of darkness. Its molasses-like form is slowly spreading, reaching for anything in its path within the purple hue of my brother’s spirit. My eyes widen with dread as I remember the vulnerability at my brother’s core—the metal box. It’s still open as a small glob of blackness drips slowly like thick snot into its opening. 

“No! Leave him alone!” I yell at the thing attacking my brother as I charge toward it. It surprises me when its slow movements suddenly bulk up into a pitch black wall, blocking my view of my brother’s aura. Crimson eyes flash in the wall of darkness as it guards its territory like an vicious beast. The vibes from this thing elicit an unexplainable fear that makes me tremble at my core.  

I square my shoulders. No time to punk out now. I work past my fear, because this thing has my brother.  My nunchucks materialize in the hands of my aura as I twirl them with raw spiritual strength Master Splinter is still teaching me to control. When the side of my chuck makes contact with the dark presence, I scream. 

It grips my aura and refuses to let go. It feels like lighting striking and fire blazing in my soul at the same time—the worst pain ever.  

The energy forces these horrible vibes into my psyche.  Aggression, possessiveness, and a terrifying hunger coursing through my aura…. it’s a dangerous sensation of being trapped in the thoughts of a hellish being with malicious intentions. 

The dark energy disconnects from my aura, expelling me like a bullet with a spiritual warning to keep my distance. My aura crashes as it makes harsh contact with my physical body. 

My knuckles are white as I slam my staff against the concrete; I lean against it slightly as I slow my enraged breathing. I look down at the grotesque face of the boy beneath me and realize he’s still breathing. 

One more blow to his temple, and his face will be nothing more than a concave bowl of bloody broth.  

The mental image of crimson soup with floating pieces of brain matter and skull intrigues me as a smirk curves up the side of my lips. I raise my staff high above my head with every intent of impaling it with this human boy’s head. 

A feeble whimper wheezes from the boy’s lips. His face is bruised and battered beyond recognition. He turns his head in a jerky, uncoordinated fashion with eyes swollen shut. “Pl-please….” The boy begs as his head rocks to the other side. “D-dad, h-help….” Blood spurts and splatters from his busted lip as he enunciates his P’s. His heartrending cry for his father breaks my resolve. 

A lump of remorse builds in my chest that I can’t push down. He’s just a kid, no older than Mikey or me, and I nearly beat him to his death. 

The thick fog of rage slowly lifts, unclouding my mind as I visually take in the damage I inflicted. His face is a bloody mess of swollen bruises. His right cheek, directly beneath the swollen skin of his eyelid, is sunken in…. I broke his eye socket.  My hands tremble as I hold tightly to my bo staff trying to make sense of what I almost did. Tucking the bloodied end of my bo back into its holster, I stumble as I kneel beside the boy. I gently pick him up and place him outside of the alley on the sidewalk, knowing the police will find him soon to give him the help he needs. 

Heart racing and head spinning, I take several steps back into the shadows of the alley. I look down at my blood-stained hands and plastron. What was I thinking? It was like I lost all control and just— 

Wanted to maul him like a savage animal mangles its prey?  

No…. that’s not what I wanted all! I just— 

“Ahh!” I double over as my stomach cramps painfully. Another ripping pain grips my spine as I jerk my body upward and my shell hits the side of the dumpster.  I wrap one arm around my middle, while trying to reach down the back of my shell with the other.  Both pains demand my attention, but I can alleviate neither.  I breathe out slowly as the pain slowly subsides on its own. My legs shake beneath me as I lean against the dumpster to steady myself. The metallic smell of boy’s blood on my hands and plastron filters through my nose and I find it both sickening and…. appealing. 

I shake the revolting thought from my mind. Something is wrong …. something is very, very wrong. 

I need to get back to the Lair. The pain, the rage, the hunger, the thoughts I’m having…. none of them are right. I need to run some tests.  My mind is going a mile a minute. I feel like I’m coming down off an adrenaline overload, but I mentally press pause the instant I hear a groan behind me. “Mikey.” Guilt pinches my chest as I look up to see my little brother slowly trying to sit up. I didn’t even check on him after he was hit. I could kick myself for my stupidity. Why didn’t I just let the kid run off? 

I take a few wobbly steps before collapsing to my knees in front of my brother. Get it together, Don, you can’t let Mikey see you like this.  I grip him by the shoulders to steady him in a sitting position. He blinks his wandering eyes a few times as I gently lean him forward to check the back of his head.  The skin isn’t broken but he has a sizable goose egg  just beneath his mask. He flinches when I touch it. “Sorry,” I mutter softly as I lean him away from me to get a better look at him. He doesn’t appear to be injured anywhere else.  He finally manages to focus his eyes on me. 
 
"Mikey…. are you okay?" At first, he just kind of stares at me with these half vacant eyes and I start to think maybe he was hit harder than I thought. Then his eyes widen with unadulterated fear as he tries to push away from my grip.  
 
"No! Get off of me!" he screams at me, shoving his hands against my plastron. I grab at his hands, trying to calm him down. He's disoriented and can barely muster enough balance to effectively push me away.  

He’s afraid of you. He saw what you did.  

The thought of Mikey seeing what I did to that kid, paralyzes me.  He saw it. He saw what I did, he had to; it’s the only possible reason for his hysterical behavior.  

"Let go of him... Let go of my brother!" I lean away from him, taken aback by his exclamation. His words worry me and I also find them a little disturbing, but don't let go of his squirming form. 
 
"Mikey, stop, I'm right here!" I try to squeeze his shoulders reassuringly, but it doesn't seem to help much. He keeps staring at my plastron. "Hey, I'm right here.” He trembles under my grasp as he continues to stare in horror at my torso. I grip the sides of his face forcing him to look up. "Look at me. See? I'm right here."  

“Donnie?...” He looks at me wide-eyed and confused as if he doesn’t trust what he’s seeing.  

He looks down at my plastron once again.  “Hey! Look at me… up here…. there you go.  I’m right here, Mikey.” I’m trying to stay calm despite everything that’s transpired, but his skittish behavior isn’t helping. I dig into the pouch of my belt and pull out a penlight.  Shining the light in his eyes, his pupils are even and normal sized. “Do you feel okay? You were hit in the noggin pretty hard. Any nausea or double vision?” 

“You’re hurt.” He ignores my questions and looks at the blood smeared across my plastron. 

“I’m fine,” I lie as I wipe at the tell-tale blood. “We need to get out of here. The police will be circling this area any minute and see those kids. 

“Donnie, it was horrible… I saw it.” 

His statement gives me pause.  

“Mikey…. what exactly did you see?” 

He furrows his brows as if he’s having a hard time recollecting his thoughts. “I... I don’t know.” I implore him with a questioning look. “It was this horrible thing…. a creature.  It had a wicked vibe bro…. it was angry and hungry.  It was all over your aura.” 

My eyes light up as the wheels in my mind begin to turn. He’s talking about that aura nonsense, so he obviously didn’t see anything. I just need to convince him that everything’s okay.  We need to get out of here before he starts asking too many questions…. before he sees the kid I almost killed near the entrance of the alley. 

“Mikey, everything’s fine.  You’re just a little disoriented from the hit you took. Let’s just go—” 

“No!” He backs away from me. “I’m not confused! I know what I saw!” 

“Fine.” I challenge him with my arms crossed over my plastron. “Tell me what it was.” 

“Dude, I already told you! Its vibe was—” 

“Physical characteristics, Mikey. What did it look like?” 

“It was…” He holds the side of his head in concentration. “….It was dark and… and…” 

“What it tall or short? Male? Female?” I drill him as I step toward him forcing him to step back. 

His voice hitches as he rubs the back of his head. “Tall, maybe? ...I don’t know! ...I don’t remember…” He mutters the latter with a scared and childish whine.  

“It wasn’t real, Mikey.  Whatever it is you think you saw, wasn’t real. Let’s go home.” As I turn to the nearest manhole, I’m confident that Mikey is oblivious to what really happened. However, his next words make my blood run cold. 

“Make him bleed.” 

Haunted by his words, I spin around. “What did you say?” 

“I remember it saying ‘Make him bleed.’”  

He saw what you did. He sees the monster you truly are. You’re a child-battering, blood lusting monster.   

“SHUT UP!” My bellowing voice echoes in the alleyway as my calm resolve shatters. I breathe heavily as the built-up anxiety reaches a boiling point.  

“Donnie… what—” 

“Nothing happened. You didn’t see anything, you didn’t hear anything.” I regulate my voice to a quieter and calmer tone. “That kid knocked you unconscious with a bat. You were just imagining things. Come on, we need to leave. I’ll check you over again when we get to the lair.” I touch his shoulder to guide him to the manhole, but he shrugs me off. 

“No! I wasn’t imagining it!” The vehemence behind his voice provokes my attention. “I saw it! ...heard it!  It was dark, evil, and trying to kill—” 

I grab my brother by the plate of his plastron and slam his carapace against the adjacent brick wall. “Nothing happened! I already told you, you were hit in the head. You were unconscious. I took care of the other kid. The police will be here soon. We. Need. To go. Now .” I let him off the wall, only to slam him against it again with my forearm forcibly at his throat. I glare at him. “Don’t breathe a word to anyone about this, understand?” With shocked, glossy eyes, he stares dumbly at me. I apply more force as I enunciate each word, “Do. You. Understand?” He nods quickly.  

My glare softens when I see the leery disheartened look in my baby brother’s eyes…. what am I doing? 

Guiltily avoiding eye contact,  I drop my hold on him and lift the manhole cover out of the way.  “Come on,” I order him as I ease down the ladder into the sewer.  

The sewer walk back to the lair was a like holy silence. I use the sewer water to rid myself of the blood on my hands and plastron. It isn’t the most sanitary solution, but it’s better than the alternative of explaining the events of tonight to Master Splinter or Leo if they happened to be awake when we get home. 

When we come in, Raph is sound asleep on the couch. I wonder if he was waiting up in hopes of pounding our shells in? Mikey and I stay close to the wall, to avoid waking him. I frown at the note on my lab door: 

Two extra hours of training in the morning.  

P.S.: You and Michelangelo will clean Raphael’s room tomorrow. I’m not kidding.  

-Leonardo  

I stifle a groan as I rip the note from my door. Well, that would explain why Raph’s sleeping on the coach. I silently motion for Mikey to come in my lab. He hesitates a second before following. 

Mikey knows the drill as he sits on the medbay and waits for my usual administrations. After my unexpected roughness in the alley, I try to be extra gentle as I check him over, but he still stiffens under my touch. I can’t find the words to explain my sudden temper to him, because I really don’t understand what happened myself.  

“You just sustained a nasty bump on your head, but you’re okay,” I speak softly to him as I hand him two pills and an ice pack “Take these, it’ll help ease the headache. The ice will help with the swelling.” 

“Okay.” My heart clenches knowing I’m the reason for his sullen voice. He hops off the table and shuffles to the door. 

“Hey, Mikey… tonight I didn’t mean to…” My voice trails off as I finally manage to look at his puppy dog eyes. I sigh and try again. “There’s a high probability we’re going to be in trouble for that prank we pulled, so it’s probably best we don’t tell the others about alley fight.” 

He’s staring at my plastron like he did in the alley, then finally returns my eye contact. “Yeah… sure, okay, Donnie…. Good night.” He forces a smile before leaving the lab. When the door closes I sigh. Now that Mikey’s taken care of, I need to perform some self-evaluations. Sitting at my computer, I immediately open my ‘Growth Spurt’ files and start skimming through my logs. 

Scalier speckled skin, increased height and foot size, severe muscle spasms, amplified appetite…. 

I suppose it would be adequate to add impulsive anger to the list as well. My eyes widen at the amount of time that has eclipsed.  It’s been two months since these symptoms started and every other week there’s a pattern of increased intensity. It would explain why my moods borderline a bipolar patient, and why my appetite is nearly insatiable as of late. It’s been two months…. and my brothers haven’t experienced any of these so-called growth spurt traits.  When we were thirteen, I was first to go through a growth spurt, but my brothers were practically doorsteps behind me. I don’t think this is a growth spurt or unique to our specific genetic make-up….. I think it’s just me. 

I can’t believe I let these symptoms slip pass me without looking into them further. I sigh as I look at the mutagen container on my lab table. My time has been so consumed with creating the retromutagen, I guess I didn’t pay much attention to the peculiar things happening with me.  

My T-phone buzzes in my belt pocket. I punch a button to open a text message: 

April: You didn’t text me… :(  

I smile sadly at the screen. How did such a magnificent night go south so quickly? 

Donnie: Sorry…I was a little preoccupied  

April: so how much trouble are you and Mikey in?  

Donnie: Two hours extra training and clean Raph’s room. Completely worth it.  

April: lol  

Donnie: Talk to you later…need to run some tests  

April: don’t stay up too late  

Donnie: I make no promises  

April: smh….GN, Donnie   

Donnie: Good night  

April: <3  

Donnie:  (:  

I’ll keep my blood assessment low key until I know for sure what’s going on. No need to unnecessarily worry anyone… especially April.  Pulling out my blood testing supplies, I can tell it’s going to be a long night. 

“Hello?” With a jerk, I sit up in bed. I thought I heard something.  My room is dimly lit by the small Super Robo Mecha Force Five lamp on my bed. Pizza boxes in the corner, horror flick posters on the wall, action figures on the shelf…. everything seems in place, but something still feels off. I try to lay back down, but the Sandman is being stingy with his sleeping dust and I’m wide awake. With a sigh, I swing my legs out the bed, deciding a glass of milk might help me get some shut eye. 

Walking toward the kitchen something still feels strange. There’s a coolness in the lair that puts goosebumps on my arms. I shiver as I wrap my arms around myself. In the den, the grey static screen of the TV gives an eerie glow to the area. Raph is still on the couch. I narrow my gaze as I look a little closer. It feels like Raph, but he looks different under the light of the TV screen. 

“Raph…” I whisper his name as I reach for him. His body slumps under my touch and when I pull my hand back its warm and moist. Panic grips my mind as I reach behind me for the light switch on the wall. A sob is stuck in my throat as I see Raph laying in a pool of his own blood. His plastron is a splintered mess of bones and organs. It looks like something gutted him. “No…” I look down at the slippery crimson liquid coating my hand and feel sick. Trembling, I back away. 

“Leo!...Leo! It’s Raph, he’s—” 

My foot gets tangled and I stumble backwards, landing on my tail. “Nononono….” I untangle myself from Leo’s body, or rather what’s left of it. His lifeless washed-out eyes stare at me, begging for help that is too little too late. Strings of muscles and tendons saturate the floor with blood where his left arm and leg were once connected to his torso. My soul aches with a pain I can’t name as tears and snot stream openly down my face.  

I scrabble to my feet. I need to find Master Splinter and Donnie. I have to know that they’re okay, that whatever mauled and murdered Leo and Raph hasn’t gotten to them too.  The light is on in the kitchen, but the sight before me makes me stops in my tracks. Thick tufts of fur and skin litter the kitchen floor. “Duh-dad…”  I cover my mouth with a trembling hand as I see the mangled mess that was Master Splinter. I jerk at the sudden movement in the corner. It’s Donnie but the back of his shell is facing me. 

“Donnie…. what’s going on? ...what’s happening?” I whimper as my heart pounds too fast in my chest.  When Donnie finally turns around he’s covered in blood. No, this isn’t Donnie… this isn’t Donnie. But no matter how hard I try to convince myself, deep down inside I know it’s him. His eyes are crimson, cold, and carry a barbaric undertone that sparks like brimstones against his emotionless face. He smirks, holding the baby turtle, Darla, out to me.  Before I can take Darla, Donnie crushes her in his hand. “No!” I scream as blood spills between his fingers. Two innocent–looking squirrels appear on his shoulders and seconds later, Donnie and the squirrels bare their carnivore teeth as they dive forward with every intent of ending me. 

I scream, thrashing in my bedsheets before hitting my floor with a thump. I yank the sheets off my head and frantically look around. I’m in my room…. it was only a dream. My heart is pounding, but it feels like it’s in my head instead of my chest. “It was just a dream,” I tell myself again as I take deep breaths. I glance at my clock. It’s 3:00 a.m.  My headache finally calms to a dull hum in the back of my mind. After a nightmare like that, I can’t help but let my mind drift back to the dark presence from alley last night. Donnie said it was just a side-effect of being hit the head with a bat. I wince as I gingerly touch the bump on the back of my head. Maybe he was right…. I can’t really remember everything… just bits and pieces of really bad vibes. Still, I can’t help but think that maybe something did happen…. 

I tug my blanket around my shoulders, still a little shaken up from the dream. Standing, I ease out of my room and go to the one person I can turn to after a scare like that. Stopping in front of the room beside my bedroom, I slowly push the door open. I wouldn’t have known he was in his room if not for the lump in the bed…. he’s a silent sleeper.  I waste no time shaking his shoulder to wake him. “Leo… Leo… you awake, bro?” I whisper as I continue to rock his shoulder back and forth.  He grunts and shifts in his bed. “Leo…” I start to whine as I shake him with more urgency. He breathes heavily, shuffling a bit before his lamp suddenly flickers on. 

“What, Mikey?” He grumbles my name as he props himself up on his elbow. His brows are furrowed into a frown and his eyes are narrow with irritability.  

“I had a nightmare.” Those four words are the magical ‘open sesame’ that will allow me full access to my big bro’s bed. He’s going to pull back the covers any minute now.  Any minute now…. 

Leo couldn’t look anymore apathetic than he looked at this very moment. Maybe he needs me to elaborate. “I dreamed you, Raph, and Master Splinter were all brutally murdered, and then Donnie and the squirrels tried to gnaw my face off.  I think Donnie… something was wrong with him.” 

“…It was a dream, Mikey,” Leo deadpans at me completely unmoved by the telling of this horrific nightmare. 

I tug my blanket tighter around my shoulders. “I know but this dream felt different…. like a warning.” 

“Maybe it was a warning that you should go to bed, because we have practice in another hour and a half….” Leo mutters harshly.  

“Leo.” 

“What….” 

“You know how I can see auras and stuff?” He doesn’t reply so I continue. “I think… I think there maybe something wrong with Donnie’s aura.” 

“You know you’re not supposed to pry into people’s auras, Mikey.” He chastises me but I shake my head side to side. 

“No, I didn’t pry, I just saw it… and maybe touched it…” I mutter the latter part. “….either way I think it’s really bad. Haven’t you noticed how moody he’s been?” 

Leo massages his temple, sighing a little longer and louder than I think is necessary. “There’s nothing wrong with Donnie, at least nothing a little discipline won’t remedy.” He sounds so stern and definitive, like Master Splinter. “Actually, it wouldn’t kill you to show a little discipline and responsibility for the messes you make.” 

Wow… okay, where did that come from?  He seems particularly grouchy about something.  Did he switch auras with Raphie or something? 

“Like I said, we have practice at 4:30am so I suggest you go back to sleep.” 

“Can I stay in your room tonight?” I whisper, feeling a little ashamed after Leo’s lecture. 

“Mikey, you’re too old to keep coming in my room every time you have a silly dream. Now go to bed.” And with that final command he clicks off his lamp and rolls over giving me full view of his carapace. I swallow the lump in my throat as I stand there miserably in my oldest brother’s room. When I realize he really isn’t going to let me stay, I sullenly shuffle out his room and back to mine. I bury myself under my sheets and blanket, pulling myself halfway into my shell, trying to convince myself the awful images replaying in my mind are not real. 

Chapter Text

“That ain’t how you found it. Put it up right!” I growl as I whack my nitwitted brother in the arm with a fly swatter. Leaning back on my bed, I cross one leg over the other.  

  “Ow! Okay, okay!” He rubs his arm as he sets my upturned drum set in an upright position against the wall.  

  “And you better get all that pink crud off it. If I see one speck of glitter, I’ll give you a shell wedgie.   

  “Dude, harsh! You gave me more than enough of those during practice this morning!”   

  “Ah, stop your whinin’, and get to cleanin’.” Mikey gets away with everything cause he’s the youngest.  And who has to suffer for it? Me…. always me. I still have circular pieces of condoms stuck to my plastron and glitter embedded in the crevices of my carapace. I smirk to myself. At least this time Leo didn’t stick up for the runt and made him clean up my room. I can hardly contain my satisfaction.   

  Screw it, I ain’t containin’ jack.   

  “Hey! You missed a spot!” I snap at him as I crack the fly swatter over his fingers.  

  “Ow! ...that stings!” he yelps as he shakes out his swatted hand.  

  “Good. Serves ya right for trashin’ my room, you little twerp.” He sticks out his grimy little tongue at me. I swat him on the back of the head.  

  “OW!...dude seriously lay off the back of the noggin, bro.” He gives a pained whine as he rubs the back of his head under his mask. I catch a glimpse of a sizeable bump before he tugs the back of his mask back over the spot.  

“What’d ya do?” I jut my chin out just as he conceals the bruised spot.  

  “Oh, that?.....” I glare at him with concern. “Must’ve hit my head harder than I thought when I was rolling on the floor laughing my shell off at your ‘pink love gloves’ video yesterday.”   

  My concern shatters like heated glass. My eyes narrow to slits with resentment. “You videotaped it?....”   

  He doesn’t seem at all fazed by the low, venomous tone of my voice. “Yep… and in High Definition. Pleasurable entertainment for years to come!”  

  I am so teed off right now, I just want to throttle the little twit. I whack the dopey smile off his face as my pillow collides compulsively with his head.  

  “Dude!” He fearfully holds his arms up to protect his head as I rear back for another hit.  Good. I like the sight of a groveling sibling.  “That was a two-turtle show, you know! I’m not the only one who earned this horrible treatment.”   

  “Oh, don’t you worry. Donnie-boy’s got a fistful of payback waitin’ for him.” I crack my knuckles for emphasis.  Speaking of the Beanpole, he was supposed to be in here cleaning with Mikey. I hop off my bed.   

  “Uh… You know what? ...On second thought, I totally got it covered from here.” I give him a once-over. Is he covering for Don? ...Oh, that makes me wanna pound him even more.   

  “Oh, that’s real cute, takin’ the fall for Don and all, but it’s too late for that.  I’ll be back. If you try and sneak out I will crush you.” I swat him with the fly swatter in the forehead for good measure.   

  “Alright, just quit it!” he pouts as he scrubs the orange soda off the wall.  With a cocky smirk I walk out and join Leo at the arcade game. He’s leisurely shifting the joystick, not nearly with the intensity that Mikey plays it.  

  “Where's the Gloomy Green Giant at?” I ask Leo while leaning against the side of the arcade. “He’s supposed to be cleaning my room with Dr. Dorken-stein.”  

  “I was going to send him back after practice, but Sensei wanted to have a word with him first.”  

  “Huh…. Splinter finally fed up with his pissy girl mood swings?”  

  “Possibly… or maybe the fact that his kata forms were horrible during practice. It’s like he wasn’t even trying.”  

  “Yeah, he’s really milking the whole ‘woe is me and my gigantic feet’ card,” I snort as I cross my arms over my chest.  

  “Your bullying wasn’t helping matters.”  

  I gape at him dubiously before purposely leaning into his egoistical space. “Really, Fearless? … Are you kidding me? You were riding him like a freakin’ slave driver in the dojo, and you’re lecturing me ‘cause I rib him every now and then?” I point to myself for emphasis before sucking my teeth and sizing him up. “You’re such a stinkin’ hypocrite!”  

  “I’m not a hypocrite! I was correcting his form! You on the other hand—”  

  “I DON’T CARE! IT'S RIDICULOUS AND—” Our stupid argument is cut short as Leo and I nearly break our necks turning to the dojo entrance at the sound of Donnie’s raised voice. It wasn’t so much his voice that drew our attention but rather the rare noise that followed.   

  Even Mikey pops his head out from my doorway in surprise. “Dude, did somebody just get a Splinter-slap-in-the-face special?”  Both Fearless and I shush Mikey as we stealth our way to the dojo entrance. We’ve all at some point gotten pimp-slapped by Splinter, but dang, I bet you could hear that open-handed slap from the topside.  

  We lean into the entranceway. Surprise, surprise. Donnie’s already settin’ up his Hashi as Splinter eyes him with that look that he usually gives me when I can’t keep my temper in check; it’s the look that makes me squirm with shame. Strangely, the look on Don’s face doesn’t resemble anything close to shame… more like disdain.  I nearly stumble through the threshold as weight is added to my shell. “Get off,” I growl under my breath as I shove Mikey back. He immediately clambers between Leo and me to get a look at the show.  Sheesh, lately Don gets sent to the Hashi more than I do.  

  “Your ninjutsu training ends now until you stop this belligerent behavior!” No more training? ....Whoa. Splinter is seriously teed off. He turns away from Donnie who’s gaining his balance on the wood plank. He chants something we can’t hear as he closes his eyes. After a minute or so Sensei looks over his shoulder at Don. “My son, you make choices in life, and then there are times when choices will make you.  I suggest you take time to think about the choices you are currently making.”   

  “He’s coming,” Mikey squawks.  We all scramble from our eavesdropping just quick enough to line up…. too late to pretend we were doing anything else.  

  Sensei pauses in front of us and we immediately bow our heads.  “You are not to disturb your brother.” His solemn tone is like a block of ice. I clench my fists to keep from shuddering at his dangerously cold demeanor.  

  “Sensei, I thought you wanted me to supervise his Hashi session.”   I roll my eyes. Don’t your lips ever get tired of kissing tail, Leo?  

  “That will not be necessary. Donatello has much to consider and think about; he does not need any distractions.  Understood?”  Sorry, Fearless. Guess you’ll have to find someone else to boss around.      

  “Hai, Sensei,” we answer in unison. He seems satisfied with our response and continues his trek toward the kitchen, muttering something about needing tea.  

  “I wonder why he’s being so contrary with Sensei,” Leo says when he’s sure Splinter’s out of hearing range.  

  “Oh, well, let me dig through my pocket of ‘I know everything’ and find that out for ya….” I mockingly look in my belt pocket and clasp my hand into a fist. “Well, whatdaya know? All I have is a pocketful of How the Shell Should I Know?!” Leo glares with his usual sour disapproval of my sarcasm. I promptly ignore him and roll my eyes.  

  “Whatever, Raph. Just don’t bother him,” he commands just for freakin’ sake of commanding somebody and then pointing to Mikey. “…and you, get back to work cleaning Raph’s room.” Mikey gives an overly exaggerated groan as he drags himself like a zombie to my room. “I mean it, Raph. Sensei said no distractions.” Yeah, because obviously my sole purpose in life is to be an annoyance to those around me. I think Mikey’s pretty much got that role covered.  

  “Sheesh, Fearless, alright already!” I shoo him away with my hands. Leo finally moseys off to his room to meditate or do something else as equally boring, leaving me alone at the dojo’s doorway. I peer inside at my nerdy brother as he handles the spinning motion and bouncing ping-pong balls of his hashi with ease. Huh…. Guess practice really does make perfect. I smirk as he dutifully endures his punishment. Sorry, Fearless, but I can’t let this opportunity slip by.  

  Arms crossed, I causally scroll into the dojo. When he sees me, he automatically avoids eye contact and frowns at the space in front of him. This is so much better than watching him clean my room. “Ah. Revenge…. isn’t it remarkable how quickly it comes back to bite ya in the shell?”  The bitter expression on his face from hearing his words smeared back in his face like day old dog turd is priceless.  “If you’re trying to break my record, you’re gonna have to do at least 40 more Hashi’s.”  

  “Sixty-seven. You’ve had Hashi sixty-seven more times than I have.” It amazes me how he can be so doggone cocky and when he’s the one on punishment.  

  “Either way, you’re not gonna break it, so you might as well quit while you’re ahead, Bigfoot.”  His face hardens like a brick wall as he tries to ignore me. I smirk at him. I always know what buttons to push with my brothers, being just nasty enough to make them react. I’m an action kind of turtle, so I push until I get a reaction .  

  I push each of my brothers differently. When I push Leo, it’s usually to knock his arrogant shell off that freakin’ pedestal he’s always barking commands from. I shove Mr. Goody-two shoes hard enough to jolt him back to this reality; the reality where he’s allowed to make mistakes.  He ain’t gotta be perfect for Master Splinter or anybody else for that matter. He can be such a self-righteous prick and I’m just the turtle to take him down a notch.  

  I give Donnie a once-over and sigh heavily. I can’t even enjoy this picture perfect payback. Don’s been a regular resident of angst-ville for the past few months and it’s really getting on my nerves. As good as payback sounds right now, it'll have to wait until I figure out what's going on with 'Emo boy’ over here. “So what’s the deal? Why’ve you been actin’ like a broad on the rag?”  No response.  

  Pushing my younger brothers can be a little tricky. Don and Mike are wired different from me and Leo.  When we were kids, Don and Mike cried all the time. I took their toy, they cried; I called them names, they cried; I knocked ‘em on their shells, they freakin’ cried. It was downright embarrassing. They were always so tender-hearted and crap. So what did I do? ....I teased them, yelled at them, and bullied them. Somebody had to toughen them up.  It took a while, but Mikey finally started pushing back. He pushed back with wisecracks, pranks, and that annoying sunshiny attitude of his. But hey, if he wants to deal with stuff with the glass half full mentality, then fine, whatever. I don’t care, as long as I know he can deal.   

I give Don a hard look as he makes another rotation on the plank. I fight the urge to kick the soccer ball from beneath the beam of wood he’s balancing on.  

It’s really hard to make Don push back. When I heckled him as a kid, he just cried, and it wasn’t even a self-indulgent agonizing cry like Mikey’s; he just sat there mute with tears runnin’ down his face. He was like that until he started sticking his nose in books and makin’ stuff. Then when I pushed, he hid behind a wrench and an oversized textbook. Nowadays when I try to get a rise outta him, he throws some highfalutin words at me, but it’s always half-hearted…. he never really pushes back.   

“You deaf or something?”  

“Leave me alone, Raph.”  

“Oh, look he speaks!” I proclaim, arms in the air sarcastically acknowledging his muttered words.  

Donnie doesn’t deal with things—at all. He’s like a bottled soda that’s been shaken and beaten. Unscrew that lid and you’re bound to have a crap load drama to clean up. Everything people dish out to him, he just… takes. One day, Don’s gonna snap and we won’t have a loony bin to send him to. He’s stronger than that, I know it…. just wish he’d show it sometime. Keeping all that crap inside ain’t good for him. Yeah, I know, who am I to talk, but I don’t have a problem givin’ folks a piece of my mind or my fist when it’s necessary….. and sometimes when it ain’t necessary.  

So I’ll just keep pushing until he pushes back.  

“Seriously, what is your problem? Even I don’t give Splinter as much lip as you’ve been spewin’ out. I think he let ya off easy with that pimp slap.” I nod my head toward the glaring red mark on his cheek. “I’m surprised he didn’t pull your shell inside out.”  

“I don’t have a problem, so do yourself a favor and mind your own business.” I raise my eye ridges. Okay, he’s asking for another pimp slap and a beat down if he keeps flauntin’ that attitude with me. 

“Shell, you’re the one walkin’ around like someone killed your favorite science experiment. You’re makin’ it my business, Sasquatch.” I’m not so great at this emotional crap, so I’m offering my help the best way I can. He can take it or leave it.   

Then I finally see it. A small chip in his robotic armor as his stance hardens, and he nearly loses his balance. “Stop calling me that!” he barks at me.   

“Whoa! Look who’s finally got a backbone!” I step back with faux intimidation. Now we’re getting somewhere. If I don’t know anything else, I know anger when I see it, and Donnie-boy’s just about filled to the brim with it.  I see that familiar glossy-eyed glare and I think maybe if I push a little harder, he’ll break outta this stupid funk he’s in. “What, you gonna cry now?  Shell, I call you names all the time… dork, nerd-boy, poindexter, bigfoot—” I stop my list of brotherly nicknames when his eye twitches and I can practically hear his teeth grinding from pent-up  rage.   

“What? ...You mad about ‘bigfoot’? ...Really?” I look down at his feet which are practically hanging off the edge of the balance beam. “Dude, get over yourself. What, you think you’re the only freak around here? You mope around like we’re supposed to feel sorry for you. So what? ...Your feet are humongous, you eat like a freakin’ hippopotamus, and you got a few extra spots and scales…. nobody cares!” Seriously, I couldn’t care less about his silly growth spurts;  he seems to be the only one who has a problem with it. He’s clutching the paddles in his hands so tightly his knuckles are white. Good, I'm getting through to him. He’s gonna start yelling, cursing, and maybe even throw his paddles at me. He’ll get whatever’s buggin’ him off his chest and we can move on from this.  

“If you’re done degrading me, I would like to finish my punishment in peace.”  And just like that he pulls everything back inside to be shaken up until he explodes later like a volcano. I growl as I narrow my eyes. Shell, I don’t have time for this. Yelling, I can deal with. A good knock-out-drag-out, heck yeah, I can work through that, but not this.  Let Leo or Mikey deal with his drama. “Screw it, sit in your stinkin’ self-pity as long as you want. Matter of fact, I hope you beat my hashi record.  I’m going out with Casey.”  

I turn abruptly on my heels as I head for the door, but the bitterness in his tone makes me pause as I catch the tail end of his whiny venting.  

“….always side with that toothless punk…. not like you ever had my back anyway.” He says it so low, I almost think he’s talking to himself, but it’s enough to make my blood boil. I stomp over to him and slap the plank he’s balancing on so it spins him faster than he’s prepared for.   

“I don’t have your back? ... I don’t have your back?!  That’s a load of crap and you know it!” His eyes widen as he’s caught off guard by the sudden change in momentum and my shouting. He regains his balance on the spinning plank while still hitting the ping-pong balls in rhythm. “Who the shell do you think texted Casey when you were on your little date night with April, huh?” I disgustingly emphasize ‘date night’ with air quotes. “I knew you’d crash and burn with Casey there… I was trying to help, ya moron!  You’re such an idiot!”  He stares at me, his mouth hanging open catching flies. “Don’t look so surprised, genius.”  

“I didn’t need your help.”  

“Riiiight…. whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy, and for the record, I don’t side with Casey.” He snorts bitterly, which only serves to further tick me off along with his stupid accusation. “You got something to say, Brainiac? ...’Cause frankly, I’m gettin’ really sick of this pissy attitude of yours.”  

“If you’re so tired of me, then go screw off with Casey and leave me the shell alone! ”   

Instead of taking a moment to breathe out my frustrations like Sensei taught me, I grab the end of the plank and spin it with enough force to make Don look like one of those spinning top toys. He yelps as the paddles come flying from his hands and the ping-pong balls bounce to the floor. As the balancing plank comes to a wobbly stop, Donnie sways like a drunk before tumbling to the floor.   

“Screw you! You have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t take Casey’s side over yours— ever. ” Shell, when Casey’s being a butthole about Don, I’m the one who shuts him up. I’m the only one who gets to talk about what a pansy the Beanpole is.  

“You treat me like a worthless piece of crap…. but then again, you’ve always seen me that way.”  

I glare at that ungrateful idiot. Why is it when I try to help, I get accused of being this horrible person?  I hate when people put words in my mouth. I pull my fist back ready to make him swallow those words, but I stop when I get a good look at him. He’s trembling and looks a few shades paler than he was moments ago. I flinch when a gag reflex jerks him forward as his hand hovers over his mouth.   

“If you puke in here, I ain’t cleanin’ it up.” My words are crude, but the sentiment of “are you okay?’ is clearly behind them. When I’m sure he’s not going to barf on me, I offer him a hand up. He glares at me before indignantly slapping my hand away. Pushing himself to his feet, he sways a bit as he holds his hand to his temple.  “Geez, will ya sit down before ya fall down?” I try to maneuver him to one of the cinderblocks of his hashi, but the Beanpole curses loudly and shoves me with a tenacity that takes me by surprise.  

“I’m not weak, so back off!”  

Where the shell did that come from?.... “Okay, you looked like you were gonna toss your cookies five seconds ago, but I guess you’re just dandy now, huh?” I roll my eyes, shoving him back with just a much force as he dished out to me. “Stop being such a stinkin’ drama queen and—”  

“Raphael!...”  I nearly jump out of my shell as my name cracks like a whip from my Sensei’s tongue. “Were my instructions unclear when I told you not to disturb your brother?”   

“No, but I was just tryna—”  

“Then you intentionally disobeyed me?”  

“But he was—”  

“Hashi, now!”  

“WHAT?!” I stare at him dumbfounded by the turn of events. I turn back to Donnie and to my surprise, the green skyscraper managed to slip out unseen. “But... but….” Here I am checking on nerd-boy, making sure he ain’t turning into some suicidal emo, and I’m the one gettin’ in trouble. My skin burns hot with rage at the unfairness of it all. I scream a single swear that makes Splinter’s ears flatten against his head.  I drag the tricycle from the corner of the room and snatch the knitting needles and ball of yarn from the shelf. I wish I were an only child.

Chapter Text

I massage my temple as I lean my shell against my closed lab door.  Thankfully, I was able to slip out of the dojo unnoticed by Sensei and Raph. My body trembles with anger, frustration, and pain. I just need a few moments to clear my thoughts…  

Donatello! Your form is horrible! These are basic defense techniques you of all people should know how to do!  

Leo’s continuous commentary about my incompetency echo through my mind from morning practice.  

Hey Don, the circus called and the clowns want their feet back!  

I breathe deeply through my nose as Raph’s voice joins Leo’s in my head making it extremely difficult to focus on anything else but their belittling and hurtful words.  

Donatello, you have deeply disappointed me.  

As my father’s voice intertwines with my two older brothers’, it’s enough to make my chest ache as the intake of air gets caught in my throat.  

Weak and pathetic…. they can all see it, smell it…. it reeks from you like rotting flesh.  

I need to calm down.  

You can’t control it, can you? ...The pain. The rage. The hunger…..  

Focus, I just need to focus. This time it’s not so easy to bury these feelings… the action is almost painful as my chest burns with emotional indigestion.  The only thing that takes my mind off this assault of sentiments is the sudden sharp pain running down my spine.  

I think about parabolas, the quadratic equation, anything to take my mind off the pain in my back. It’s been a constant throb since last night…. I grind my shell against the door hoping enough pressure will massage out the onslaught of spasms coursing through my vertebrae. Eventually, the pain tapers off only for my stomach to start doing somersaults.  

“Not again…” I’ve been feeling sick all morning.  As much as I hate throwing up, I just wish I would vomit already.  Anything is better than this impending feeling of being sick without actually being sick. I wince and clasp my hand over my stomach when it growls with pangs of hunger. I don’t understand how it’s possible to be starving and nauseous at the same time.  As the hunger pains outride the nausea, I slip into the kitchen and grab a container of leftover ramen from the refrigerator. I don’t even bother to heat it up as I take it back to my lab, closing the door behind me.  

Feeling a little light-headed, I ease into my swivel chair. Forking a spindle of noodles into my mouth, I face my computer with a sigh. I spent most of last night completing a time-sensitive step in the retromutagen process; however, I still managed to partially analyze my blood samples. With a few taps on my keyboard, the results of my blood test appear on the screen.    

My brows raise with disbelief. My Basal Metabolic Rate should not be that high. If these results are accurate, then I’m practically burning as many calories sitting still as I am after a morning of training.  No wonder I’m always starving.  I finish off the last strands of ramen noodles and notice my dizziness has eased off considerably. My testosterone levels are pretty high, too, which may attribute to these sudden bouts of…. irritability.  A wave of guilt washes over me as the events of last night force its way to the forefront of my mind. I almost killed that kid.   

Geez, and Mikey….  

I sigh as I rub my hand down my face. I was absolutely horrible to him. He’s my only brother who hasn’t completely turned on me and I tried to throttle him last night. I really hope he doesn’t say anything to Sensei, I can’t take another Hashi session right now. Guilt is quickly replaced with lividness at the thought of my father.   

He despises you.  

He hates me. A stinging warmth radiates from the spot as I rub the side of my face where he struck me. It’s the only logical reason I can think of for why he treats me with such scorn. I’m not as good as my brothers and never will be. My skills are not effortless like Leo’s, aggressive like Raph’s, or as creative as Mikey’s. I build machines from human junk, solve equations in my head quicker than most college professors, yet it’s still not good enough  

I’m not good enough.   

My father is finally tired of my incompetence.  He can barely stand the sight of me without averting his eyes. It hurts more than I care to admit. He doesn’t even lead our training sessions anymore, just orders Leo to do it.  

Instead of giving way to my wounded emotions, I allow anger to pressure my mind like a vice. Why does he look down on my logical way of thinking? Why does he always pry and poke at my feelings? He just wants to prove how weak I am.  I grind my teeth so hard, they scratch together like nails on a chalkboard.  

Are you just going to take that abuse? Make him pay… make them all pay.  

I gasp as the familiar thought whispers its way into my mind. Squeezing my eyes shut I briskly shake my head. No. Even if they think I’m worthless, I won’t let thoughts like that control me again… not like last night. I narrow my eyes with conviction. I need to perform a more thorough analysis of my blood samples.  There are a number of medical conditions and disorders that could cause these symptoms. I swallow nervously as the names of various illnesses and diseases spin around in my brain like a centrifuge.   

What’s the matter?  Afraid of what you’ll find lurking in the  blood of your veins?....  

Determined to prove my inner thoughts wrong, I take purposeful steps toward the lab table of blood-filled test tubes and begin preparing a sample to examine. The quicker I know what’s wrong, the quicker I can fix it.  

I frown as I look under the microscope.  I just need to adjust the focus a bit and….  

“Ack!” I jump slightly from the unexpected jingle of my T-phone. Steadying the microscope, I manage to catch the small tubes of blood before they shatter to the floor. I fumble in my belt pocket to retrieve the offending device. My heart stops when I see the name on the screen of my phone.  

“April?” I answer the phone with a slight squeak, not exactly ready to have a conversation with her just yet. I mean, last night was great, fantastic, and every other wonderful adjective I can think of to describe it but I can’t…I can’t deal with that right now.   

“Hey Donnie. Just checking in to make sure you survived punishment this morning.”  

“How did you know I had Hashi?” I demand in shock. I didn’t want her to know about that… how could she have known about that?!...  

“…Um, you texted me last night remember?... You know, two hours extra training and cleaning Raph’s room.  You didn’t mention anything about the Hashi, though. What happened?”  

I sigh softly at my clumsy slip up. “…Uh..well…..remember when I told you Sensei and I weren’t seeing eye to eye on things?....”  I trail off not wanting to go into detail about the exchange of words that led to the Hashi.  

“Oh, Donnie, are things really that bad between you and Sensei?”  

I’m too ashamed to tell her Sensei refuses to train me in ninjutsu anymore or that he nearly slapped me into oblivion.  I don’t want her to know how horrible I am. I want her to still like me… for her to still see me as the turtle she kissed last night before all this madness.  

Oh, isn’t that sweet? You want to screw her now, lover-boy? Hey, would you snap her neck before or after you had your way with her?  

“I… I really need to get back to work.”  The words rush out of my mouth as the thoughts hacking into my mind become more brutal and vivid. I can almost visualize April’s battered and bruised head twisted in a unnatural manner. The imagery of it fascinates me just as much as pounding in that kid’s face….wait, wh-what am I thinking?!  “I have to go.” I move the phone away from my ear slit, but pause when I hear her shout my name on the other end.  

“Donnie, wait! I didn’t mean to upset you.” Her voice is pleading, but I ignore the way it pulls at something warm and loving inside of me.  

“I have a lot of tests to run to see what’s wrong…… I mean to make sure nothing is wrong with… with… the retromutagen.” I stumble over my words as I try desperately to get off the phone.  

“Do you need any help?”  

“It’s fine, really.  I just—”   

I could come over and—”  

“No! I said it’s fine , so just drop it!” There’s a growling undertone beneath the sudden burst of anger in my voice. Still clutching the T-phone, my hand shakes nervously. The line is silent aside from the hitch in April’s breathing. My mouth is partially open as I stand there, still holding the phone to my ear. It’s too late to take back my harsh words and before I can muster an apology the call ends. I curse loudly as I throw my T-phone at the adjacent wall and watch it crack in two.  The two sides of the phone rock back and forth after hitting the floor, its wires and electronic components scattered. I curse again before sighing angrily and picking up the broken pieces. Keep it together, Donatello. Whatever crazy emotions are running rabid in my mind, I need to bury them. I need to be objective, functional, and logical.  

Placing the broken pieces of my T-cell in a ‘fix me’ pile on my desk to repair later, I return my attention to my blood samples. These violent thoughts are giving me reason for immediate concern. Knowing that she was at the center of those terrible images in my mind is unnerving. No more interruptions, I’m going straight to—  

The intensifying nausea in my stomach stops me in my tracks. This time it’s not a tease, but a definite warning of gross things to come. Rushing out of my lab and into the bathroom, I manage to close the door before dropping to my knees and vomiting into the toilet. Breakfast and lunch force their way up my esophagus, burning the back of my throat as it spews from my mouth with vengeance. Groaning, I lean away from the toilet, rubbing my plastron as the spasms in my stomach begin to fade. I grimace at the discolored chunks in the bowl. I flush before my stomach decides to turn on me again. Throwing up doesn’t give me much relief. I just feel even more miserable than before. My eyes widen at the rumbling beneath my plastron…. okay, I’m miserable and hungry…. again.   

The sudden pounding on the door jerks me out of my thoughts.  

“Hurry the shell up in there! I need the shower! It doesn’t take that long to pee or take a dump!”  Raph’s voice grates my nerves as I pull myself from the floor. I splash a bit of water on my face before quickly pulling the door open. He blinks with surprise to find me in the bathroom, but the surprise is washed away and replaced with a seething glare.  

“Move it, Sasquatch .” He shoves me out the bathroom. The way he sneers that insulting name at me sticks to something at the depths of my core like a weight of heavy malice. The door slams as I retreat to my lab.  

You should’ve slit his throat. Let him bleed out like a filthy pig, and then—  

I ignore the murderous thought as I march over to the lab table and prepare a fresh blood sample for the microscope. I release my breath to calm my nerves before I look through the lens.  

“Oh no…. that cannot be good.”  Magnifying my blood sample to the highest resolution, I can’t believe what my eyes are seeing.   

I flop down on the end of the couch and ease Donnie’s laptop on top of my crossed legs. Leo’s on the other end watching the evening news. I look back towards the closed lab door. Donnie’s been cooped up in there all afternoon. Hopefully, I’ll have his laptop back in his bedroom way before he knows it’s missing.   

Donnie totally freaked me out last night. Truthfully, at some point, all of my brothers have threatened me in one way or another, but last night was different. For a brief moment, there was  a dark gleam in his eyes and in the back of my mind I feared for my life. A dude should never feel that way about his own bro.    

“I hope Raphael’s room is clean before you start playing games on Donatello’s laptop.” Leo gives me a sideways glance.  

I ignore his bossy tone. “Totally cleaned, bruh. Everything is exactly how it was…I even put the dust back on his shelves.” I give him a cheeky smile. His half-lidded eyes are unamused.   

“Did Donnie help you after he finished Hashi?” He asks as if he’s looking for a reason to get on Donnie’s case again.   

“Yeah,” I quickly lie, burying my face closer to the laptop screen to keep Leo from questioning me any further. Honestly, Donnie didn’t even try to help a turtle out, but I get it. He really wasn’t himself last night or this morning. He was scary quiet and totally zoned out in practice, and his aura was downright creepy. The evil black stuff surrounding his purple aura is getting worse. It’s growing and spreading like a sticky web. The imagery of gears in his headspace are spluttering and getting stuck as the darkness gets thicker, filling the nooks and crannies of his mind. It got worse every time Leo or Raph yelled at him in practice.  Whatever this dark crud invading my bro’s aura is, I gotta stop it. Leo’s too busy playing follow the leader to listen to me; I could barely get Don’s name out of my mouth before Raph bit my head off saying, ‘I don’t wanna to talk about that bratty little snot, so beat it’; and Sensei totally broke the sound barrier with a slap heard around the world. He hasn’t left his room since this morning, so he must still be pretty ticked off at Donnie. So, that leaves me to figure out what’s going on with my brainy brother.   

I type the word ‘aura’ and press enter. The search brings up everything from migraines to soothsayers. I click on a site called Aura Awareness. I read through as much of the introductory page as my attention span will allow before I start rapidly scrolling down the page. My eyes widen with raised brows as the sight of two words make me scroll back up a few sentences.  

Black auras. Hunching over slightly, I fervently read over the section:  

Black or muddied colors in the headspace and core can indicate blockages in the thought and feeling process.   

Dude, I was totally on point with the blockage of feels!   

Any darkening of one’s auric color can denote a problem, whether physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual. Individuals with darkened auras may be prone to severe depression.  

Donnie’s dealing with his whole growth spurt thing and working overtime trying to make the retromutagen with no success so far. That’s enough to bum anybody into depression. The more I read, the more worried I am about my brother. The increasing sound of a newscaster’s voice, makes me frown at Leo as he leans forward and presses the volume on the remote. I watch the TV to see what grabbed my eldest brother’s attention.  

“This is Carlos Chiang O’Brien Gambe coming to you live from King Street at the scene of a horrible assault. Fourteen-year-old Malique Johnson was found brutally beaten right here at approximately 12:30 this morning. Johnson is alive but in critical condition at Kings County hospital.  Police stated when they arrived at the scene of the crime, Johnson’s face was severely beaten more than likely with a blunt object. The charity center was also broken into, with money scattered everywhere. There’s evidence Johnson was not alone in this attack, but witnesses have yet to come forth. Police are urging citizens to be extremely watchful while—”  

Feeling an eerie chill under my shell, I tune out the rest of the broadcast. That’s the same charity center where Donnie and I were fighting off those kids. Pieces of the truth slowly come together, and then rapidly merge forming a mental picture as my brain realizes in horror what really happened last night.  

Donnie said I was whacked in the head. He said he took care of the last kid. He had blood smear all over his plastron.  I don’t want to believe that my brother beat that kid within an inch of his life, but deep down I know.  I know his aura was seriously jacked up. I know he was upset, he was furious…. and I was afraid of him. Remembering my dream last night, I feel a whole new level of dread.  

I hear Leo sigh from the other side of the couch. “That kid had no business being out so late, especially with maniacs like that roaming the streets. It’s a real shame. Hopefully the police will find him soon.”  

I don’t offer any commentary as I start typing again. Something tells me I’m just scratching the surface of whatever’s going on with Donnie. A sense of urgency makes my fingers tingle with anxious energy as I type with newfound purpose.  

I spent several hours analyzing and reanalyzing my blood samples, but the results are still the same.  

For the umpteenth time, I slide a sample of my blood from a few months ago under the microscope and compare it to the recent sample. My old blood sample is similar to my brothers’; the cells have a unique human-turtle DNA make-up, intertwined with traces of mutagen. Specks of mutagen are visible at a microscopic level in our cellular structure. Flipping the lens to my most recent blood sample, I can see the mutagen multiplying in my cells. I watch in horror as legions of mutagen particles seem to have a mind of their own as they latch on to other cells, break down them down, and rebuild them right before my eyes.  

I’m mutating .  

I barely have a chance to process this fact as an unexpected pain burns in my spine like fire traveling up a gasoline-soaked pole. I stumble backwards until my shell hits the wall. The harsh collision with the wall causes a burst of pain that sucks the air from my lungs, forcing the imminent scream back into my throat. I almost black out as a new form of agony rips through my back and spreads like electricity from my neck down to my feet simultaneously. I fold like a ragdoll to the floor as my legs give out beneath me. It feels like hours have passed, but the pain finally abandons me, leaving a dull ache in my neck, back, and feet. Pushing myself to my hands and knees, I rub the back of my neck, but instantly stop as fear and panic grip my mind. There’s a considerable lump on my neck just below the ridge of my carapace. I hiss at the tenderness of the bulging flesh.   

“Ah!” As I stand, my heels are also tender and sore. Leaning my side against the wall, I gingerly lift my foot at an angle so I can see it. There’s a trickle blood trailing from my heel.  

….Is… is that a bone?!  

A small white tip, no bigger than head of a marker, is sticking out of my swollen and discolored heel. The same pointed tip is on my other foot as well. Ever the scientist, I can’t help but inspect it. Both bone spurs protrude approximately half an inch from my heel. I gasp as it moves when I tense the muscles in my heel.  

For several minutes I just stand there trying to grasp what just happened, trying to understand this horrific discovery. The sudden growth spurts, enlarged feet, ravenous appetite, and now these ‘growths’ on my feet and neck…. they are all part of this new mutation. But why now… why me ?  What’s causing this drastic increase of mutagenic cells? Am I having a secondary mutation? ....But how is that even possible?  I’m always extremely careful when handling mutagen. I’ve never had a drop  touch my skin. Besides, the effects of skin contact with mutagen is pretty immediate; I would have known before now if I managed to accidentally touch any of it. It’s not happening to my brothers or Sensei, so this has to be something unique to my mutagenic anatomy…. yes, that makes sense.  

Yes, it does makes sense. There’s always been something different about you, something wrong… something not quite like your brothers.   

An overwhelming feeling of insecurity blankets my mind.  I… I can’t tell anyone about this, not yet.    

What’s the matter? Afraid your family will reject you? ...Oh, wait they already have. Leonardo, Raphael, and even Master Splinter think you are waste of breathing space.  

“But not Mikey. He still thinks I’m worth something,” I rebut the voice that now sounds like it belongs to someone standing beside me, even though I am alone in my lab.  

Yes, but for how long? How long will it take for him to turn on you as well? ….For him to see the pathetic, worthless, sorry shell of a freak you are? He knows there’s something wrong with you.  The way you mutilated that kid…. it’s only a matter of time before you do it again. Then your dear little brother will see what a vicious monster you really are.  

“Shut up!” Clutching the sides of my head, I snap fiercely at the empty space around me.  

Make me.   

“Ugh! This is nonsense! I’m talking to myself!”  

No, genius, you’re talking to me, and it’s about time, too. I was starting to think you were an idiot like that revolting little brother of yours.    

Is this mutation causing verbal hallucinations?  

Hallucination? Is that all I am to you? You wound me, Donatello. I thought we had something special.   

Okay, I’m hearing things that clearly aren’t there. I think I need to lay down for a bit to clear my head.  This is a lot to process. I take a moment to disinfect the bone spurs on my heels before covering them with my foot wrappings. They don’t hurt as badly now, but they feel awkward like I’m walking with an extra toe. There isn’t much I can do about the lump on my neck. Looking in the mirror above the hand-washing area, I can see its hidden pretty well beneath the cuff of my upper shell. It’s still sore as I gently press on the lump. There’s also heat beneath it…probably inflammation. Grabbing a small ice pack from my mini fridge, I place it over the area. I can’t help but steal a glance at myself in the mirror. My olive green skin is starting to take on a blotchy artichoke color. Even with my mask on, my eyes are faded and tired. I look just as bad as I feel. At the steady rate at which my cells are mutating, I might have another month and a half at most before….  

No, I can’t think about that right now. With decisiveness, I consider the last canister of mutagen at my computer desk.  I need to stop the mutation in my cells, or at least slow them down. Surely, I can manipulate the batch of retromutagen I’m working on to act as an inhibitor for my wayward cells.  

Still in denial, huh? You actually think this is something that needs to be ‘fixed’?   

I shake my head side to side. No, I can fix this. My family may think I’m a failure, but in the realm of Science, I am king.  I yawn as I sit on the medbay. The adrenaline rush from this most recent ‘mutation’ has worn off and my limbs are heavy with exhaustion as I lay down. A clear mind will give me a fresh start in the morning. The mattress concaves slightly to weight of my body as I eventually fall asleep while calculating workable chemical equations for the inhibitor.    

I’ll show you I’m much more than just a hallucination…..  

Massaging the fur along my brow, I conclude my meditation.  There was a time when I perceived my sons to be a handful as toddlers. Now I wonder if I have spoken too soon. As teenagers they are proving to be quite challenging. I often find myself longing for their younger selves.   

Leonardo still struggles with his role as leader.  It was glaringly obvious during his brothers’ tomfoolery yesterday and even more so during this morning’s practice. Unbeknownst to them, I watched as they trained. Complete discord. Leonardo’s only solution was to bark orders until someone listened. Unfortunately, no one listened.  He either lets his brothers take complete advantage of him or he militantly tries to control them. He has yet to find an equilibrium between the two. I cannot teach him this skill; I can only hope the balance will come to him over time and through experience.  

Raphael, my strong son and also my most vocally passionate.  He constantly cries neglect and injustice with his fiery temper.  I assumed Leo’s order for Michelangelo and Donatello to clean the disastrous mess they made in his room was fair retribution for his…. embarrassment. Unfortunately, this was not the case, because I found him antagonizing Donatello when I specifically told him not to disturb his brother. His disobedience left me no choice but to reward him with his own Hashi session.  

Michelangelo’s laughter and joyous disposition was strangely absent today. My two younger sons have always been very close. I can only imagine how Donatello’s recent change in behavior is affecting my youngest. Michelangelo is my most emotionally sensitive child and often takes his brothers’ mannerisms to heart.  I could see the worry and hurt in his eyes as Donatello was especially distant from him today.  

I release the disquiet in my soul with a sigh as my thoughts drift with trepidation to Donatello. His worsening behavior is taxing to this old heart. I have never experienced such stubbornness and rage from my second youngest. I fear he surpasses Raphael with his temperament. There is a saying that one draws more flies with honey than vinegar. It seems all our private sessions start as honey and escalate to a vinegary aftertaste.  I have tried reasoning with him to the best of my ability. I have done everything short of going into his aura myself to find the root of this darkening attitude. As tempting as it is to step into his aura, to do so uninvited could prove to be dangerous for both of us, as Donatello has been anything but open to the idea of exploring his aura.  

I am at my wit’s end. I do not know how else to reach him without pushing him further away, so instead I will love him enough to release my grip. If he does not desire my teaching, I will allow life to be his teacher instead. However, life’s lessons will not be as kind as I am. It pains me to do this, but no amount of hashi sessions will break his resolve…. it is why I said nothing as he slipped away to his lab while I reprimanded Raphael.   

I look down at the hand I used to strike Donatello.  All of my sons have received disciplinary knocks from my walking stick from time to time, but when I struck Donatello it was not for discipline, but out of enragement. It is the first time I struck any of my children in anger. Blinking the mist from my eyes, its times like this I wonder how Tang Shen would have handled this situation.  

She would have been patient, kind, and understanding. She would have found  a way to reach Donatello, but never a hand would she have raised.  

I should never have hit him in such a way, but I believe the decision to stop his training is needed for now. I cannot teach someone who does not wish to be taught. He mocks my warnings of spiritual dangers.  Donatello has struggled with the concepts of logic and spirit for many years, but I fear this struggle has come to a crossroads in which he must conduct his own soul-searching to challenge the very things he holds as self-truths. Until then, I cannot continue his teachings in ninjutsu. To do so would leave him unprepared and vulnerable to enemies that prey not only on the body, but also the spirit.   

After this latest argument, I think it is best to allow space between Donatello and myself to avoid fanning the flames of anger between us. It will allow us a chance to reflect on our words and actions. I am too burdened with worry for my troubled son to sleep.  Resuming my meditative position, I pray for much needed guidance.  

A nagging hollowness at my core pulls me back from the brink of sleep and into a state of drowsy consciousness. Curling onto my side, I groan as my stomach grumbles its demand for food. I squeeze my eyes shut as I try to ignore the deep whines of my belly, but it refuses to be overlooked as it mandates my immediate attention with hunger pains clawing viciously at the walls of my intestines.  

“Gah!” My eyes spring open at the flaring pain in my stomach. Forgetting the short width of the medbay, I find myself falling to the floor with hard thud. With arms still wrapped around my middle, I push myself to a sitting position. I stare up at the ceiling trying to calm my ragged breathing. Hugging my stomach tighter, I grunt as I reflexively pull my knees to my chest.  It feels like medieval torture as my intestines coil and uncoil like barbwire against the lining of my body cavity. I can barely think pass this pain as I feel myself slipping, fading into the background of this incurable hunger. I have to make it stop.  

My vision blurs and I feel like a passenger in my own body as my legs seem to move of their own accord. Am I sleepwalking? ....I’m not sure, but I am sure of the excruciating cramping of my innards. The pain no longer cripples me but pushes me forward. I don’t remember leaving my room, but somehow find myself in front of the kitchen. A tantalizing smell overpowers my nostrils…. Food.  

Stumbling to the table, I lean against a chair while rubbing my plastron, trying to soothe the agonizing sensation of starvation. I need something to eat, anything to make this never-ending hunger stop. I sniff the air, following the scent to the fridge.  Yanking open its door, I hiss as its bright light showers over me. I take a long sniff inside the rectangular storage of food and immediately begin to salivate. Within seconds, I find the source of the savory scent and single-handedly lunge for it. I take no heed to my lack of eating utensils and dive in teeth first. It’s juicy and soft, so I don’t bother chewing, finding it quicker to just swallow. I groan in delight as I slide down the open refrigerator. The coolness against the back of my head feels nice, but it’s nothing compared to this mouthwatering food. I don’t even open my eyes, I just relish the relief in my poor belly. No longer driven by painful hunger, I slowly drift back into a state of control. I sigh like a happy drunk, and sluggishly open my eyes.  

“What... what…”  I stutter as my hands tremble in shock and confusion. In my upturned palms are the remains of a pink foam plate. The last chunk of food in my mouth loses its appeal and now feels wet and mushy. It tastes grainy and metallic. The ninja lifestyle has made me accustomed to the bitter taste of blood in my mouth, but not like this.  Never like this.   

I just ate raw meat. Ground beef to be exact.  

I feel nausea but instead of throwing up, I swallow it. I just devoured raw meat… and it was delicious .  

Still think I’m just a figment of your imagination?...  

Chapter Text

Humming a TV jingle, I plop eight more hot dogs into a bowl and microwave them for 20 seconds.  Since Master Splinter doesn’t train him anymore, Donnie spends his days and nights in his lab working on the retromutagen. After the whole alley incident, Donnie avoided me. His apprehension was pretty obvious in his aura. So one day, I just came in his lab and started talking about my newest comic book. He looked surprised for a moment, but relaxed when he realized I wasn’t upset with him.  He never said anything more about that kid and I continue to play dumb and don’t ask.   

“Yo, D! I got hot dogs just like you asked.” Hold up the bowl of wieners as I enter the lab.   

“Thanks, Mikey.” With a grateful smile, he lifts up his googles. He happily starts snacking on the hot dogs I brought him.    

“No problem, D.” I smile as I nod. I think maybe his appetite is finally leveling out because he’s not eating every thirty minutes like he used to, but when he does eat, he eats a lot , mostly meat...mostly hot dogs. I watch as he scarves down his seventh hot dog. I try not to stare or visibly wince at how fast and aggressively he eats. A couple of nights ago, Raph said something him inhaling food like a hoover.  After that, he stopped eating with us; he just hoards food back to his lab.  

He polishes off the last of sixteen hot dogs, before getting up to grab another canister of mutagen. His shell is facing me, so he doesn’t see how I stare up at him in awe. He’s as tall as Sensei now. Lately, he walks like there’s stick in his shell, really stiff like each step is painfully uncomfortable. He just hasn’t been himself. Sometimes, it’s even hard to sense his aura; I have to look down at his plastron just to make sure it’s still there.  I think Donnie’s aura is in trouble, maybe on the verge of depression.  At least that what I figured from the internet. These past two weeks have been pretty scary in Donnie’s aura. The darkness is still there, refusing to let go of the parts of his aura that it has already claimed. I’m kinda surprised Donnie hasn’t shut me out like he has with everyone else. I just sorta slip into his lab and he doesn’t say anything.  Sometimes I get the feeling that he wants me to stick around even though never invites me to.  

  “So you think you have enough mutagen now?” Leo, Raph, and me were able to find more mutagen canisters near the docks, but not before fighting off Nessie.  That’s the name of the mutant we found guarding the mutagen. Nessie totally had the hots for Raphie, ah…but that’s a tale for another time.  

  “Yeah, this should be more than enough, I don’t have much time…I mean, with the mutated citizens out there and all.” I nod in understanding as he pours mutagen into a beaker to boil it on a hot plate. With my knees in the lab stool, I lean over the table to get a better look at what Donnie’s doing. The chair creaks and whines as I balance it from four legs to two and back again.   

  “Mikey, stop that.” I pull myself out of my thoughts as the stool my knees are balancing on clunks down on four legs again. He sounds distracted, but not annoyed.  

  I sigh nonchalantly as I watch the mutagen start to boil into big frothy bubbles. I tap my wrist and knuckles against the table and beatbox a few hot beats as he lowers the temperature on the hot plate. “So, April came by this week for practice.  She asked about you….again.”  April never asks about Donnie, she just kinda frolics back to his lab and disappears in here for hours at a time. Ever since their kissing session, April pretty much avoids Donnie’s lab, and Donnie doesn’t exactly go out of his way to talk to her either. It’s like watching two rhythm-less people trying to foxtrot, neither one is comfortable around the other. If kissing makes things this awkward, then I’ll pass thank you very much.  

  “She knows I’ve been busy, Mikey.”  

  I shrug. “That never kept you from hanging out with her before.”  

  “It’s better this way…” He mutters dejectedly more to himself than to me. I frown, but decide not to push the issue. Sticking out his tongue with a trademark ‘hm’, he looks under his microscope and jots something down in his notepad. He writes a bunch of signs, numbers, and other gibberish that makes absolutely no sense to me. I don’t pay much attention when the pen drops from his hand and rolls on the notepad, but when he doesn’t move at all I start to freak out a little.  

  “D, you alright, bro?”  I ask but he doesn’t answer he just stares straight ahead with this faraway look in his eyes. There are small tremors coursing through his hands as he tightens them into fists.  I hadn’t noticed how scaly and big his hands are. I dare to look at his aura and gasp as the previously sluggish darkness is now bubbling to life covering more ground of his aura. “Earth to Donnie, come in dude!” I lean over the table and shake him by the arm.  

  “That’s not true!” His hushed voice is rushed and a little panicked.  

  “What’s not true?” His eyes are like saucers as he stares at me a little dazed. Blinking owlishly there are traces of both confusion and distress in his brown eyes.  

  “Nuh-nothing, just….correcting some formulas…” He fumbles to pick up his pen and starts writing in his chicken scratch handwriting again. I glance down at his aura. I picked up some tips for the internet, so I’m getting better at reading auras. Sometimes I can even pick up on words without having to drift.  Well, maybe they’re not words exactly, but more like strong impressions that translate into words. Like, right now, Donnie’s given off some really strong impressions. Broken sentences like ‘You nothing…no good’….okay, so my translating needs a little work, but you get the point.  

  “Man, D, it’s pretty awesome how you’re making this retromutagen. It’s like a mad scientist’s lair up in here, yo. You’re gonna save a lot of people, bro.” Surely he knows how noble and super smart he is, but it never hurts to give a reminder, anything to chase those horrible impressions away from his aura.  

  “I just hope it works.” He breathes out a weighty sigh.  

  “Hey, it worked on Mr. O’Neil, right?”  

  “Yeah…”He gets this lost look in his eyes again, but slowly shakes his head and when he blinks, the look is gone.  

  “Hey, Donnie?”  

  “Hm?”  

  “How do you kill a mime?”  

  He huffs out a chuckle and then I see that toothy smile I haven’t seen in a while. “A silencer.”  

  I snicker. “So a blind man walks into a bar…”  

  “And a table…” Donnie’s smile starts to reach his eyes as he continues the joke.  

  “And a chair…” He laughs as I finish the end of the joke. Rubbing his hands down his face, he frowns thoughtfully at the lab table. For a moment, I think he will flip and tell me to get out. Several moments of silence pass between us.  

  “Have anymore jokes?” He speaks softly with small smile. My face cracks into a huge grin. That’s the only invitation I need to start telling more corny jokes and puns. In-between our laughter, I steal glances at his aura. The darkness is still there but it isn’t moving anymore. I can totally help D get over this depression. Piece of cake.  

You’re a fool. You’ll never stop me. I’ll break you and—  

“So what do you get when Chuck Norris walks into a monastery?”  

Yanked away from the vicious voice in my head, I offer my little brother half smile. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”  

“Nun-chucks.”  

“Seriously? I was pretty certain Chuck Norris invented the nunchucks when he defeated 100 evil nuns with two rulers tied together.”  

“Ooooooooooooh!” He cups his fist to his mouth and bobs his other hand up and down like a wanna-be hip-hopper.  “You get mad props for that one, bruh! Haha!”  

I smile a little more at Mikey’s antics. He starts telling a long-winded joke as I extract the core essence from the mutagen and place it in a culture plate.    

Does his voice grate your nerves. If you gut him, he’ll make a lot less noise.  

“…the boy was named ‘Denephew’….Get it? ‘Deniece, Denephew?’”  

I snort at the corny play-on-words. “Yeah, clever. Sounds exactly like something you would do.”  I’m glad Mikey and I are okay. If he shunned me like the rest of my family….I don’t even want to think about it.  Right now, he’s the only thing keeping me from drowning in my thoughts. Pretty ironic that his random and nonsensical rambling would be the very thing keeping me sane.   

I use to find comfort in the realm of my mind, taking pleasure in the wealth of knowledge accumulated there. Now my mind has become a place of nightmares filled with atrociously vile thoughts and bad memories.  

Memories of being teased, excluded, criticized, left behind….of being alone, dejected, angry….  

I briefly close my eyes an anchor myself back in the lab with Mikey and away from the sudden mental image of me slitting the throats of my family members. Usually I don't mind being alone in my lab, alone with my thoughts, but now my thoughts terrify me, smother me in to a cloud of darkness that I fear will eventually consume me.  These…these emotions I’m feeling are dreadful, absolutely terrifying.   

They don’t have to be.  

I look under the microscope at a new blood sample. I discovered the mutagen is not just destroying random cells.  It is specifically attaching to strands of my human DNA and obliterating them, and latching on to my reptilian genes and….manipulating them. With a little more research, I might  able to find a more detailed pattern in the manipulation, maybe even figure out what its manipulating my cells into.   

I sigh as I dust a flake of skin from forearm. I’m shedding again. Whatever I am mutating into is large. I shift from one foot to the other. I feel like I’m outgrowing my body. The arm and leg slots of my shell are starting to feel really uncomfortable as they cuff snuggly around my deltoid and quadriceps. The fact that I have no idea what’s actually happening under my shell makes me even more anxious to create this inhibitor.  

Adding a drop of the enhanced retromutagen to my blood sample, I watch fervently through the microscope for any changes. My shoulders drop in disappointment.   

I feel soft pat on my shell. “Don’t worry, bro, you totally got this.” I look down at Mikey, not realizing he managed to pick up on my failure.  I frown thoughtfully at my blood sample. Something is missing. Everything I’ve done so far with the mutagen has been through trial and error, but if I had some kind of ‘cheat sheet’ of mutagen properties, maybe I could figure this out quicker.  Maybe I won’t even need an inhibitor and I’ll be able to skip straight to an antidote.  

“Donatello, Michelangelo, meeting in the kitchen.” Mikey and I look at each other at the sound Leo brief instruction and pound on the door. Neither of us have any idea what this ‘team meeting’ could be about. As nitpicky at Leo’s been lately it could anything from someone leaving a cabinet open to the TV being too loud.   

Find a stopping point, Mikey and I join Raph and Leo in the kitchen. They’re already standing around the table apparently waiting on us. My height is an instant attention grabber as they at me. I feel like the elephant in the room that nobody wants to talk about…that nobody wants around.  Feeling out of place amongst them, I sit at the table while they stand. Crossing my arms on top of the table, I drum the scratched wood lightly and sigh. I hope this doesn’t take long, I don’t have a lot of time to waste.  

“When Raph was patrolling with Casey last night instead of practicing ,” Leo pointedly looks at Raph who merely raises in eye ridges indifferently.  “They spotted some Kraang activity near the old textile factory on Mercer St. It could be their new headquarters. We’ll scope out the area tonight, there will be no engaging in combat.” He narrows his eyes at Raph.  

“Geez, Can I just skip this scouting session, then? Because I really had my hopes on playing ‘Crack-a-Kraang’ tonight.”   

Leo: No we need you to help us cover the fourth quadrant of the building, and absolutely no combat, only observation.” He reiterates with an annoyed glance at Raph.  

My mood brightens as an idea comes to mind. “This is the perfect opportunity to hack into their central processing for Kraang intel.”  

“We are not ‘hacking’ into anything.” Leo frowns immediately shooting down my idea.  

“Psh, better than lame-shell surveillance duty.”  At least I won Raphael over to the idea. Leo’s still not budging though as he gives my red-band brother a withering glare.   

“Like I said, observation only. We need to know what we’re walking into before we go in guns blazing.”  

“I’m not going in guns blazing .” I sneer slightly at his implication.  “I’m just slipping in, grabbing data, and then I’m out.” He arches a warning brow at me that I’ve learned to interpret as ‘don’t push your luck,’ but I forge on anyway. Kraang files are exactly what I need to finally uncover some of the hidden properties of mutagen. I was able to crack their alphabetic language a while ago, so once I’m able to download the specific mutagen files, it’ll be smooth sailing fixing my metamorphosing cells.  

Maybe I can appeal to his logic. “Downloading this intel can hold the key to what the Kraang are really planning with all this mutagen. It could also—”   

“Enough, Donatello. This isn’t up for debate. You follow my orders and that’s final. Got it?” Creasing my brows, I’m a bit taken back by his words. “Donatello.”  I can’t hide the incredulous expression from my face at his audacity to use that tone with me like I’m some insolent child.   

 “Yeah, whatever. Let’s just go already.” I don’t wait for his response as I loudly scrape the chair against the floor as I push away from the table. Feeling their looks of confusion burrowing into the back of my shell, I head for the lab to grab my bo staff.  

Chapter Text

My muscles tense under the night’s cold air. Hurtling across rooftops, I can see the city lights below are brighter than usual in preparation for the upcoming holidays. With the vibes between my brothers so disjointed, it honestly doesn’t feel like that ‘time of year’. 

Master Splinter is expecting me to get this team under control. A recon mission is a perfect opportunity to get our dynamics back as a team and work on our stealth without running the risk of an unprepared combat. 

Raph’s movements are already hasty and reckless as he bounds crudely from rooftop to rooftop. I’ll have to keep close tabs on him to ensure he follows my no-fighting orders. Mikey is usually several meters ahead of us hooting and hollering, but tonight he’s particularly quiet and actually lagging behind, taking up the rear with Donnie. As we jump down to the last roof before the textile factory, I give Donnie a side glance.  

His feet thud loudly against the rooftop as Mikey’s soft landing follows beside him. I can’t help but frown with concern as I actually look past the nasty attitude he’s been broadcasting. He’s so different, but it’s not just the growth spurt. Refusing to put up with his guarded and boorish attitude, I haven’t taken much notice of Donatello and allowed him to simply lock himself away in his lab for weeks at a time. The holiday spotlights bordering the billboard behind us offer an ample amount of light as my eyes trail over Donnie’s awkward form.  The skin of his arms and legs are scaly and slightly cracked as the flaked skin extends into the inside of his shell. The brown spots are more pronounced against his ashen skin. His hands are so large now, they look like boxing mitts at the ends of his wrists. Even his walk is different as he makes his way over to where Raph and I are standing. There’s a stiffness in his walk as his legs bow out slightly with each step. He doesn’t drag his feet, but due to their size, they still scrub the ground. He walks with an exaggerated gait of someone the size of Dogpound. 

“He looks like crap,” Raph mutters to me. “If we did run into trouble he’s not gonna be much help.” I ignore his comment but a part of me knows he’s right. 

“Alright guys. Each of us will stake out a quadrant of the building. Donnie, Mikey, you two will take the southeast and southwest sides of the building. Raph and I will take the northeast and northwest. Everyone clear?” 

“Can I have southwest side, so I can sing ‘I feel pretty’?” I groan rubbing my hand down my face at Mikey’s childishness. 

“On the contrary, ‘West Side Story’ took place in the upper west side of New York city, not the lower west side.” Donnie says around a yawn. 

“Leo, can I have—” 

“No, Mikey, you cannot have the northwest side, now go to your post!” 

“Hmpf… you’re no fun.” My youngest brother pouts before somersaulting and then backflipping toward the south side of the factory.  

“Keep your communication gear on!” I whisper loudly to Raph and Mikey as they wave an acknowledgement before disappearing in the shadows beyond the rooftop. I grasp Donnie by his forearm before he goes into stealth mode. “Donnie, why don’t you and Mikey share a post if you’re not feeling well.” 

He glares at me before snatching his arm away. “Despite how incompetent you think I am, I can handle a stakeout, Leo,” he spits with a level of disdain that almost makes me back off. 

“I never once said you were incompetent.” I give his arm a squeeze as I position myself in front of him. “Donnie…. is everything okay?” I try to make eye contact with him, but he looks off to the alleyway below us. 

“Everything’s just peachy.” The sarcasm grates my nerves but I let go as he eagerly slips away from me and heads for his stakeout point. 

“Told ya he shoulda stayed home.” 

“Shut up, Raph,” I flatly mutter to my brother through the earpiece that I forgot was on my head. I shake off the chill of the night as well as the iciness of my troubling brother as I run and stealth my way to my surveillance spot. 

I stifle a yawn fifteen minutes into our stakeout. I rock slightly back and forth from my seated position on an obsolete and tattered billboard directly in front of the southeast side of the textile factory. I yawn again trying desperately to stay awake. It’s easier in my lab, because my hands are constantly stirring, pouring, or analyzing something so I don’t have time to be tired. However, sitting still is making my battle with sleepiness all the more difficult. I close my eyes briefly only to snap them open again at the image of Leo being pried gruesomely from his shell. I hear its sinister laughter again. It laughs as it delights in showing me hallucinations of me maiming my brothers. How is it even possible for a hallucination to show me a hallucination? 

Still don’t think I’m real? You’re a hard nut to crack, but I’ve got plenty of time…. you on the other hand, not so much. Tick-tock, tick-tock….. 

As much as I hate to agree with a hallucination, it’s right. I don’t have a lot of time. My cells are unstable. The mutation could accelerate and I could start spontaneously mutating out of control. The sound of a door slamming snaps me out of my thoughts as my eyes search the premises below. I spot a rusty white van backing up to the garage door at the back of the building. I pull out my homemade binoculars and watch as two guys step out of the van.  The back of their jackets are embroidered with images of purple dragons. Giving a coded knock on the garage door, they try to look as inconspicuous as possible. Seconds later, they are greeted by two identical white-collared men in black suits.  The Kraang. The Purple Dragon lackeys start unloading crates into the garage. My lip twists to the side with curiosity. Okay, so the Kraang are definitely hiding something. If they’re loading things here then they are probably trying to establish a headquarters of sorts, and they could possibly have a central database system already set up.   

That’s all the information I need as I jump down from the billboard. I almost fall short as I attempt to latch on to the smokestack beside the factory. I sigh in relief as I manage wrap my fingers around the top bar of the bricked tower. That could’ve been a nasty fall. Unfortunately, the upper rim immediately breaks under my weight as I claw at the brick sidings. My feet grate against the side of the smokestack a few hundred feet as my hand finally manages to grip the edge of a hole created by missing and decaying bricks. I realize it won’t hold me for long as the outer bricks around the hole begin to crumble. Using my grappling hook, I aim and latch it into a busted window of the factory. I swing away just in time as chunk of the smokestack crumbles like a Jenga tower.  

“Mikey!” Leo’s voice crackles over my earpiece. 

“That wasn’t me!” 

I listen to their distractive chatter as I crawl into the window space. Giving an estimation I would say I’m somewhere on the third floor. Knowing the center of the room will be the most prone to breaking beneath me, I shift slowly against the wall. I force my overgrown body to tread as lightly as possible as I attempt to maneuver over the warped wood and rusted aluminum flooring.  Despite my best efforts the floor groans beneath me. I don’t have time to react as the floor gives way and I crash through the second level. Shielding my face, I break through to the first floor. I brace myself for the hard impact, but the pain never comes. My body swings slightly in its upside down positon. I crunch my body upward to see what stopped my downward plummet. I’m shocked to see my right foot clutching a support beam. The bone spur on my heel is instinctually  acting as a prehensile toe ensuring a firm grip on the thick wood. 

“What’s all that noise? Donnie is that you?” Great, Leo’s back on my case again. 

“The tower fell,” I answer evasively as I tuck into a backflip and land loudly on the ground level. The robotic chattering of Kraang is straight ahead and coming closer to my current location. My heart races as I look around for coverage.  Settling for a stack of crates, I dive behind them. I crouch as low as possible, silently peering through the spaces in-between. 

“We can see that. Nice of you to state the obvious. Did you have something to do with that?” 

I ignore Leo as I tune into what the Kraang are saying. 

“The ones known as Purple Dragons have brought Kraang more mutagen previously lost due to the delinquents known as turtles.” One of the Kraang bots speaks to the other identical bot while holding a boxed crate of mutagen that glows with a pulse between the bars of the crate. 

“Yes. The ones known as the turtles will pay for the destruction of the place also known as Kraang’s headquarters,” the other one replies in a similarly annoying monotone voice as they head down a dimly lit archway.  

I follow the aliens in full stealth mode, dodging into open doorways and branching hallways to avoid being seen.  Hidden around the corner, I wait as the Kraang finally stop at a door at the end of the hallway.  

“Whatcha doin’?” 

I cover my mouth to shush the panicked gasp for air as my heart tries to climb out of my chest through my plastron.  

“ Mikey?! ” I turn to my side and stare wide-eyed at my crafty little brother. “What are you doing here?” I growl, just above a whisper. 

“I asked you first!” 

“Mikey’s with you?! Why aren’t you at your posts?” 

“Because we’re inside the building, duh.”  I slap my forehead at my little brother’s inability to keep his mouth shut. 

“YOU’RE WHAT?!” 

“SHHH!”  Nearly spitting into the headpiece, I forcefully shush Leo through the communicator and slap my hand over Mikey’s mouth as the Kraang stop their busy work at the door. 

“Did Kraang hear the sound also known as voices?” 

“No, Kraang did not hear the sound also known as voices. Kraang believes Kraang is experiencing the thing one experiences when sounds known as voices are heard, but nothing is there. Kraang should get a grip.”  

“Kraang should practice the motion of shutting Krang’s mouth.”  The bickering Kraang disappear into the room and I sigh in relief. 

“Did I just hear Kraang in the background?!” Leo’s panicked voice makes me wince as I readjust my headset. 

“Wait, why do Brainaic and dorkface get to kick Kraang butt? That ain’t fair!” I roll my eyes at my meathead brother’s booming voice. 

“You’ve got 5 seconds to get your shells out here this instant!” 

“Sorry, Leo, I’m not even that fast.”  Mikey gives me this dubious smile at my snide remark. I shrug it off as I motion for him to follow me as I start opening and looking in random doorways and open spaces. I hear the Kraang door open again and I yank Mikey with me as I hide in a side hall.  The two Kraang bots unknowingly drone past us, disappearing into another part of the building. “Come on,” I whisper, tapping Mikey’s shoulder. He nods and follows me dutifully.    

“What are you two doing?” 

I sigh. “I told you I’m going to find the control room and download the Kraang files from their database.”  

“Donatello! Two more vans just pulled up with Kraang droids in them! You and Mikey get out of there NOW!” 

I pick up my pace, checking rooms. Mikey does the same on one of the diverging hallways. “Can’t… not until I found their control room.” 

There’s an exasperated growl on the other end. “Donnie, you don’t even know where their control room is or if they even have one here.” 

“I’ll know it when I see it.”  

“Donnie, listen to yourself. You’re not making any sense. Think for a minute. Be logical.”  

“I am being logical.”  I immediately bristle at the insinuated insult.  “I just need to get their files and—”  

“And what, Donnie? What if the Kraang have new weapons? What if the place is booby trapped? Have you even thought about that? What difference will files make if you both get caught, or worse?”  

“I don’t have time for this.” Growing irritated with my brother’s lack of confidence in me I turn off my communication headset. 

“Dude over here! This room is colossal and it’s got a huge soda can in it with shiny buttons all over it!” Mikey says while wiggling his fingers. I jog over to my brother’s side as he stands gaping at the room before us.  There are a few rows of skeletal power looms bolted to the floor which at one point in time had been the bread and butter of the Industrial age, but are now corroded and covered in cobwebs and filth. Rusted steel rods extend upward from the stationary weaving machines into a tangled web of intertwining metal that extends upward like the winter branches of trees. There is a broken staircase that curves upward to an open-space second level, closed in only by a railing that partially dangles to the first floor we’re currently on.  In the center of the room is a tall cylindrical database, which I would bet my prized toolbox contains Kraang intel. The high-tech cylindrical unit looks awkwardly out of place amongst the antiques that surround it. It’s tentacle-like wires are entangled around some of the machinery and plugged into a Kraang power cell. 

“Bingo. Nice work, Mikey.”  I pat his shell as I usher him in the room and immediate start prodding the high-tech Kraang equipment. 

“Yeah, no problem, bro….. Uh, Leo sounds super mad,” Mikey winces as he pulls the headgear away from his ears and drapes it around his neck.  I can hear the faint squawking of my eldest brother through Mikey’s headset and he’s standing at least 20 feet away.  

“You mean he sounds angry . Mad is a mental state of being, angry is an emotion. Rabid dogs go mad. Sentient beings get angry.” 

“Um, yeaaah….. I’m pretty sure he’s mad … like ‘about to go cray-cray’ mad.   I hope this is worth it, D.” 

“So do I,” I answer with a sigh as I press a button causing a triple-deck keyboard to slide out from the hardware. “Keep watch at the door. This will take approximately 10 minutes.”  He nods as he tightens his grip on his pocketed nunchucks. He doesn’t joke or smile, but stands guard as I asked. I didn’t mean to put him in the middle of all this mess. I hadn’t expected him to follow me in, but I’m glad he’s backing me up on this. I connect one end of a makeshift USB cord to the database and the other end to a small portable hard drive in my belt pocket. Eight minutes and forty-five seconds and counting. 

“Someone’s coming!” he whispers anxiously. 

“Bar the door.” I buckle down and let my fingers fly across the various keyboards hoping to speed up the transferring process. I jerk and wince at the sound of something heavy scrubbing the floor. I turn around as the grating sound makes my brain spasm. Mikey is pushing one of the loosened looms in front of the closed door. “What are you doing?! I told you to bar the door, not make enough noise so an entire Kraang army will hear us!” My panic is rising. I don’t mean to snap at him, but seriously Mikey? ... Seriously?!  

“Dude, what else was I supposed to use?” 

With half-lidded eyes and a deadpan face, I point to a pile of discarded steel rods and piping beside him that could easily have been wedged silently through the door handle. 

“Oh…. I guess that would have worked too…” I shake my head at his sheepish expression, but both of us jerk our heads at the familiar annoying voices just outside the door. 

“The ones known as intruders have infiltrated the room known as the control center.”  Immediately lasers and bodily slamming rattles the barricaded door.  

“Great.” Dread drips from my voice as I turn back at the database screen. Four minutes and twenty-one seconds. 

“Bro, I don’t think this giant sewing machine is going to hold them off much longer.” Looking over my shoulder, I see the large bowed dents coming extremely close to penetrating the door. My muscles tense as the last door ram causes the loom to collapse upon itself into a heap of junk in front of the door. It’s still holding the door closed, but it won’t keep them out much longer.  “…Yeah, Leo…”  Mikey’s talking into his communication gear. “….We’re okay…. Make a left down the last hallway…. you should see a bunch of Kraang playing pin the sledgehammer through the door—you can’t miss it.” He turns to me. “Leo and Raph are inside, they’re on their way.” 

“Mikey, those Kraang are going to break down that door any minute now…. Do you trust me?” I solemnly stare him in the eyes. Even though things are okay between us, I need reassurance that he doesn’t think I’m crazy or incompetent. These next few minutes are crucial and will be in vain if he doesn’t trust me. 

“With my life, bro.” He says it with such a blind certainty, without the slightest hesitation. There’s no humor or nonsense in his voice and when I see the resolve in his eyes, I instantly know he has my back. His blind faith in me is strangely admirable. 

“I need you to fight them off as long as you can…. buy me some time. Leo and Raph should be here soon to help hold them back too. I can’t leave without these files. They’re gravely important.” 

“For the retromutagen?” 

“…..Yeah,” I quietly answer with a lie. He looks at me, then the control screen which reads three minutes and two seconds. 

“Don’t worry, I gotcha shell, D.” And just like that, without a pause or question, nunchucks are spinning like mini helicopters at his side as he plants his feet, steadying himself for the incoming Kraang seconds away from destroying the door. 

I frown when I turn back to the screen and it still displays three minutes and two seconds. “No, no, no…” I wiggle the crude USB cord hoping the connection hasn’t been disrupted. Suddenly, I hear the sound of metal twisting, a boom, and my little brother’s exaggerated battle cry. My fingers are a blur as I try a different downloading method. In my peripheral vision, I see Mikey fly into the side of a loom machine, but before I can blink he’s up again keeping the Kraang at bay.  I smile to myself as the downloading picks up where it left off. Just two more minutes and we’re home free. 

“Sweet, more Kraangs to crack! I love this game!” I can hear the cavalry as Raph and Leo join the fray.  

A swift tug on my shoulder triggers a bo-wielding reflex as I make a quick jab with my bo staff to the offending grip. When I connect with air, I turn around to see a very ticked off Leo glaring at me. 

“Let’s go. Now . ” His eyes are glossed over in a dangerously contained fury.  He means business. Without looking behind him, he slices an approaching Kraang bot in half.  

“Just 90 seconds left.” If the nonplussed look on his darkening face is any indicator, I wager to say he is thoroughly livid right now. 

“I said, NOW!” he yells over the blaring noise of clashing weapons and laser guns and reaches for the USB cord. Before he can yank the cord, I immediately slap his hand away with the spin of my staff.   

Twenty seconds left.   

This time he tries to manhandle me away from the processor, but I shove him away.  

Ten seconds left. 

“Man, they’re flooding in like roaches!” 

“Really, Mikey?  Did ya have to compare ‘em to roaches?” 

I look past Raph and Mikey to see even more Kraang bots pouring in through the door. 

3…2... 

I duck as a stray laser blast ricochets off the screen behind me and continues its rebound path. Mikey is approximately 50 feet away from me.  The floor from the visible second level is loose as bits of debris fall around him. That wayward laser blast is traveling at a forty-five degree angle toward the crack in the second level floor. “MIKEY, LOOK OUT!” I shout, but I know as fast as my brother is, he won’t be quick enough. I throw my staff at the railing dangling from the second level causing it to swing down fast and hard; it collides into Mikey’s side, knocking him a few feet back just as the laser blast hits the crack in the ceiling. A chunk of the second level crashes to floor leaving a sizeable crater where Mikey stood mere seconds ago.  The chunk manages to take out a few nearby Kraang bots.  Raph turns in surprise at the loud boom and Leo looks at Mikey with mixture of shock and relief. ‘Download Complete’ flashes across the screen and I pull the cord, making a sprint toward Mikey.  He winces as I pull him up by his extended hand. There’s a nasty cut on his arm from where the rusted rail forced him out of the way, but otherwise he seems okay. I take off my mask and wrap it securely around his arm to stop the steady trickling of blood. 

“Did you get the files?” he asks hopefully. I smile. 

“Yeah, I have them.” Leo rushes over to cover Raph’s flank before seconds later throwing down a smoke bomb, I follow suit, tossing down two of my own. While the Kraang search cluelessly for us, we escape through a glassless window. Traveling the rooftops, we don’t stop until we’re at least 6 blocks away on a storefront rooftop.  

My brothers barely break a sweat, but my chest tightens like a vice as I bend over, hands on my knees, to catch my breath. My arms and legs burn with over exertion, but I immediately make my way to Mikey to check his arm again. 

I do a quick scan over my brothers, immediately taking inventory of any bodily harm. I spot a few bumps and bruises on Raph…. Mikey has the worst injury, a gash on his arm. The adrenaline from the unforeseen Kraang fight is slowly tapering off and being replaced with a fast burning anger that brings instant heat to my face despite the dropping temperature outside.     

“The bleeding’s stopped… that’s good.” My eyes narrow as I watch Donatello examine Mikey’s arm…. the arm that’s gashed open because of his foolish actions. “It’s pretty deep though, so I’ll need to stitch it when we get home.  As a precaution, I’ll probably need to—” 

Before I know it, I grab Donnie by the leather strap across his chest and yank him away from Mikey. 

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!” I am too angry, too furious to keep the tone of my voice level. “WERE YOU EVEN THINKING AT ALL?!” 

“Leo, bro, chill… it’s—” 

“No, I’m not going to ‘chill’, Mikey.”  I snap my glare briefly to my youngest brother. Raph is surprisingly quiet as he firmly holds Mikey back by the shoulders when he makes an effort to step toward me. “I gave you an order, Donatello.” I turn back to Donnie, stepping toward him as he progressively steps back. “I told you this was recon only and you purposely disregarded me to do your own thing!” 

“Leo, I told you those files are important! I need them to—” 

“You didn’t have a plan.” My words strike with intended harshness as I jab him in the plastron. “You didn’t have back-up.” This time, I shove him. “Or… or…  ANYTHING!” My hands pantomime my anger as I wave them fiercely over my head.  “Not only did you go foolishly and blindly into enemy territory, you took Mikey with you! It’s one thing to be stupid and reckless by yourself, but to drag Mikey into it?” 

“I didn’t even know he was  following me!” 

“And he wouldn’t have followed you if you stayed at your post like I told you to! You almost got him killed !” 

“But I didn’t! He’s fine!” He gestures his arms to our youngest brother. 

“That's beside the point! You disobeyed a direct order. You willingly sacrificed the safety of our brother over stupid files!”  

Something fierce sparks in his eyes as he shoves me back with an unexpected callousness that almost makes me stumble back, but I hold my ground. “I had everything under control! I knew what I was doing! If you would just listen to me and—” 

“No, you listen to me and you listen good.” Unsympathetic anger clouds my mind as I look up to my taller younger brother with a threatening scowl. My breathing slows as my voice drops to a dangerous octave. “The next time I tell you to do something, you better do it.  It’s enough when Raph goes off the handle, but YOU?... We don’t need that kind of narcissistic, irresponsible attitude on this team.”  

It is holy silence on the rooftop. I step back from him, still glaring him in the face, searching for signs of acknowledgement, remorse, obedience to my directive. I see none of those things in my brother, but what I do see cracks my hardened resolve. Without his mask, it’s easy to see the bags under his eyes that are so dark and prominent, they look like bruises against his discolored skin. His arms shake at his sides with small tremors as he clutches his hands into tight fists. His brows are furrowed into a deep frown of concentration. For a minute, I think he is looking at me, but when I move from his line of sight, his eyes do not follow. His face distorts from anger into something more haunting. I hear his breath quicken as his eyes mist over in a confusing array of emotions…. the most expression I’ve seen in my brother in months, and just like that… it’s gone. I cast a questioning look toward my other two brothers. Raph shrugs his shoulders and Mikey just keeps staring at Donnie with this dreadful look in his big blue eyes. 

Donnie looks down at me with a mask of hard indifference, grinding his teeth into snarl. “I get it. You made yourself perfectly clear, oh great leader.” Whatever glimpse of emotion I saw, is now deeply guarded behind an impenetrable wall of a malevolent and sarcastic attitude. With a sigh of frustration I lead my brothers back home, wondering why I’m such a terrible leader. Tonight was supposed to strengthen us as a team but instead its shifted us even further apart. 

“Owowowowowuuh!” 

I sigh pausing my stitching to give my brother a narrow-eyed stare. “If you be still, it wouldn’t hurt so bad.” 

“It doesn’t hurt when Donnie does it.” 

“Well, Donnie’s not here, so you’re stuck with me!” My baby brother visibly shrinks back at my snappish tone and I instantly feel like a heel. I sigh again. Mikey’s squirming on the medbay while I sit in a chair, patiently trying to stitch the gash on his arm. Donnie was dragging behind us on the way home, but somewhere between the underground tunnels and the lair, he disappeared. I was going to go look for him, but Raph said to give him some space. Reluctantly, I agreed it was probably best for now. 

“Sorry, Mikey. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” His shoulders slump a bit as he accepts my apology with a light head bob. “You know, I’m glad you followed Donnie to try and get him out of there.” 

“Dude, I wasn’t helping him get out, I was helping him get the Kraang files he needs for the retromutagen.” I’m shocked at my brother’s confession. As his leader, I should give him an earful on how irresponsible he was and how he should have properly handled the situation. I take a breath to start my lecture, but release the breath in another sigh. Who am I kidding? No one actually listens to what I say anyway. So, I remain silent as I continue a steady stitch on Mikey’s arm.  

“He just wanted you to trust him, Leo. He just wanted someone to have his back.” 

“How can I trust him when he runs off half-cocked without telling anyone? How can I have his back when he doesn’t follow my orders?” I stop stitching as the pitch of my voice raises with a touch of hurt from Mikey’s words. I’ll always have their back…. always. “I can’t protect him when he does things like that…. I can’t protect any of you if you never listen to me…” I trail off as I mutter the latter part. I finish the last stitch before tying off the surgical thread. 

“Leo, you’ve been our leader for, what? ....A year? But you’ve been our brother, like, forever, dude.” I look at my brother, puzzled by his words, not sure what he’s getting at. “Sometimes, we just need our brother to have our shells, not a leader to boss us around.” His eyes shine with subtle wisdom I rarely see in my baby brother. “Donnie’s in a weird aura-space right now and he really needs Big Bro Leo, not Captain Bossypants Leo. 

“Captain Bossypants? ...Is that what you guys call me behind my back?” 

“Nah, just me. Raph calls you an arrogant son of –” 

“I get the point.” I give my little brother a half-smile. He returns it. “You may need a tetanus shot.” 

“Wh-what?! Why?!” he whines with heightening panic. He hates shots. 

I give him a sympathetic smile. “I don’t think you should chance an infection from that rusted metal railing.” 

“But… but, you disinfected it and stuff, right?” he asks as he curves his arm to get a better look at the stitched up gash. “Looks fine to me!” 

“It’ll be kind of hard to use your nunchucks with an amputated arm.” My implication makes him pale slightly at the imagery of my words. 

“Fine…” he huffs as he crosses his arms, but then hisses in pain. 

“Mikey, be careful. I just stitched that,” I gently chastise as I get up and walk to the medicine cabinet. Let’s see, where does Donnie keep the vaccinations again?... 

“Second cabinet on the left.” I look curiously back at my little brother. He shrugs.  “I spend a lot of time in here…something was bound to stick up here eventually,” he smiles, thumping his head with his index finger. Following his directions, I find the tetanus shot vaccine containers already premeasured. I turn to Mikey with a nod of approval. Staring at my baby brother, I wonder when he decided to grow up on me and become so knowledgeable and intuitive. Then again, a part of me knows Mikey’s always had a certain level of emotional know-how. I really don’t give him the credit he deserves. 

I’m approximately 100 feet away from the lair’s entrance. Thirty minutes ago, I managed to ‘lose’ my brothers in the sewers to recollect my thoughts. It really wasn’t that hard to slip away from them; I don’t think they noticed or cared I was missing. I just needed some time to reel in these vicious thoughts, which is getting harder and harder to do. For the most part, I have my emotions in check, but just barely. My mind keeps going back to Leo’s words on the rooftop: 

“.... We don’t need that kind of narcissistic, irresponsible attitude on this team.” 

More specifically, they don’t need me.   

They don’t want you.  

I ignore the feeling of rejection as I force it to the back of mind. It’s not important right now. What is important is searching for any mutagen information on these Kraang files. There must be something on them to help create an inhibitor. With a determined huff of breath, I make my way to the lair. 

It’s fairly quiet in the lair. I assume Leo is patching up Mikey’s arm. A tinge of guilt hits me for dragging Mikey into this despite his willingness to help. I turn the corner toward my lab, only to find Raph leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks up at me with a scowl that somehow holds me nervously in place. 

I clear my throat. “Is… is Mikey okay?” 

“Yeah, he’ll live. Leo’s stitching him up,” he answers, but his hard stare never leaves my face. 

“Okay, well… I’ll just wait out here until Leo’s finished.” I thumb over my shoulder toward the den as I back away. 

“You can stand here and pretend like you didn’t just pull one of my half-cocked moves if you want to, but I’m not playing that game.” I swallow hard. I cannot deal with Raph right now. I barely kept it together when Leo blew up at me….I’m barely keeping it together now. “I don’t know what kind of crazy kick you’re on, but knock it off.” I attempt to walk away but he yanks me back by my arm. “Hey, when I start siding with Fearless, you better start taking notice.  You pull a stunt like that again, and you won’t have to worry about Leo, cause I’ll—” 

“You’ll what, Raphael? Tell me how pathetic I am? ....smack me? Knock my lights out?....” I blurt out a list of abusive actions, rising anger teetering venomously from my tongue. 

“All of the above if you keep on yakking.” 

“I’d like to see you try .” 

“Look, you overgrown skyscraper , I ain’t messin’ around. You almost got Mikey killed back there!” 

“Right, nice to know who you’re really concerned about,” I glower before turning my back on him to head to the den. Again, he grabs my arm, nearly wrenching it out of its socket as I stumble toward him.  

“What the shell, Don? ...No! I ain’t lettin’ ya slide this time. You better start talking before I knock your block off!”  

I’ve had enough. The anger of never being enough; the hurt of being unwanted; the constant pain of being unloved comes out in a single punch across Raph’s jawline. The blow knocks him back as he stares at me in surprise at my sudden burst of fury, but I’m not finished yet. I yell as I charge him, but he’s ready for me, trapping me in a bear grip.  

He tries to wrestle me to the ground. “Will ya calm down?!” Rage floods my brain like boiling lava as I flip him on his shell. I straddle him, using my fists to pound in his face. He gets a few well aimed punches in but I feel nothing as I continue to wail on his face with bloody fists.  

“Arggh!” I grunt out incomprehensible sounds, unable to express the raw emotions clouding my mind. He struggles beneath, nearly knocking me off him. My hands grip his neck with an ease that should frighten me, but it doesn’t. I pull him up by his throat and slam him against the concrete floor. I press my thumbs against his trachea. 

Harder. 

He grips my hands trying to pry them away from his throat 

Harder.  

I press down harder as he wheezes, still trying to kick beneath me. 

Harder. 

Just when I’m sure this final squeeze will end him, I’m grabbed by the cuff of my shell and tossed to the side.  

I feel a headache coming on as I can feel my head pulsing in rhythm with my racing heart. I push myself to my hands and knees, blinking at the suddenly too-bright lair. Leo’s beside Raph, sitting him up as he gulps for air. I feel someone kneel beside me, putting their arm around my shell. Slowly, the fog lifts from my mind. I come to myself just in time to see my father’s threatening glare as he stands between Raph and me. 

“I will not allow this behavior in our home! You will not continue this bitter rampage in this family!” 

His eyes hold a contempt that I’ve only ever seen when he talks about Oraku Saki, or any other threat to his family, and the thought of the indication hurts. 

His family. You are threatening his family. 

And I’m no longer a part of that family. The realization of his words send me tumbling backwards as if I was stabbed in the gut with hot iron rod. The heat of his words boils at my core and pulses through my entire body.  The hurt, shame, self-loathing… it makes my stomach turn in knots and my chest ache. But these are not the words I express to my father.   

“I hate you.”  

“Donnie, wait!” I nearly bowl over Mikey as he tries to hold on to me. I forcefully shrug him off and head for my lab, using every fiber of my being to slam the door behind me. 

Chapter Text

What a horrible and incompetent son you are… You’re not as good as your brothers…. They all see the monster you truly are…. You can’t control it, can you? ....Still think I’m not real?....  

I press the heels of my hands against my temples, hoping enough pressure will silence the echoes of the debasing voice suffocating my thoughts.   

“Focus… focus… focus….” I repeat the mantra until the booming voice becomes a small whisper in the back of my mind. It’s still there, but at least I can hear myself think. My hands tremble slightly as I rinse my brother’s blood from my hands. I can’t help but catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror above the hand-washing station.  My eye is starting to swell and there’s a scrape under my chin. Funny, I didn’t feel any of this when I was trying to beat Raph into oblivion.  Shame and guilt cover me like thick tar. It took me less than five minutes to completely lose control of myself…. I don’t even remember what Raph said to make me so angry… I… I just lost it.   

I have to fix this. It’s the only way I can make any of this right, so no one else gets hurt.  

It’s best if I keep my distance from everyone until I correct this secondary mutation. Pulling out my portable harddrive, I make a beeline for my computer and immediately start researching.  

I have to fix this.  

As the slamming door vibrates through our home, my sons are just as distraught as I am. No one speaks, no one moves. Time stands still as Donatello’s voice replays in my mind.  

I hate you.  

The seething malice behind his once gentle eyes pierced me to my very soul as he uttered those cutting words. His tone was solid and convincing, yet something was slightly off. That was not the voice of my sound-minded son. Yes, he has been rebellious, temperamental, and rudely outspoken in the past few months, but never like this. Never with such hateful intent in his gaze.   

Raphael coughs harshly, shouldering Leonardo’s concerned hands away.  I have seen my boys fight and tussle many times, but had I not come sooner, I fear Donatello would have surely strangled Raphael to his death. His eyes were clouded in a startling predatory gaze.  Wrenching Donatello off his brother was like prying a lion away from its prey. That was not my son…. not entirely… something is terribly and dangerously amiss with him.  

I snap my gaze up when I see movement in my peripheral view. “Michelangelo! Do not go back there!”  My voice is harsh with panic, but I calmly take a breath before speaking again. “Not…. right now.  Give your brother time to collect himself.”  My youngest nods with sad reluctance, walking over to his brothers.  

“Give him time? ... Give him time?” Raphael stands by himself, shrugging off any further help from Leonardo. “More time to plot his next crazed attack?!” His voice strains under the pressure of his bruised neck. He is angry and embarrassed, but beneath his guarded surface I see the true concern for his brother.  

“You mustn’t blame Donatello for his actions. I see now that your brother is….. not in good health.” It is the only way I can describe the energy flowing from my second youngest. It is a negative force…. a sickness.  Sorrow fills my heart as I stare at the closed lab door.   

“Is it his aura, Sensei?” Michelangelo asks with eyes much too bright with worry as he steps closer to me. I cannot hide my surprise at his unexpected perception. He takes my expression as a confirmative answer to his question as his words quickly take a downward spiral into a panicky pace nearly too fast to understand.  “I knew there was something wrong, but Leo and Raph wouldn’t listen and you were angry, and—”  

“Calm yourself, Michelangelo.” I gently reach out to him, stroking the top of his head and he immediately collides into me, wrapping his arms around my waist as he buries his face in my robe. “It is alright. Why do you think it is his aura, my son?” I probe him further for answers.  

“B-because there’s something dark in there,” he whispers. His face is still partially smothered in my robe. I perk my ears to better hear him. “It’s so dark, I can barely see Donnie anymore.” I feel his body shake slightly against me. I rub his shell in a calming manner to stave off the possibility of tears.  

My two oldest sons look at Michelangelo, puzzled by his seemingly nonsensical words. But I understand his state of fear. My youngest confirms my suspicion of Donatello. There is indeed something very wrong with Donatello’s aura. It reminds me of our very first private session months ago when I sensed a presence in his being. At the time, I dismissed the presence as a mere stray emotion, but now I see it is something much more. This presence is very bold and forthcoming, I do not need to be in a meditative state to feel its malevolence. The dark energy smothers me like scorching heat from a furnace…. it is much stronger, much drearier, than it was months ago.    

It is a darkening aura. I look down at Michelangelo who is still huddled against my side. His aura-vision is much stronger than I originally thought. He says he saw Donatello’s aura darkening for months yet I have seen nothing. Though I do not have his sight, I should have at least sensed it. Was I so disheveled in my own pride and discipline that I continuously neglected Donatello’s cry for help? Did I really mistake such a dark energy as rebellious teenage hormones? My eyes soften with regret. I fear my anger and frustration made Michelangelo hesitant to approach me sooner with this revelation.  

  “Leonardo, please sit with your brother while I take care of Raphael’s wounds.” My eldest gently takes hold of Michelangelo, leading him to the den. “Raphael, go to the bathroom and clean your face. I will give you a few herbs for the swelling.” Rubbing his throat, he silently obeys, the worried frown never leaving his face.  

  After collecting the needed herbs from beneath the dojo’s tree into a small bowl, I stop in front of Donatello’s lab. I expect the door to be locked, so I am surprised to find the knob turns with ease as I enter the room. His back is to me as he faces his glowing computer screen.  With swift fingers clattering mercilessly against the keyboard, he doesn’t turn around. However, there is a nervous tension in his posture. His fingers fumble over the keys briefly falling out of rhythm, but he quickly recovers picking up his pace as if nothing disturbed his concentration.  

“Donatello. I am not angry with you, only deeply concerned.” His typing doesn’t miss a beat as he refuses to acknowledge me. “No matter what is going on, you can come to me, my son.” His typing stops abruptly. He is considering my words. I keep still, afraid the slightest movement, the slightest breath will shatter what is left of my relationship with my son. His head dips forward slightly. The pecking of his keyboard is slow and uncertain at first, but within seconds he is back to his fast-paced typing again.  I stand in the doorway a few more minutes. When he still does not respond, I sigh morosely, closing the door gently behind me. He is not ready to talk right now and I will not push the issue just yet. Beneath all the negative energy, I still know my son. Ever the introspective one, I know he needs time to think.  I have faith my son will come to me soon. For now I have three other sons who require my attention.  

As I step into the bathroom, Raphael dries his face with a towel, which is soiled with his blood. The cuts and scrapes are superficial, though his face is a swollen sight.   

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Sensei. I’m—”  

“Sit down, Raphael.” He looks at me and then the doorway behind me. I arch a challenging brow and with a small sigh and frown, he sits on the toilet lid. I add a small amount of water from the faucet to the ground herbs, creating a paste. With two fingers, I scoop out a small amount. “Let me see.” He hesitates a moment but moves his hand so I can see his neck better. It is already heavily bruised, Donatello's large handprints evidence of his awful deed. I rub the paste on his neck. "It will feel warm but it will not burn. It will help reduce the swelling.” His scowl deepens as I finish administering the paste to his neck and face.  

  He won't look at me but instead glares at the floor, but I can see the emotion waging war in his downcast eyes.  

"I get it, now.... how dangerous it is to go in a mission with some half-baked plan in your head." I am silent as my son expresses his understanding in a tone other than anger. This a rare occurrence I wish not to disrupt. "I tried to tell Don how stupid he was for going against Leo's orders like that..." His tone quickly shifts and I immediately know his calmness is gone and replaced with a quickly rising anger. "He almost got Mikey killed ! He been acting like a class A jacka—"  

"How do you feel when Leonardo lectures you without trying to understand the circumstances involved in your actions?"  

"I hate it! Really ticks me off."  

"And you expect Donatello to feel any differently?" He is silent but the scowl is slowly lifting from his countenance. "Think twice before you speak in anger, my son. Your words will either help those around you or poison them.”   

 "…..Hai, sensei." 

 "It is a lifetime lesson that I, too, find myself repeating at times.” I offer my reassurance by giving his shoulder a small squeeze. “I am afraid I have not displayed an honorable example of patience lately and have allowed my anger to control my words as well." He finally meets my gaze with a sense of understanding and relatability. “I must check on your brothers. Make some tea with a bit of lemon; it will ease the soreness in your throat.” He bows briskly before leaving the bathroom. 
 
In the den, I find my oldest and youngest sons sitting on the couch. Leonardo speaks softly to Michelangelo, saying what I assume are words of reassurance.  

  “Leonardo. I need to have a word with you.” His head snaps in my direction, briefly meeting my eyes before looking down again and nodding. Standing at the entrance to his room, I wait for him to walk in before closing the door behind me. Sitting at the end of the bed, I pat the space beside me for Leonardo to join me. “Brief me on your mission.”   

  Shame is heavy in his eyes as he recounts the events that led to the disturbing brawl. There are mixed feelings skating across his features as he expresses both his frustration and worry for his brother.  

  "Donatello disobeyed all of my orders! He was so adamant about getting those files, he couldn't see reason."  

I keep my countenance neutral, neither angry or disappointed by my son’s judgment as he vents to me. "Is this normal behavior for your brother?"  

"No, not at all!"  

“Did you later reprimand Donatello for his recklessness?”  

  He nods. "Yes, I did. I made it clear that it was unacceptable behavior."  

  "At any time did he try to explain his actions?"   

  My question gives him pause as he stumbles for an answer. "Uh, well, maybe...I ....I guess I…”   

  “You realize this is not your brother’s typical behavior yet you judge him so sharply.” He seems shocked by my observation, but I continue, hoping to make this a teachable moment. "You also did not allow him explain himself, did you?" His shameful expression is enough for me to see my assumption is correct. "Your brother has not been himself lately, refusing to speak to anyone, and when he tries to open up to you, you do not allow it. This could make him hesitant to reach out to you in the future.”   

  Leonardo’s shoulders seem to slump more and more with each correction I make, despite the gentleness of my speech. “My son, I blame myself. I have given you the wrong impression of what it is to be a leader.” He slowly and curiously looks at me as I confess my wrongdoing.  

  "Leonardo, when I told you that your brothers take advantage of you and do not respect you, you took this knowledge and sought to be rigid and uncompromising with them in order to gain their respect. Your brothers know you, and this is why they sometimes take advantage of you. However, in the same way that your brothers know you, you also know them. You know their strengths and weaknesses; what breaks them and what pushes them forward. You know what makes each of them react. You must learn to take what you have always known about them as their brother and also use it as their leader ; use your knowledge of them to inspire and lead them, not to control and tear them down."  

  His eyes widen as he blinks a few times. “You’re never going to believe this, but Mikey told me the same thing before Raph and Donnie started fighting…. well, kind of…. in his own way, I guess.” He smiles knowingly, awe and disbelief swirling thoughtfully in his eyes. “Pretty strange, huh?”  

  “It is not as strange as you may think, my son. Michelangelo has an insightfulness even an old rat can learn from.”  

  “You’re right, Sensei.  Mikey was the one who actually noticed something was really wrong. He actually tried to help Donnie instead of shutting him out like Raph and I did.”  

  Closing my eyes, I sigh heavily before opening them again.  "I fear all of us are guilty of shutting out Donatello at some point, and it must end immediately." He nods solemnly in agreement.  

"I am going to check on Michelangelo. I would like you to use this time to meditate on the things we discussed.  

  “Hai, Sensei.” My eldest wastes no time as he pushes himself from the bed to the floor taking a lotus position. I quietly slip out of his room, easing the door shut behind him.  

  Michelangelo is still sitting on the couch, his legs in the seat and pulled up to his chest as his chin rests on his knees. Taking a seat beside him, I wait patiently for him to acknowledge my presence.  I am rewarded when his head turns slightly to face me.  My heart clenches at the fear and sadness in my youngest son’s eyes, two things I never wish to see in the eyes of my child.  

  “Michelangelo, I am truly sorry." My voice is heavy with regret as I hold my son’s gaze with all sincerity.   

  “Why are you apologizing to me, Sensei?" He unfolds himself from the couch, giving me a curious look.  

  "Because it is my anger which made you hesitate to tell me what you saw in Donatello's aura.  

  Within seconds there’s a smile on his face. Without any reservations, he embraces me again tonight; not to find comfort but to offer it. “It’s cool, Sensei. Donnie hasn’t been the easiest person to be around lately and you were just worried about him. I just didn’t want to bother you… and I wasn’t sure if you would believe me.” I pat his shell lovingly before he pulls away.   

  It saddens me to see the lack of confidence he has in me, and also himself. “Michelangelo, since you were small you have always seen what physical eyes cannot and deeply understood empathy in ways most souls can barely grasp. No matter who doubts you, trust the things your spiritual sight shows you and believe the things you feel are true in your soul. Those are the things which matter most.”  

  He nods with glossy eyes that shine with so many emotions, I think he may burst into tears, but he doesn’t.  He inhales and exhales, with a look of resolve.  “Sensei, I touched Donnie’s aura a few weeks ago without his permission.” I stiffen slightly at this revelation. I have warned him many times of the dangers of touching auras uninvited, but I continue to listen. “I was trying to help him…. the darkness was so thick, like black, moldy syrup, and it was sticking to everything in his aura… even the little metal box where he keeps all his feels.  It was too strong for me to stop.  It got angry when I tried to help Donnie and it grabbed me.”   

He shudders as he wraps his arms around his waist as if the mere thought caused him discomfort. “It hurt, like major bad, Sensei. Felt like I was being flambéed and torn apart from the inside. All I remember is the anger and hunger…. It was like a wicked horror movie leaving subliminal messages in his aura. Then, it just let me go, like that was just a warning tap on the wrist or something.” I have not seen this darkness, only felt it briefly, but I still try to follow Michelangelo’s rather descriptive imagery of his encounter. Serious illnesses have been known to take on rather sinister forms within one’s aura. The fact that this presence has touched Michelangelo concerns me.  

“Michelangelo, have you felt different since you touched this darkness?” He averts his eyes, biting his bottom lip. Lightly, I take hold of his shoulders. “Michelangelo, this is of great importance. You must tell me. Have you felt different ?”  

“N-no… it’s just that sometimes I hear it; I can hear the darkness…. but only when I’m around Donnie.”  

This brief interaction granted him the ability to hear this presence…. Interesting. “What did it say to you?”  

“It doesn’t talk to me, just Donnie. I... I can’t understand everything its tells him… just a few words, but it’s always something bad. Sometimes I hear words like ‘failure’ and ‘worthless’. Most of the time, I can cheer Donnie up and the darkness kinda backs off. But it always comes back stronger than before. Everything’s so dark inside him now; he’s trying to be strong—I can see it—but I don’t know how much longer he can keep fighting, Sensei. It’s getting harder to see Donnie’s aura at all.”  

My hand brushes against the fur of my lips as I take in everything Michelangelo has told me. Donatello…. I fear my son has suffered much at the hands of this malevolent presence.   

“I… I looked up some stuff online that said dark auras come from depression.”  

“Donatello may be depressed, but the depression did not cause this darkness. The kind of darkness you described is much too thick, too solid to be depression alone. I believe the depression is a symptom of the darkness.”  

“So what's causing the dark vibes?”  

I do not answer my son, because I have no answer.   

“Do you think the weird growth spurt has something to do with it?” His eyes brighten with hopefulness.  

“Perhaps. The body, mind, and spirit are interconnected; what affects one will affect all.” I ponder Donatello’s behavior, his aura, and growth changes and think Michelangelo may have pointed out something essential to helping his brother. I feel a small headache pulsing at my temple from worry, but I mentally brush it away for more important matters.  

“Thank you for sharing this information with me, Michelangelo. It will be useful in helping Donatello. If you or your brothers need me, I will be in my room. I have much to meditate on.”  

“Okay, Sensei.”   

With a perplexed mind, a tired body, and a heavy spirit, I retire to my room in hopes of finding meditative answers for my son.  

As I type, I try not to think about Master Splinter. He sounded so….  hurt. When he came into my lab, I couldn’t bear to turn around and see the crushed expression I’m certain was on his face. I never meant to say those horrible words to Sensei.  

You have no right to call him Sensei…. he is no longer your teacher, remember? ...You’re just an illegitimate student; a bastard child.  

Thankfully, researching offers my mind an escape from the unrelenting voice in my head.    

My DNA is changing at a faster rate. I fear another spurt of mutational change could happen any day now. My reptilian DNA is rebuilding and changing into a completely different gene sequence. It’s like my DNA is transforming into an entirely different order… still in the reptilia class, but definitely not a turtle. I roll my chair back slightly to look at my feet. At the factory, the spur on the back of heel saved me from cracking my skull open from that three-floor fall. I didn’t even realize I grabbed the support beam, it just happened. Dare I call it… instinct? Just what exactly am I mutating into?  

I don’t allow myself to think too heavily on how quickly I’m changing into this unspecified… thing. One by one, I start scanning through the Kraang files related to mutagen. My eyes burn with exhaustion as I rub them, desperately trying to stay awake. A few peculiar symbols catch my attention while clicking through branches of files. I translate them to loosely read: Mutagen Byproduct  Log.  

It seems like a good starting point so I click into it. It’s a list of undesired side effects mutagen has on humans and the Earth in general. The most obvious, DNA fusion, is listed at the top. As I scroll through the list, everything seems irrelevant to my current symptoms. There’s one side effect at the bottom that has a pretty low percentile, meaning it was of least concern to the Kraang. Apparently, a few years ago, a test subject manipulated by the DNA-fusion aspect of mutagen was later exposed to large amounts of mutagen. The mutagen was never in physical contact with the subject’s skin, just in close perimeter. The result was….  

I frown as I try to interpret the Kraang’s conclusion.   

Toxic Shine   

Translated, the words don’t make sense. I growl in frustration. “Come on, Donnie, think!” My fist hits the table rattling a few items on my desk. I sigh as I look at the shedding skin on my hand. A greenish-blue glow reflects against my skin from the mutagen canisters on my lab table.  

“Toxic Shine…” I rotate my hand under the eerie mutagen light. “…Toxic shine… shine…. light… Toxic light…. how can light be toxic? ...Unless…” I walk over to the table, picking up the mutagen container. “Unless mutagen gives off unstable energy waves similar to…”  

Radiation.   

The realization hits me like a subway bus.  

“Oh no.”  Shaking my head in disbelief, I quickly place the canister back on the table with the six other canisters. Frantic, I turn a full circle in my lab, looking for something…. anything to….  

I dash toward my steel wall locker, yanking both doors open. Books, tools, containers… I toss them out of the storage area and immediately start stashing the mutagen in its place. I slam the locker shut, placing a combination lock on the door to ensure no one accidentally goes in there. I don’t know how strong the mutagen’s radiation is, but hopefully the steel will serve somewhat as a shielding material.  

How could I have not seen this before? It’s the mutagen, it’s been the mutagen all along. I should have known something as unpredictable and dangerous as mutagen would have some kind of radioactive properties. And like any radioactive chemical, constant exposure can cause cell deformity and destruction, and eventually death of an organism.  How many days and nights have I spent hovering over this toxic chemical? Too many to count in the past year. Even now with all the tests trying to stop my current mutating, I’ve only made things worse by overexposing my body to the mutagen.  My approach was wrong… so very wrong. I’ve unknowingly poisoned myself to exponential proportions, possibly beyond the resolution of a cure.   

I spend the next two hours testing and retesting my blood and researching radiation exposure. Even with all the radiation poisoning timelines I found online, it’s still a guess in the dark as to where my symptoms fit. These radiation charts are based on radiative plutonium, not alien chemical exposure. However, from what I gather, I could possibly have less than 6 weeks before something happens, I just don’t know what that something is.   

Scalier skin, enlarged feet and hands, prehensile toe spurs…. my skin is still shedding which means I'm bound to get even taller. I reach toward the back of my neck, feeling the lump there. It's getting bigger, bridging the gap between my neck and cuff of my shell. Touching the hard knot sends a pain down my spine that makes me gasp for breath as black spots momentarily creep into the edges of vision. Covering my face with my hands, I lean forward resting my elbows on my desk, staving off the sudden vertigo. The movement makes my shoulders scrub against the shell opening for my arms. I'm starting to feel constricted in my own shell.   

With all the changes I’m going through, my temperament and appetite concern me the most. I almost killed my brother tonight in a blind rage, and the things I'm craving now make me nervous. Ever since that night in the kitchen, I can't get the taste of raw meat out of my mind. I thought eating hot dogs would take the edge off, but it's only made it worse. As if on cue, my stomach pinches in nagging hunger.  

What am I turning into?! A carnivorous animal? A mindless beast? ...Or will enough of my human cells simply die until my organs start shutting down? Maybe I’ll just melt into puddle of green goo. I take a deep breath, calming the twitching nerves in my limbs.  I don’t know if I’ll be able to fix this, but if I can’t, I need a fail-safe. With a trembling hand, I pull my T-cell from my belt pocket and dial the last person who will want to speak to me, but the one person who can help me.   

Chapter Text

"....April!” 

“Huh?....What?” I shake my head out of my cloudy thoughts when I hear my friend’s frustrated voice. 

“You were about to have a face full of Mr. Toots if I had to call your name one more time.” She threatens me with her stuffed toy elephant as she waves ‘Mr. Toots’ in my face by the his little pink trunk. We’re both sitting on the floor of her bedroom surrounded by blankets, pillows, and tons of late night snacks. 

"Sorry, Simone." I give her an apologetic smile. "I just…. have some things on my mind." 

"You're thinking about him again, aren't you?" With a sigh, I avert my eyes from her scrutinizing glare. "No…. No….. you are not allowed to think about that jerk on girls' night!  

"Hey!" I shield my face against Mr. Toots as he comes flying toward my head. "And y ou are not allowed to abuse Mr. Toots, or my head on girls' night!" I giggle with a playful pout as I hug the stuffed toy to my chest. I’m trying to at least look happy for her sake, but she sees right through it. 

“April, I’m serious! You’ve been moping around for the past two weeks over this ‘Donnie’ guy, who was a total butt to you. Girl, why are you still trippin’ over him?” 

I rest my chin on her plush elephant with a small sigh. “You wouldn’t understand…. it’s complicated.” Simone thinks Donnie is a guy I met at Science camp last year. She’s the only girlfriend I have to talk about guy stuff to. She respects my privacy and never pries for more details about Donnie, content with the bare basics I reveal to her. However, these couple of weeks have been hurtful and confusing. When I tried to talk to Donnie’s brothers about his behavior, they seemed to be just as confused as me, and Casey…. yeah, no, definitely not talking to him about this. Then there was Simone. 

“What exactly is there to understand, April? ....You said the dude was emotionally constipated, so you made the first move and kissed him, and he kissed you back. You call him, he yells at you and totally blows you off like an idiot.” She taps the tips of her fingers as she counts off each event. “He’s a moron who needs to get his crap together…. how complicated is that?” 

“It’s just… I’m worried about him. It’s not like him at all. When I go to the La—his house, he won’t even talk to me; he stays in his room the whole time I’m there.” 

“Well, he’s obviously not worried about you or your feelings, so stop making excuses for him! I mean, what kind of guy pretends to like you and then treats you like you don’t even exist?” I sigh again, which makes Simone’s scowl soften in defeated exasperation. Cradling Mr. Toots between my raised knees and my chest, I lean back against the side of her bed. Our shoulders brush against each other as she leans back as well.  

Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m being a silly, naïve little girl wishing that kiss actually meant something to Donnie. She is right. I have been making excuses for him, ignoring the ache in my heart when he locks himself away in his lab when he knows I’m visiting. And… and the way he snapped at me when I was only trying to help….  

I blink several times to ward off impending tears. No. I will not allow a guy to make me cry. I’m stronger than that, better than that. If he wants to be stupid, mean, jerk, then I should give him a dose of his own medicine…. 

“April, you’re my best friend. I hate seeing you so torn up over this jerk. You deserve better,” she says softly as she hooks her mahogany arm around mine and leans her head against my shoulder. The depressing silence doesn’t last long as Simone squeals excitedly beside me. Her eyes brighten hopefully as she nudges me with a smile. “Casey’s been flirting with you all semester. You should totally take the bait.” She suggestively wags her eyebrows at me.  

I snort, twisting my neck to give her a nose-cringing look. “What am I, a trout?” 

“Better than being ‘Angsty April.’” She rolls her eyes with a sarcastic smirk. 

“Hey!” I shove her playfully with my shoulder as she makes this horrible facial expression that I can assume is supposed to be my angst-ridden face. 

“Seriously!” she says in the middle of a contagious guffaw. “You gotta admit beneath the septic tank hygiene, piano keys teeth, and super cocky machoness, there’s actually a nice guy in there…. somewhere…. I’m pretty sure…..” Her expression wavers with slight doubt. “I think….” As Simone ponders the likelihood of her statement, my T-cell jingles from my messenger bag on her bed. Reaching up, I pull the strap of my bag toward me until it falls onto my lap. Grabbing the shell-shaped phone from my bag, I can feel the blood drain from my face. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“It’s him,” I unintentionally whisper aloud. 

“Give me that!” Before I even realize what she’s doing the phone is swiped from my hands. 

“Simone, no!” I make a grab for the ringing phone in her hand, but she holds it out of my reach. As we tussle on the floor, it looks like we’re playing a game of Twister. “I’m not kidding, Simone, give it back!” She scrambles to her feet and I follow suit.  

“Uh-uh, girl, I’m doin’ this for your own good!” My heart stops as she presses the receive button and places the phone to her ear and inhales deeply. Simone is anything but tactful. Her opinionated persona is a force to be reckoned with. “Listen, you insensitive spaz-face jerk: April doesn’t want to talk to you…” 

“SIMONE!” She rolls her neck as if Donnie can see the sassy gesture behind her insulting words. 

“As a matter of fact, you should lose this number, because if you hurt my friend again I will find you, and when I do, I will rip off your arm, and beat some freakin’ sense into your nitwitted brain with said arm, then maybe you’ll know how to talk to an awesome girl like April. I mean really!  You have some nerve treating—”  

“Donnie?!” I say breathlessly as I finally manage to manhandle the phone from my friend. I glare at her. She glares back, crossing her arms over her chest as she flops indignantly on her bed and sticks her pierced tongue out at me. 

“….A-April? ...Is everything okay?” 

“Don’t you dare let him sweet talk you!” Simone whispers venomously at me. I pause as I remember how I cried from embarrassment after hanging up when he yelled at me for no reason. Even when I came to the Lair to talk to him, he literally locked me out of his lab. He might as well have locked me out of his life. I feel stupid for making my feelings known, for exposing so much of my fragility to him. A vindictive frown creases across my brow as I nod to Simone. 

“Yeah, Donnie, everything’s fine . Just having a girls’ night talking about guys and how they’re a bunch of thoughtless slimeballs .” There’s no humor in my voice and I hope he feels the chill from my icy tone. 

“…Oh, that’s… nice...” I smirk as he stumbles for words as his voice deflates.  It feels good to hear the discomfort in his voice. “April, I… I really need your help. It’s… it’s about the retromutagen.” My spiteful façade breaks a bit at the mention of the mutation antidote. “I hate to call you so late, but is there any way you can let me into the animal clinic you volunteer at?.... I need a few pharmaceuticals that are essential to complete the batch I’m working on. I would just ‘stealth’ my way in and out, but I…. I also wanted to see you.”  

I am still ticked at him, but at the same time I feel like a heel for being so nasty when he is trying to finish an antidote for mutated citizens still lurking around the city. Be helpful, or be angry…. ugh, I hate this. Ultimately, my conscience wins out. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” I reply tersely. 

“Thank—”  I hang up, before he can say anything else. I sigh, pushing my bangs back with my hand only for the auburn strands to flop back on my forehead. Simone continues to glare at me. 

“You’re ditching me.” Simone’s accusing tone whines as her full lips pucker into an exaggerated pout. 

“He… wants to talk,” I say, offering her a half-truth, keeping the reason for my departure as simple as possible. 

“Talk? ...Is that code for ‘we’re busting his face in’?  ‘Cause if it is, then I’m so down with talking! Heck, let’s talk all night!  Hold a sec, lemme grab my pepper spray and brass knuckles then we can bounce!” 

I watch dubiously as she opens her closet and starts tossing random items across her room in her crazed search for ‘accessories,’ as she likes to call them. Simone’s a few inches shorter than me and a bit on the thicker side compared to society’s stands of beauty. She may not know ninjitsu, but she knows crazy. To underestimate her would be like underestimating a puffer fish; they’re both small and cute, but extremely dangerous and will blow up in your face when provoked. After a few more minutes of rummaging, she emerges from her closet, brass knuckles on either hand (where the heck did she get brass knuckles?!), something akin to secret agent shades on her face, and her concert combat boots on her feet. She’s ready to beat the crap out of a guy she doesn’t even know, because he broke my heart. I give her an endearing smile. She would actually look pretty hardcore if it weren’t for the smiley face crop top and pajama pants covered in anime emoji faces. That’s my friend, Simone, ready to take on the world for the sake of friendship.  

“Let’s do this.” She skillfully twirls the pepper spray in her hand like Raph would twirl his sai. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I hold up my hands trying to diffuse the firecracker standing in front of me. “Talking is not code for face-busting. I really am just going to talk to him, okay?” I give her a pleading smile. 

“Okay.”  With amusing disappointment, she clunks the brass knuckles to the floor. “I’ll settle for giving him the stink-eye then. Come on, we’ll slip out my window and be back before my mom even knows we’re gone.”  

“No!...” I block her from the window, my voice rises in slight panic, but I quickly recover in a calmer tone. “….I mean, no.” She tilts her head suspiciously, arching her brow. “Seriously, what I really need you to do is cover for me in case my dad calls over here, okay?” My dad is still pretty overprotective of me since his discovery of aliens and mutants and checks up on me when I’m at Simone’s house. 

“ Fine , I’ll be your cover story. But if something goes down, text me and I’ll be there with trash bags and a shovel.” I give her an incredulous look, because honestly a part of me knows she’s dead serious. “…I’m just sayin’…” 

I roll my eyes good-naturedly with a smirk. “I promise, I’ll call if I need to. Thanks, Simone.” When I hug her, she feigns annoyance and squirms under my embrace, but I can still see the grin that twitches across her lips. 

“You so owe me another girls’ night.” 

And with yet another debt added to my proverbial BFF tab, I grab my phone and messenger bag and slip out the window uncertain of what tonight’s ‘talk’ will hold. 

Leaving a sticky note on my computer screen about taking a ‘sewer walk’, I slip out of my lab through the garage exit and I run as fast as my tired legs will carry me. I decide to travel by ground between the shadows of buildings. I’m not feeling so well and I honestly don’t trust my balance or perception of depth enough to travel by rooftop. I’ll have to be more watchful at ground level, but I’d rather take my chances here than risk a death-fall from a six-story building. Leaning against a dumpster, I clench my teeth as my limbs tremble with throbbing aches. The spasms are more frequent, especially in my left arm.  

I push the pain aside as I look at the backdoor entrance of the animal clinic. I step back further into the shadows when I see April already there waiting for me. Dressed in flowered pajama pants and a winter coat, she hugs herself against the colder temperatures. I don't know who gave me that tongue-lashing on April’s phone, but if it's any indication of what to expect tonight, I doubt this meeting will go well.  

Was she really telling her friend what a horrible person I am? I can't say that I blame her. I've been horrible to her, my brothers, and Sensei. I feel terrible about using her this way but, it's for the best. It's the only way I can ensure a backup plan just in case.... in case I can't stop this secondary mutation. I sigh as I step out of my hiding spot ready to face the fiery beauty before me. 

What's taking him so long?  I huff impatiently as I wrap my coat more snugly around me.  

I… I also wanted to see you. 

A part of me doesn’t want to see him, and an equally anxious part of my heart is fluttery and faint at the thought of seeing my friend (ex-friend). I kick idly at a loose piece of asphalt. I'm afraid one look into his eyes will make me lose my stubborn resolve to stay angry with him. I mentally prepare to give him the coldest shoulder I can muster.... No smiles, no small talk, just give him the supplies he needs and tell him to get out. I nod to myself in agreement with my mental plan. I narrow my eyes at a scraping sound to my left. Whipping out my tessen, I take the defense, ready to strike at any perceived threat. A familiar tall and lanky form emerges from the shadows and I relax my stance—marginally.  

"Hey, April.... ah, thanks for meeting me so late, I really appreciate –" 

Turning on my heels, I jiggle the key in the backdoor's keyhole. I refuse to meet his gaze or to look at him at all. "Just make it fast," I interrupt his gentle voice as I fumble to open the door and stumble inside. I mentally curse my klutziness as my nervous hands turn off the building's alarm system. Security cameras are in the front of the building so we shouldn’t have any problems as we search through supplies in the back room. 

Get it together, O'Neil! He's only been in my presence for three minutes and I already feel my emotions coming undone. With a huff, I toughen my resolve, squaring my shoulders and  stiffening my posture. I watch as he scans the small storage space thoughtfully. “What do you need?” I ask, all courteousness and niceties tossed to the side. He shakes his head, blinking out of whatever thoughts are bouncing around his head. 

“Oh, I… I need some… probiotic capsules and…. syringes.” He seems distracted and a little jumpy as he continues to look around the room. I roll my eyes and start hunting for his requested items. 

It only takes me a few moments to retrieve the items he asked for. When I turn to face him, his back is turned and he’s fumbling with something. I startle him as I loudly clear my throat and he whirls around with wide eyes. “Here.” I hold the items out to him. His hands shake slightly as I drop the supplies into them. He places the items in a small tote bag on his shoulder.  

“Thanks, April. This really means—” 

“I need to get back to my friend’s house, so you should go. I need to lock up.” I manage to uphold a look of indifference as I cross my arms over my chest and head toward the alarm system. 

I frown as he steps in front of me. “So… so, how are you?  It’s….. been awhile.” Strangely, he looks everywhere, except at my face, which sends a wave of hurt through me. This cold shoulder deal is not working the way I planned it to. He’s the one who should be feeling like a small and insignificant afterthought … not me. 

It doesn’t take me long to push down my hurt and reclaim my fury “And who’s fault is that exactly, Donatello ?” My hands find their way to my hips as I narrow my eyes at the purple-banded turtle.  

He shrinks back toward the door as my words bite with just the right amount of scorn.  

“You’re… you’re right. It is my fault. That night in your room… I’m sorry. I should have never kissed you back. It wasn't fair to you. It… it shouldn’t have happened at all. 

Something at the very core of my being breaks. He wishes we never kissed? ...He wishes I never proclaimed my love for him? ....The thought of that horrible realization brings irritating tears to my eyes, but I refuse to let those tears fall. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I trade my tears for a well-placed punch to his jawline. My knuckles throb from the impact, but I hold my head up denying any signs of physical or emotion pain. 

His head snaps to the side from the punch. He seems a little shocked as he rubs his jaw. I almost feel sorry for punching him when I see the look of hurt on his face. He sighs, slumping his shoulders as he centers his gaze to the floor. “I guess I deserved that.” 

“You’re darn right you deserve it! I said things to you that I’ve never said to anyone. I told you how I felt, I trusted you with that, and you just toss it away like it didn’t even matter! You're nothing but an insensitive jerk!" My heart pounds in my chest. I can feel the angry heat burning in my cheeks. My throat is raw from screaming and after that short tirade, I am emotionally spent. My voice cracks as it wavers into a deflated whisper. "If you don’t like me, fine, I get it, I’m a big girl, I’m not going to cry over it… over you. But I… I just need to know why… Is it because I’m not smart enough, pretty enough?...” I will myself not to cry, but my body betrays me as warm streams of tears trail down my face. I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my coat and losing a considerable amount of dignity as I stare morosely at the floor. 

I keep my head down as she expresses her anger with me. My head is pounding and my body aches, but I stand there absorbing her verbal blows… it’s the least I can do after the way I’ve treated her. However, my head snaps up as her last few words sink in. I shake my head side to side. No. She can think whatever horrible things she wants to about me, but I won't allow her to question her value or beauty. 

"No, that’s not it at all." With uncertainty, I step toward her. She leans away, her posture cold and untrusting. Sadly, I step back again, not wanting to make her anymore uncomfortable than she already is. "April, you're brilliant. Your intellect is just a beautiful as your smile.” I swallow the lump crawling its way up my throat. I need to do this quickly before I lose my nerve. “I just think its best if we .… stop.” I briefly cover my face with my hand, willing away the pain behind my eyes. 

A frown of hurt wrinkles her delicate brow. “…Stop what?” 

Sighing, I wish I had brought a smoke bomb, but now’s not the time to retreat. “Stop pretending there could ever be anything between us…. I don’t love you.” The shattered look etched into her face is the mirror image of the pieces shattering within me. The words fervently flood from my mouth like a water from a broken dam, but as much as it pains me I need to protect her. I love her too much to stop now. “…I don’t love you, so just stay away from me… stop coming to the lair, and—” 

“Stop it!” Her shout is full of watery emotion as her hands ball up into tight fists at her sides. “Why are you doing this, Donnie? Why are you saying these horrible things? I don’t believe you!... It’s not true!” 

She’s right you know. You do love her… just as much as I will love gouging her heart right out of her chest. 

“IT IS TRUE!” I scream over the savage voice in my head, baring my teeth. It startles April into a unnatural silence. Tears sting my eyes. I never wanted to see such fear on her sweet angelic face.  

I was so furious with him. I wanted to hurt him the same way he hurt me. I wanted him to feel the cutting blow of my words like the blade of my tessen through the chest cavity of a footbot. I loved him! ...I loved him and he just trashed my confession like two-week old tuna salad. But my burning fury derailed into pathetic self-consciousness. Instead of ripping him a new one, I start crying like some sappy bimbo and spewing my feelings.  

Then he yells at me again, but unlike over the phone, I can feel it. There’s a nightmarish vibe from him that sticks to me like slime. I am terrified into silence as I feel grimy tentacles slither over my psyche. Repulsive and creepy are the only words I can think of to describe this sensation of something humid breathing over me, stalking me with unnamable intentions. I force myself to push past the disturbing impressions that make me want to gag. Even though these dark vibrations feel like Donatello, something feels… off. I refuse to believe this darkness is Donnie; something is wrong. 

Mentally, I gently push through his shaky safeguards until I hit a soft spot. At his core, a cluster of emotions swarm like hornets around a nest. His anguish, loneliness, and unhinging fear mentally pierce me like poisonous arrows. Finally, I feel it, weak and worn, but it’s there. The same love that courses through my veins like a lifeline is the same pulsation softly fluttering at his core. It’s then that I realize he’s lying. 

“Please, it’s just easier this way.” The hopelessness in his voice is deafening. 

“For who?” I question softly, taking a step toward him. “Donnie, what’s going on? This isn’t you.” 

“…It …it is me.” There’s a shame in his eyes that I don’t understand.  

“I know you love me… you’re… you’re just hiding it again, but this time you’re hiding it behind something dangerous, I can feel it.” Earlier, I was so warped by my own hurt and vindictiveness, I avoided staring at him at all. However, in his current silence, I have a chance to take in his appearance. 

His posture is hunched, hiding his true height. His hands and feet are considerably larger than the last time I saw him. Every few minutes, he twitches and scratches at random spots on his arms, neck, and head, leaving small flakes of skin in his wake. His neck suddenly cranes to the side as if he is listening to something only he can hear. Whatever he hears must not be pleasant, because his breathing hitches and his face immediately drains to a sickening pale green. With glossy eyes, he suddenly breaks out of the bizarre trance with a sharp gasp of air and a shaky exhale.  

“Ah!” he cries out as he cradles his left arm against his chest. 

“Donnie!” My panic rises as I watch him curl forward in pain. I rush to his side. “Please, tell me what’s wrong…” I plead with him as he leans against the wall trying to breathe through the pain. I place my hand over his arm. With a gasp, I immediately jerk away, when I feel something ripple and shift beneath his skin. 

A spasm violently jerks the muscles and tendons in my arm. April touches me before I can protest, but quickly pulls away. She obviously felt it too… the shift of a bone under my skin.  “Just… just stay back! I don’t want to hurt you.” With my own ears I can hear the unfiltered fear in my voice…. fear for her safety. “Just stay away from me… please, ” I beg her as I step back toward the door. “…Stay back!” I shout at her when she inches toward me.  

Aw, come on…. let her come a little closer…. she smells like strawberries… wonder what she tastes like?   

“NO! I won’t let you hurt her… I’ll fix this even if it kills me!” I scream at the monstrosity in my mind eating away at my sanity. 

“Donnie, who are you talking to?! ….. You’re scaring me! Donatello, please… I love you …. let me help you.” 

This was supposed to be a clean break, but it’s turned into a messy connection of emotional wiring that I’m too frazzled to untangle. I don’t know what’s worse, drowning beneath the waves of her love or dying for its thirst. It suddenly dawns on me that if I have to resort to my back-up plan, this may be my last time seeing her. 

My love for her drowns out the malicious taunts in my head as I grip her tightly by the shoulders. Pressing my lips against her own, I tilt my head kissing her as tenderly as my trembling frame will allow. 

A small suction pops between our lips as I push her back. “I’m so sorry, April. For everything.” And with those parting words, I slam into the back door and disappear into the night, letting the November air chill my emotions into a state of numbness.  

His grip on my shoulders is too tight and I’m sure there are bruises. I almost yelp in pain until his lips embrace mine and I go limp in his hold. It hurts. I can feel every raw emotion clawing viciously at his psyche and it physically hurts, but I refuse to pull away. My nails dig into the scutes of his shell as I steady myself against the onslaught of this present darkness. I embrace every feeling, making it my own, and God, it hurts. But I love him. With every inch of my being, I love him. I’d weather the storm of his dark emotions if he’d let me. 

And at that very thought he pushes me away, apologizing before bolting out the door.  I call out to him in the night, but I’m too late. He’s already gone. I brush my fingers against my lips, still feeling the warmth of his touch. That was more than an apology kiss. It almost felt like he was saying good-bye….forever. Panic pumps through my racing heart as I fumble for my t-cell. So many of his fractured emotions are still floating in my mind and his behavior tonight was borderline schizophrenic. I walk over to reset the alarm system when I notice the lock on a box of hazardous material has been picked open and a single bottle is missing from a row of pharmaceutical vials. 

I’ll fix this even if it kills me! 

As I stare down at the foam impression of the missing vial, his words bring a foreboding chill down my spine.  

Chapter Text

Pulling the garage door down, I stumble into my lab. I tense my body trying to lessen the uncontrollable twitching of my limbs. Groaning, I raise my hand to my temple. My headache has worsened since I left from meeting April. God, April….  

I push all thoughts of her into farthest parts of my mind to be devoured by the migraine threatening to split my brain in half. A startling shuffle near my cabinet, grabs my attention. I close my eyes as I slowly turn my head toward the curious noise to keep my sore eyes from falling out of their sockets.  

My chest tightens as fear and panic prick my senses. “Mikey?...”  

“Oh! Hey, bro! How was your sewer walk? Are you feeling any better?” His smile is full of warmth and genuine concern, but it’s not just Mikey’s appearance in my lab that is about to give me a heart attack. My little brother is standing in front of my lab table where all the canisters of mutagen that were previously locked away in my steel wall locker, are now neatly lined up on the table. Their malicious glow taunts me, as it appears to pulse every few seconds from their contained form. Mikey follows my eyes to the mutagen. “Oh, yeah, thought I’d go ahead and get all of the supplies out you’ll need, so you won’t have to hunt for them. See? ...I got your Bunsen burner, beakers, the central-fudge spinning thingy, and the mutagen so now you can go straight to work, no worries, no stress, no—”  

“How… how did you get in my locker?”  

“Dude, everyone knows your combination lock is set to April’s birthday, easy-peasy!”   

What if he absorbed some of the radiation? How long will it take before his cells start mutating… before he starts dying ?   

He gives a light-hearted laugh. “Hey, do you need me to grab anything el—”  

Somewhere in my head, my concern morphs into anger. “Get out of the way!” Snarling, I elbow him away from the tabletop of mutagen. I frantically start putting the canisters back inside the wall locker, clicking the lock back into place. “You stupid, incompetent, moron !” Angrily, squeezing the air with my fingers, I close in on him as he backs away toward the door.  

He blinks at me with doe eyes. “D, wait!” He holds his palms toward me trying to stave off my advancing footsteps. “Calm down, bro. I was just trying to help!” He pleads with me as his voice trembles.  

“Well, you’re not helping! I never asked for your help! You’re just making a mess of everything!”  

“I’m…. I’m sorry, Donnie, I—”  

I'll make you hurt them, tear them limb from limb. Especially the little one, he just looks so sweet and tasty like a cinnamon roll. 

“Get out.” I narrow my eyes at the sound of the predatory voice in my head.  

“But D, I didn’t mean to—”  

“I SAID GET OUT!” I don’t remember throwing anything, but I do remember hearing the sound of glass shattering.  The tinkling sound of broken glass breaks me out of my blinding rage. My mouth drops in regret and shame as pieces of glass litter my brother’s carapace. His head slowly emerges from his shell.  In his quick reaction, he turned just in time for the projectile beaker to collide with the upper part of his shell instead of his face.  

In shock, I stare at my raised hand and then back at my little brother.  “…M-Mikey, I..I…” Before I can utter an apology, he scrambles out of my lab without so much a second glance.  

Poor Donatello chased everyone away…. Now you have no one… no one but me.  

The muscles in my neck twitch causing my head to tick toward my shoulder. I don’t know if it’s from the mutagen poisoning or if I’m finally going insane.   

I spend the next hour reanalyzing my biological results for the fifteenth time. The complex chemical equation for the mutagen, every microscopic detail of my genetic makeup… I scrutinize it, rip it apart and put back together again. I gravely look away from my beloved computer. I've exhausted my knowledge and know-how. There is no change. My cells are too far gone. All my results point to two conclusions: losing myself through a dangerous mutation or slowly succumbing to a cancerous demise. It's like flipping a double-headed coin of death.   

With a trembling hand, I pull out the vial I swiped while I sent April searching for random useless items in the animal clinic. I rub my thumb over the label.  Pentobarbital. A barbiturate drug used to relieve tension, anxiety, nervousness, and insomnia. In high consumption, can be used as an euthanasia.  

I stare judiciously at the suicide vial. It would be the logical thing to do. It would be the less troubling alternative for my family… I would be doing them a favor. I don’t want to die, but I will if it will keep them safe.  

As I reach for a syringe to administer the drug, my brother's words ring as clear as a bell in my conscience:  

Maybe you just need to try something different, you know, think outside the box.  

Another alternative option crosses my mind… the very idea is absolutely insane, a notion I still do not trust. But then I remember a quote by Albert Einstein that truly defines insanity: ‘Doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results.’ Comparing my brother's words and Einstein’s, I'm convinced Michelangelo is unknowingly the embodiment of uncanny wisdom. His words may have just saved me from making a huge mistake. I place suicide vial in my top desk drawer for safekeeping…just in case this unorthodox option doesn’t work.  

Doubt in the forefront of my mind, I step out of my lab..... what else do I have to lose?  

Chapter Text

My feet are lead blocks of disgrace as I slowly approach his room. The hushed chatter in the kitchen come to an abrupt end as I pass by with downcast eyes.  

See how they stare at you in fear and disgust? Your brothers shun you like the pathetic creature you are. Your father will shun you, too. The things you’ve done are deplorable….unforgivable.  

The closer my steps come to his door the more my body trembles. Maybe it's exhaustion, the cramping pains in my limbs, or fear…..I'm not really sure. I just know I can't do this anymore….I just can't . I’m a nervous wreck as the sharp pains in my quaking body feel like a thousand needles coursing through my veins.  

Do you really think he will bother to help you after you’ve done nothing more than rip his little family apart?  

My steps falter at the posed question. Would he be willing to help me, now…after everything I’ve done? I twitch at the sinister snickering in my head.  Breathing out a shaky breath, I muster the courage to knock on the closed door.   

"Come in."  

Opening the door, I stand there trembling as whatever objectivity I possessed moments ago evaporates, leaving me vulnerable and uncertain of my decision. Even with his eyes closed in meditation, his expression is guarded. Then again, he has every right to be guarded around me. I told my own father I hated him. My cruel words make my stomach weak. Feeling an inch tall, I wrap my arms around myself and bow my head until my chin touches my plastron. I just want to disappear, but now’s not the time to be a coward….I owe my family that much.  

An apology is stuck in my throat as I stare nervously at my father’s meditative body. I can neither swallow it back or speak it aloud, a defeated whimper slipping out instead. It's so hard to acknowledge my falsehood, my wrongdoing. How does one admit to such shameful words and actions? And why bother….the awful things I said and did are unforgivable.  

Even within the depths of meditation, I know when my sons are near. I sense Donatello’s wavering aura as he lingers near my door before softly knocking.  At my acknowledgement, he enters. I do not immediately open my eyes to ensure my own temperament is calm and poised.    

“Father?...”  

However, it is the slightly heightened pitch and falter in his voice, that makes my ears twitch and eyes snap open. Poise is tossed aside at the frightful treble in his voice I have not heard since the boys were toddlers. The pitiful voice pulls at my paternal instinct. “Donatello?...” He stands inside the doorway trembling like a small child after a nightmare, but there is also a tortured look in his eyes that I have only seen in defeated warriors released from the captivity of their enemies. His arms are wrapped tightly around his waist. I fear this gesture is keeping him from emotionally falling apart in front of me. Before I can beckon for him to come, he staggers toward me. He sways in front of me only moments before he drops to his knees like a broken marionette doll.   

His appearance is more haggard in such closeness. His complexion lacks its usual vibrancy and warm palette appearing an unhealthy tone of green.  Scaly cracks of unshed skin look like crumpled paper with spots of brown and dark green discoloration.  There are patches of redness along his arms where he has scratched off skin before it was ready to be shed. With shaky hands, he pulls his mask over his head, wringing it nervously with his hands in his lap.  I stifle a gasp as he slowly looks  at me. He has become so tall over the past few months that he now sits at eye-level with me. His weary eyes are weighed down with dark bags and contain an endless pool of shame and hopelessness that mirrors a breaking soul.  He did not look so poorly earlier this evening. Parental fear tears at my heart. I know something is terribly wrong, but I do not what this ‘terrible’ is.  

“My son, please tell me what troubles you.” Despite the warmth of scented candles, he shivers. He breaks his gaze from me, bowing his head.  Glistening beads of sweat form at his crown and it makes me wonder if he has a fever. When he does not answer, I gently touch the side of his face and he shies away bowing his head further toward the floor. His skin is very warm confirming my thoughts of fever. He mumbles something so low my ears have trouble discerning his words. “What did you say, child?” I keep my voice as calm and gentle as possible as if I am talking to a small child instead of my teenage son.  

“…….I don’t deserve to ask, but I…I need…help…. I can’t fix this…” He finally looks at me, his eyes rippling with unshed tears that threaten to pour down his cheeks at his shame of asking for help. “I can’t fix this….I…I don’t want to fight this alone anymore.” I lean forward to embrace my broken son, but pause at his sudden gasp and jerking motions as he looks over his shoulder, to his right, and then stares at the corner of my room. I turn to see what has paralyzed him with suspicion, but there is nothing there save for a few candles and trinkets.  

“You are never alone,” I reassure him empathetically. “What is it that you fight, Donatello?” My voice thickens with worry. This skittish and paranoid manner is far more troubling than his earlier aggression and belligerent behavior.   

“…It’s so loud , I can’t think….if it were quieter, I could think, and then maybe I could fix it….” He does not answer my question but instead babbles hurriedly about ‘fixing’ something. My heart aches to see him succumb to whatever is plaguing his mind. Knowing this could have been prevented much earlier brings me great regret as a father. “…can….can we meditate, please?...I…I just don’t know what else to do and—”  

“Still your thoughts, my son.” I keep my voice as soothing as possible to balance the vehement waves of anxiety rolling off his presence. “You know I am always here for you; you need nothing more than to ask. Whatever needs to be fixed, we will fix it together.” With palms turned upward, I extend my hands to him and wait. His hands hover over mine twice as he pulls them away, his eyes darting left to right in nervousness. I swallow back the lump of hurt at my son’s distrust. “My child, can you find it in your heart to trust me?” I fear I have let him down so heavily over the past several months that he is hesitant of my intentions. He shakes his head at the unseen demons tormenting his mind and looks at me in a surprising moment of clarity. I finally see the sensible, gentle eyes of my beloved son for the first time since he entered my room.  

“I don’t trust myself ,” he whispers.    

“It is alright, Donatello. Let me help you.” He is hesitant for a few more seconds before he finally lays his twitching hands on top of mine. “Close your eyes.” When he obeys, I close my eyes as well. “Focus on your breathing….inhale….and exhale.  Let your thoughts fall away until there is nothing.  

....useless little turtle.....your struggling is pointless....you will succumb to me.....I will have you....  

That voice…I can barely hear myself breathe over that voice . Intimidating and maddening thoughts of rejection, self-hatred, and shame cling to me, weighing down my mind. This is impossible. I think this problem may be too big for meditation, but just when I feel myself giving up, something familiar and warm takes hold of me. A gentle but firm tug lifts me out of the clingy darkness of my own thoughts.   

It’s finally quiet and I hear the soft steady breaths of my father as he smoothly transitions me into the spiritual plane. I focus my breathing to fall in synch with his. I feel weightless and for the first time in months, my mind is calm.  

"Open your eyes, Donatello."  

My eyes flutter open. I frown in confusion as I take in the atmosphere around me. This doesn't look like the same 'spirit realm’ I came to months ago. "What....what happened here?"  

His lack of discipline in spiritual awareness made it difficult to bring him into his spiritual presence. He does not possess the same strength here as he does intellectually and physically in the earthly realm. Nevertheless, the meditational shift to his aura went smoothly enough. Here, the image he projects of himself is before his growth spurts took place. I look around us in complete dismay of the sight before me.  

Donatello, what have you created? What twisted reality dwells here?   

I am deeply troubled by the sight around me. His aura is an appalling inner reflection of his deteriorating outer appearance.  

The spiritual dwelling place of his aura was once a place of large computers processing data, and mechanical mechanisms clicking, turning, and whirling to life in full production of his extraordinary theories and ideas. Now, I hardly recognize my son's spiritual presence.  

There is a black substance coating nearly every mechanical and technological device in the spiritual depiction of his mind. Leaning in for a closer look, I instantly wrinkle my nose at the pungent corrosive scent. I watch as one of his gears churns slowly against the black gook wedged between it and another gear. Startled, I lean away. It moved .   

The way this black matter moves is disturbing. It sticks to the gears like stiffening tar, but also moves with spider-like agility, spreading like cobwebs to the other gears in his spiritual mind. A few gears eventually stop moving altogether like a fly caught in the proverbial spider’s web.   

Several of the computer screens that were once filled with the eternal scrolling of data are now broken, with this black tar festering and breeding in their broken cavities. The only functional screen in his headspace flickers, occasionally showing distorted images and words, before flickering back to grey static.  

I step over a few shards of glass. "Watch your step." My warning goes unheeded as I hear crunching glass and a hiss of pain behind me. I turn to see Donatello wincing as he brushes away glass from the bottom of his feet.  

"How is that even possible?! I shouldn’t have been able to feel that…isn't this all a hallucination? "  

"This is very much real, my son. You can perish here just as easily as you can in the physical world."  

I stare at the black tar slowly consuming my son’s spirit. I need to know what kind of darkness this is. Darkness comes in many different forms, but the end result is the same—destruction. Hardening my spiritual self, I reach out and touch a small slithering glob as its spidery appendages branch out to get away from my hovering hand. Pinching off a small piece, it stretches like freshly chewed gum. It is too small to cause immediate harm to me, yet large enough to feel like a stinging wasp. I grunt at the discomfort but hold fast to the small black glob. It is very pliable, yet hardens defensively between my fingers when I apply pressure.   

My fur bristles at the sensation of its evil intent. This kind of darkness sneaks up on unsuspecting souls, latching onto the heart and filling it with lies. It suffocates, breaks down, and devours its prey. It is a darkness that easily manipulates the emotions of the spiritually weak. This is not the kind of darkness caused by depression as Michelangelo originally thought. Depression clouds an aura like toxic gas, but this darkness is different. It is solid and dense…more physically binding. I can feel it press against my aura trying to find a crack, a crevice, any entrance into my being. I wince as the sensation of a sting turns into one of a vicious bite. I flick the offending glob to the floor before it can inflict further pain.  

I backtrack, taking my son by the shoulders. “Donatello, you possess much knowledge of the tangible world, but despite the things you think you know, it is important you listen to me in this spiritual realm. Spiritual things do not always make sense to the logic of our minds, but you must listen. When I tell you do something, do not question me, just do as I say. Do you understand?” His silence is unnerving. I know my most curious and knowledgeable son desires logical answers over the mystical and fantastical, but time is of essence. I do not know how far this blackness has stretched across his aura, but it must be stopped immediately. “Donatello…” There is an edge of warning in my tone that snaps him out of his silence.  

“…Okay,” he nods doggedly. “I…I don’t understand, but okay.” I can see the trepidation and uncertainty in his eyes, but as long as I have his cooperation…his trust….I can work around his disbelief.  

“Come. Stay close to me. Do not let any of this black filth touch you.” He stays close to my side as we walk the corridors of his aura. The lighting flickers heavily above us, threatening to leave us in complete darkness. The walls are solid black and move with the steady rhythm of Donatello breathing as if it has a life of its own.  

“So what exactly is this black element?....It’s everywhere.”  

“It is a spiritual representation.”  

“So, it’s supernatural?” He acts as if the question of spirituality pains him to even ask, his doubt as visible as the menacing darkness around us.  

“Everyone has a spirit, Donatello. A spirit to love, live, and fight to survive. There are times when one’s spirit becomes clouded by bouts of darkness. However, darkness can be a necessary evil.  With proper mediation and understanding of self-worth, these clouds of darkness dissipate on their own and the spirit is wiser and stronger than it was before.”  

“But these,” he says motioning his hand toward the soot covered walls, “aren’t clouds. They’re thick and solid, with adhesive properties.” I am proud that my son has made this deduction while in the spiritual realm, but regret that it is at a time like this.  

“Yes, this is true. When darkness takes on a more solid form as it is now, it generally means it is connected to the physical world…the physical body in some way, usually in the form of sickness or disease.”  

“….Oh.” His quiet and short reply raises my suspicion. I start to question him, when I notice his wide eyes staring straight ahead.  

My eyes widen as well when I see the source of the cobwebs of blackness around his aura. In the center of it is his aura’s metal box. This filth consumes everything in its reach; however, there is a defined circle around the box untouched by the darkness. It is like an invisible boundary was drawn…protecting it. Donatello said he grew tired of fighting alone….did he unknowingly create this small defense against this darkness?   

I frown at the surrounding black grunge finally understanding its dark and strategic intent. All this time it has slowly worn down my son’s defenses. Striking his physical body, attacking his mind, manipulating his behavior….destroying every other aspect of my child in hopes of breaking his spirit. And here we are, watching this venomous creature wait patiently for Donatello’s will to break, for the barrier to crumble and for his box of emotions to be devoured until there is nothing left. But why? What does this thing want with my son? Where did it come from?  I feel there is an important piece missing from this puzzle, but it will have to wait. Our first concern is retrieving his emotional box from the center of this devious presence. Turning back to the mass of dark phlegm, I stare in horror to see the box has disappeared. No…this can’t be! If that creature has consumed it—  

“Sensei, how?….” I turning to my side to see Donatello with a baffled look as the metal box materializes in his hands. He does not understand the power he possesses here. He is so out of touch with himself he does not realize his subconscious action of repossessing the box.  

“Donatello, listen to me.  If you do not embrace your own emotions, I cannot help you.” I place my hand over the metal box in his hands. “For too long you have detached yourself from your feelings, burying them within this box. You think you are protecting yourself, but in the end it will only cause more harm. Your aura has already suffered greatly because of it.  You cannot live on logic alone, my son.” The small keepsake trembles beneath my fingertips as tremors course through my son’s body. “There is no reason to be afraid. Your emotions are yours and yours alone. There is no right or wrong, my son. You cannot continue to treat your emotions like a separate entity. They are a part of you just as your intellect and logic are a part of you.”   

Blowing out a nervous breath, his eyes meet mine and there is a silent acknowledgement as understanding slowly glistens in his soft brown orbs. He nods. “What do I have to do?”  

“Accept them. The good, the bad, and everything in between. Accept them.”  

“I can’t…I..I don’t know how….” His voice trails into a shame-filled whisper. This is very elementary, something even Raphael, my most hot-tempered son, knows how to do. However, I do not belittle his lack of knowledge in this impromptu Spiritual Refinement lesson. I simply cup my hands around his and guide his hands—and the box he holds—toward his chest.  

“Take a deep breath and release it….do it again.” We repeat this deep breathing mantra until his tremors cease. “Very good. Do you feel the warmth?” We both look down at the box pressed against his chest. Not only is it warm but it is also glowing brightly at the seams of the lid. “Concentrate on its warmth until you feel it extend from your hands, to your arms, and then to the rest of your body.” The contents from the box shine so brightly the metal box is transfigured and completely fades out of existence as a swirling ball of purple light now inhabits his hands. It is so bright it is impossible to look directly at it. “Accept it, Donatello.” There is no need to guide him any further as his spiritual instinct comes into play. He gently presses the ball of emotions against his plastron until it starts to absorb into his spiritual self.  

If someone would have told me three months ago, I would be inside my aura absorbing my emotions through bodily osmosis, I would have suggested a prescription of antipsychotic medication to suppress their hallucinations. Despite the general weirdness and insanity of this situation, this is really happening.  

I gasp as coolness washes over me and my body soaks up the cluster of emotions like a sponge in a sink of water. A glowing warmth soon follows, like the feeling of tattered quilts Master Splinter use to bundle my brothers and me in when we were tots. I wish it would last forever, but instead it gives way to more unpleasant feelings. Grunting, I double over as my insides feel like they’re in a vice.  

“Donatello, do not fight what you are feeling! Acknowledge it and let it go!” I hear my father’s voice but it sounds so far away, like shouting from a distant shore as a more dominating voice washes over me like scalding water.  

what an incompetent student you are….. tear them limb from limb….. They don’t want you….. you’re weak and pathetic….never as good as your brothers…..  

My knees wobble and then completely give out beneath me under the weight of the searing pain, leaving me trembling on my hands and knees. A sudden stickiness between my fingers makes me cringe. Looking down, I found myself in a puddle of black sticky slime. I sit on the back of my legs, extending my hand to the front of my face. My hand is dripping with the dark mucus, strings of the matter stretching for the ground to my raised hand.  

I frown at the thick tar on my hands. I don’t remember standing anywhere near this black matter….  

“Donatello! Get up, now!” The urgency in my Sensei’s voice pushes me to my feet. As I step toward him, something coils around my wrist. Looking down, I stare in disbelief as a black tentacle wraps itself firmly around my wrist. It, as well as several other tentacles, have risen from the puddle beneath me. The other tentacles sway and slither like a snake charmer’s pets as they loosely entangle around me with malicious intent. A menacing laughter echoes through my aura.   

Why are you so quick to run to him? Do you enjoy being slapped around and told you’re useless?  

No…I don’t. A tentacle caresses the side of my face that Master Splinter struck me and suddenly the physical sting of that blow returns as well as the hurt and shame from it.  

“Do not listen to the lies of this creature!” I try to turn my head toward my father’s voice, but three more tentacles turn my head away forcing me to look as a holographic image as it appears in front of me.  

You are not welcome in this home! You will not harm this family anymore!  

I blink as the image of my father stands before me, angrily shouting at me. I try to pull away but the black vines tighten their grip turning my body toward three more images.  

We don’t need you on this team!  

Nobody cares about you, so get over yourself!  

You…you monster!  

The disgusted look on Leo and Raph’s faces cracks something deep within me, but the look of fear in my baby brother’s eyes is the final hammered peg that completely shatters me.  

My family continues to shout horrible things to me, one voice clamors over another until it’s all just a chaotic mess of hurt, pain, and rejection that feels like a thousand-ton weight in my chest. As the images fade, my body trembles. I’m not so sure any of this is worth fighting for anymore.  

The same tentacles that grabbed hold of my son also restrain me from reaching him. The harder I struggle against the black manacles on my wrist and ankles, the more they burn my spiritual presence. Despite the blistering sensation in my wrist and ankles, I desperately tug and pull in an attempt to free myself.  

Helplessly, I watch as these false images surround my weary son. I never spoke the words spewing from the mouth of my doppelganger, and I am most certain his brothers never said such soul-shattering words to him either.  

Do you see?...Do you see how your family truly feels about you? They mock you and have no respect for you. They despise you. You are an useless ninja, a pathetic brother, and a disappointing son. And to think you were all these things before you started changing….mutating into a monster.  

I cry out to Donatello as this creature spews its deviltry into his accepting ears. It pulls memory after memory from his mind. I recall many of these recollections, but seeing them from my son’s perspective, gives me a deeper understanding of his isolation within our close-knit family. To make matters worse, this dark presence insists on manipulating the memories ever so slightly from their true form….just enough to make my gentle-hearted son feel unwanted, unloved by his own family. It is the way dark energy works—it only takes a touch of obscuring manipulation to derail a soul. The rest of the destruction comes from the broken soul itself.  

Its movement around my son draws my attention. It entangles, wraps, and coils itself around his limbs and torso, spreading like spidery vines over my son’s downtrodden body. Donatello is stock-still, sadly spellbound by this vile presence. I cannot allow this evil to consume my child. I will not allow it.  

I calm my racing heart and panicked mind; it is the only way to help my son. Closing my eyes, I chant a prayer of virtue, strength, and endurance. My aura swells with a warm, glowing brightness as the spiritual chains sizzle away from my limbs. I waste no time sprinting toward my son. A pained cry grinds past my teeth as I have to step into the black muck to reach him. The black soot burns beneath my feet like hot coals, but nothing will deter me from my child.  

I continue until I am able to reach out for Donatello’s wrist.  

“Don’t touch me!” A black tentacles whips at me, slapping my hand away in synch with my son’s command. Unshed tears pool and ripple in his distraught eyes. Two tentacles extend from the weeds of tentacles behind him instantly wiping the moisture from his eyes before they could spill down his cheeks. His spirit is weak. He is becoming one with this malevolent being, drawing strength from its negative energy.  

“Donatello, you must listen to me,” I plead with my son, ignoring the burning sensation under the soles of my feet as I step further into the syrupy puddle of emotional madness. He takes a step back, tentacles swishing violently around him. That conniving, manipulative creature! It did not try to bond with Donatello until he became one with his emotions. My son is still struggling with these newly embraced emotions, it knows this and is using this knowledge to its advantage.   

“Why? You never listen to me ….” There’s a fire burning behind his eyes. I remain cautiously still, not wanting to agitate him—or this creature manipulating him—any further.   

I reconsider my words . “I am listening now, my son,” I peaceably answer. “Tell me how you feel.”  

“I…I don’t know how I feel!” His irritation rises along with the whipping and lashing of black tentacles.  

“Yes, you do. Do not think, just speak.” I can feel his panic as he searches for intellect to express what only his heart can say. “Do not be afraid to give voice to your emotions.”  

“I’m not afraid!  I’m…I’m angry !”   

“Tell me why you are angry.” I keep my voice calm and encouraging as he paces, gesturing his feelings with his hands as well as his words. ”I’m angry because no matter how many martial art disciplines I learn, no matter how many times I perform my katas in tandem with a four count upbeat, no matter how many geometrical analogies I am able to associate with defense attacks, it’s never enough for you!  All you see is my failure,” he shouts into my face, but I say nothing. It is essential he gets this out. “I’m not as skillful as Leo; I’m not strong like Raph; and I’m not creative like Mikey. I’m not naturally gifted in ninjutsu and no matter how hard I try, it’s still…. not….. enough !  Just once… just once , I wish you were as excited about my inventions as you are about their accomplishments in ninjutsu.” His soot-covered chest heaves deeply with every screaming word.  

“Donatello, you are more than enough, my son. I never meant to make you feel as if you were not. I may not understand all of your creations, but it does not mean I do not admire your brilliant mind. I care deeply for you and everything you do; so do your brothers.”  

“No,” he vehemently shakes his head. “No, they don’t care! They don’t want me as a teammate, much less their brother. Leo thinks I’m a liability and never takes any of my inventions seriously. Raph treats me like a big pushover….a useless doormat, and Mikey….he…he….” He freezes in the middle of his tirade, eyes wide with a realization unknown to me.  

“He hates me.” His temperament holds to his introverted nature. Just as quickly as the flames of rage blazed in his eyes mere seconds ago, it is smothered by an even greater force—self-contempt. It is a pattern I should have recognized and stopped years ago. After an emotional outburst, Donatello often retreats within himself trying to make sense of his feelings. I always assumed his quietness was the way he dealt with his emotions, but now I see it was simply a destructive way of trying to make logical sense of illogical feelings. Blaming himself for feeling the way he feels is easier than admitting to feeling that way at all.  

“I understand why you love them more. I’m a horrible son, I know, but I just…I wish you cared about me too.” His voice cracks like porcelain as it fades into a whisper. I can tell this emotional acknowledgement has drained him as a defeated weariness sags under his eyes.  

“We are your family, Donatello, we love you very much. We want to help you. Whatever past wrongs we have committed we will make them right. Your brothers and I have neglected you in many ways, but for your sake, you must find it in your heart to reach past this pain. Feel our unconditional love that was always there beneath the hurt…..that will always be there no matter what.”  

Choking back a sob, he looks away from me with a pensive frown upon his brow. He is bitter and angry from years of unacknowledged hurt. Feeding negativity to an unforgiving and self-hating heart can do terrible things to a soul. My mind briefly drifts to a similar bitterness of my once brother, Oraku Saki, and it only increases my fear for my son.  

“I know this hurt is difficult to face. You have many emotions coming to surface after years of being buried and dormant. It is overwhelming experiencing them all at once. It is often our insecurities which bring forth the most hurtful ones." At mention of insecurities, he wraps his slime covered arms around himself, curving his posture into one of uncertainty.  I continue, because he needs hears this. "These sensations are chaotic and seem to be without rhyme or reason, but no matter how irrational they may appear, it does not mean they are irrelevant. The way you feel matters Donatello. It matters to your brothers....it matters to me.” As I speak, his hardened aura begins to lose its dangerous edge, softening with a gentle glow. My words have reached him on some level; the bitterness melts from his countenance revealing a childlike fear and desperateness.  

Lies….they are all lies….   the vile creature whispers to my son, taking hold of his torso with extra tentacles.  

He trembles as his breath hitches. He looks at me and that is all it takes. I push away my own pain as I crush my precious child against my chest. The burning slime scolds my aura but I will not let him go. It is then that the long-awaited sobs begin to rack his body. His legs buckle and I allow him to take me to my knees as well. I cup the back of his head as he cries pitifully into my robe. “I can’t…I don’t want to feel this….it hurts….it hurts so bad… ” His pitiful tears rip my heart from my chest as my soul burns with his emotional hurt.  

“I know, my son, I know.” As much as I wish to take this pain from him, I know it would be detrimental to shield him from his own emotions. My actions would be no better than his over the years. He must experience this pain, otherwise he will never embrace the joy and peace that follows.  

“I’m sorry….I’m so sorry,” he whimpers between hiccupped tears. “I was horrible to everyone and I’m so sorry.” Holding him tighter, I listen as his chaotic emotions spin like a whirlwind from anger, to sadness, to self-hate.  

“I love you, Donatello. My love for you is not conditionally based on the things you say or do. It is because you are my son and it is that reason alone.” His aura clings to mine for dear life as he stops holding in his hurt and wraps his arms tightly around my chest. In such close proximity, his emotions pour into me. His pain becomes my pain, his hurt is also my hurt, and it nearly overtakes me like breakers dashing against a seashore. In the same way I feel his deepest hurts, I hope he feels my love and strength. His tremors gradually cease and his sobs taper off into soft sniffles. He shifts out of my embrace, looking into my eyes. Doubt still dwells behind his watery gaze.   

“Together, we will fix all that is broken,” I reassure him, bringing my hands to cup the sides of his face before letting them rest on his shoulders. My aura glows as I steady him with my confidence. He takes a deep breath, regaining his lost composure.   

“I don’t think we can," he starts, his voice still unsteady with emotion, "I thought coming here would fix things, but its only allowed me to observe how strong this transformation really is.”  

“I do not understand, my son. What is this ‘transformation’ you speak of?”  

He sighs, reluctance weighing heavy on his shoulders. “Master Splinter, I’m sick….really sick. I’ve tried everything, but I can’t find a cure. I’m…I’m afraid something terrible is going to happen.”  

This revelation initially comes as a shock to me. However, as I think back over the past few months, the bodily changes, eating habits, and aggression all start to form a bigger picture of forebodement in my mind. This confirms my suspicions that this is no ordinary dark energy, but one connected to bodily sickness. “What exactly is going—DONATELLO!”   

My hands are almost not quick enough to grab his arms as he is suddenly yanked away from me. He grips my forearms just as tightly as I grip him as the lower half of his body is pulled in the opposite direction toward this dark presence. It has taken on a more dominating form as it towers over us. It obviously has the strength to consume us both, but it simply toys with us, pulling my son away with its elongated tentacles. The tentacles slither and coil around his legs and torso pulling Donatello further into its clutches, but I will not let go. Digging my heels into the ground of this spiritual plane, I remain rooted in my inner strength as I pull him toward me with all my might.  

“Help me!” His eyes plead, begging me to protect him.  

Why do you struggle so little turtle?...Your resistance is pointless. You and I are one and the same. The sooner you accept that the easier this will be. All you have is me.   

Its dark laughter shakes me to the core, but I remain unmovable. My arms shake with fatigue, but my grasp never loosens from my son.   

When you are mine, the first thing I’ll do is skin your rat father alive before dining on his innards.  

“No!...Sensei, I can’t do this….it’s too strong…It’ll kill you! —”  

“No! You can do this! Your mind, body, and spirit are one; you are stronger than this specter of sickness!” He has not had much time to adjust to being united with his emotions. I sense his fear and doubt as his emotions become scattered and unfocused. His hands slip down my arms as they become slickened with the black matter now creeping over his fingers. “No! Do not let go!” I tighten my slippery grip on his wrists as my heels skid against the thickening muck beneath me. “Hold on!”  

“I’m trying…” exhaustion strains his voice as his grip slackens. Grunting, I take a step back heaving him with me, but for my single effort of exertion, the creature mocks me, yanking him back with twice the amount of force. Black tentacles morph into hands grabbing at Donatello’s face as he struggles to hold on to me. In the time it takes to blink, I am sideswiped by a large tentacle, jarring me from my grip on my son’s aura. My own aura is flickering with fatigue. I am not accustom to being in another’s aura for such a long period of time and was not prepared for such a lengthy supernatural battle. With the last of my reserved spiritual strength, I lift my head in time to see my son clawing his way from the massive blob of negative energy.   

“DONATELLO!” I try to push my aura to get up, to follow my son into this terrifying realm of darkness, but I collapse, drained from the emotional stress.  

“FATHER!” he screams. His fingers leave behind clawed grooves in the malleable muck as he is wrenched into the abyss of darkness at his spiritual center. The darkness takes on a monstrous form only found in the nightmares of demons and ghouls; its crimson eyes gazing down on me with brash triumph.   

“NO!...DONATELLO!...DON—” The words are knocked out of my mouth as a force slams into me, propelling my aura completely out of my son’s body.  

Clutching my chest, I gasp for air. Wildly, I search my surroundings and briefly find peace in the familiar scent of lavender incense. I shake away the disorientation from my mind. Donatello is still in front of me. His breathing is harsh and his head hangs low between his shoulders as he otherwise remains unnervingly still on his hands and knees. “Donatello, my son, are you alright?” The muscles pull with tension in his arms as his breathing slows to an eerie pace. I reach for him and call his name again just as his head viciously snaps up. I should do something… anything , but I am frozen with dread as pupil-less crimson eyes stare back at me.   

Disturbed by the sound of stretching and popping bones, I watch in horror as my son’s jaw unhinges right before he lunges for me.  

“You don’t understand! He just totally went Mr. Hyde on me, dudes. It was like he wanted to hurt me.”  

“You’re right, Mikey. I definitely can’t relate to that….the Beanpole tried to grind my windpipe down my throat, but yeah, I have no idea what that must feel like.” 

“Guys, cool it.” I glance sternly between my two younger brothers as we sit around the kitchen table. Mikey’s eyes pool with tears every few minutes before for he blinks them away. He leans over the table fidgeting with his wrist wrappings—a sure sign of his worry. Raph sits stiffly in his chair, arms crossed over his plastron. There are darkening bruises around his neck, although, Donnie’s thumbprints are much more pronounced around his trachea. The scowl on his face is growing deeper by the hour, but it just shows how concerned he really is. “I’m sure Master Splinter is helping Donnie through whatever is wrong. We just need to be there for him.”  

“Yeah, easy for you to say. He hasn’t tried to strangle you or bash you over the head with glass. Whatever’s going on in that egg head of his ain’t gonna be easy to crack.” Raph’s gruff voice fades in and out through airy whispers as he rubs in throat.  Donnie really did a number on him.  

I huff through my nostrils at his bluntness, but at the same time I know it’s true. When Donnie came out of his lab he looked really sick. His steps were shaky as he made his way to Master Splinter’s room. It took everything within me not to rush to his side. I didn’t want to do anything to deter him from talking to Sensei. He needs help and I’m just glad he’s finally acknowledging it.  

“He’s been in there like forever….do you think they’re okay?” I stare at the clock. It’s been two hours and we haven’t heard a single sound from Sensei’s room.   

“This has been going on for months, Mikey. I’m sure they have a lot to discuss,” I try to reassure my youngest brother. I’m a bit concerned as well. What if Donnie flipped out on Sensei? I immediately dismiss the thought. Sensei can handle himself, plus we would have heard something by now if Donnie tried to attack him.  

And as if on cue, there is a hard thud that rattles the cabinets. Raph is the first one up and heading toward Sensei’s room and I’m right at his heels. If Master Splinter and Donnie are having an altercation, Raph’s explosive nature is not the first thing that needs to go barreling through Sensei’s room. Before he can raise his foot to kick the door, I firmly pull my hot-headed brother back by the ridge of his shell.  

“Wait. They don’t need you barging in there making things worse!” I scowl at him in a harsh whisper.  

“What, you wanna wait ‘til after he snaps Sensei’s neck?”  

I glare daggers at him, but stop short of offering a terse comeback, when I hear Sensei’s voice from the other side of the door.  

“Donatello….it is alright….please…don’t—”  

“..nuh-no..I can’t…”  

I feel Mikey press at my side as the three of us listen to pieces of the intense conversation behind the closed door. There are more muffled sentences from them….both of voices filled with grief and tension. The doorknob jiggles with the sound frantic scrapping. Just as I reach out for the jostling knob, the door swings back and I’m tackled by a blur of green.  

“Donatello, wait!” I hear my father’s voice as I shake the confusion from my head. From the floor, Donatello backs away from me, his eyes wild with fear. He scrambles to his feet, madly dodging my other brothers as he jumps over the turnstiles and disappears into the sewers.  

“What the shell…?” Raph mutters. I accept his hand as he pulls me to my feet.  

We all turn to Sensei, who’s leaning heavily on the doorframe. “You must find your brother….” His command loses its force as his body starts to sway. I immediately attach myself to his side and put his arm over my shell.   

“Take it easy, Sensei. Mikey, go make some tea.” Before I can utter his name, Raph is already at Sensei’s other side as we lead him to the kitchen chair. “You don’t look so good, Master Splinter. What happened in there?”   

With elbows on the table, he cups his head in his hands taking deep breaths. My stomach is doing backflips. I’ve never seen Sensei so shaken up before. Mikey places a cup of tea in front of him before taking his place beside Raph and me. Sensei looks down at the long strip of purple fabric that makes up Donatello’s mask.  

“Your brother is in grave danger. I fear in his current state of mind he may hurt himself or someone else. You must go, now.” He finally looks up at us leveling his gaze at each of us. “Your brother is hurt both physically and emotionally. You must approach him with caution, his mind is not stable.”  

“Are you going to be okay, Sensei?” I scan over his body looking for any visible wounds, but find none.  

“Yes, Leonardo. My spirit is merely drained from the energy used to help your brother in his meditative state. I am otherwise fine. It will be best for me to stay here in case Donatello returns. Now hurry! Go find your brother!” With a final glance over my shoulder at my sullen father, I grab my katanas and t-phone and head for the sewers.  

“Dudes, did you guys get like a kazillion missed calls from April?” Mikey asks as he comes up on my right side, swiping through his t-phone.  

“Same here.” Raph chimes in occupying my other side. Grabbing my t-phone, I also see a string of missed calls from our friend. I hit the call button, hoping we don’t have another crisis on our hands.  

“Hey April, is everything—”  

“Oh my God, Leo!...Where have you guys been?! I’ve called you for the past hour and—”  

“April, is this an emergency?....Because we’re kind of busy…Donnie’s missing and we—”  

“It’s about Donnie.” We both say Donnie’s name at the same time, which makes me stop in my tracks. My brothers skid to a stop as well, looking at me in confusion. “He stopped by early tonight to get supplies from the animal clinic I volunteer at.” I’m a bit surprised at this information, because as far as we knew he just went for a sewer walk earlier. He said nothing about going topside. “He was nervous and paranoid and he kept talking to someone who wasn’t there.”  

I keep my voice level and composed as I try to calm down our panicked friend. “Okay, April, we’re out looking for him now, I’ll call you back when—”  

“Leo, wait! I’m not finished! He said he just needed supplies, but he just used that as an excuse. He stole a bottle of Pentobarbital.” I remain silent…I have no idea what that is. “It’s a drug the clinic uses to put animals to sleep…permanently.” My heart drops into my stomach. With Master Splinter’s warning and this new information from April, my worry-meter just shot straight into panic mode.   

“We gotta go, April.” I don’t have time for niceties as I end the call. “Guys, we gotta move, now .”  

“Where?! He could be anywhere by now, Fearless!” Raph snaps.  

I don’t have the heart to tell my brothers what April thinks Donnie is planning to do. “We’ll go topside…start at the places Donnie usually goes to be alone.” Raph is already climbing up the closest ladder to reach the manhole cover. Mikey’s been incredibly quiet in the last few minutes. I look around the dank sewer and find him staring down a dead end tunnel. “Mikey, c’mon!” My harsh tone makes him jump and he looks back at me with eyes too bright in the dreariness of the sewer.    

“I…I thought I saw something…” He sounds distracted, which is the last thing we need right now.    

“Everything’s going to be alright, Mikey.” I soften my tone as I give his shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll find him, but I need you to stay focused, okay?”  

“Yeah…okay,” he replies with a wobbly head nod. Taking up the rear of the ladder as Mikey climbs up, I take one more look around the sewer before heading topside.  

My chest burns like a gasoline-soaked rag tossed into a burning flame, but I keep running. I can’t stop…I’m too close to them…I need to run faster, run farther, because I’m not safe. My mind flashes to a mere ten minutes ago when my canines were inches away from ripping my father’s jugular out of his throat with my outstretched jaws. If he hadn’t fought back, I would have killed him. His self-defensive blow knocked me into the opposite wall, clearing my head long enough to realize what I almost did. I was terrified by my uncontrollable behavior and ran. I ran past my brothers, out of the lair, and into the maze of sewer tunnels. My brain doesn’t make sense any more as other thoughts consume my logic and reason. As I turn a corner, my feet slide on sewer grime causing me to scrabble for purchase on all fours clumsily rounding into another tunnel. I skid to a stop, crouching wildly on hands and knees, craning my head slowly at the sound of feet slapping against the damp sewer floor.   

They’re coming for me.   

The urgent voices of my brothers grow louder as they echo through the tunnels.  A very simplistic urge to flee overtakes me, but the dead-end in front of me prevents the action. The light from a lightpole shines dully through the grates over my head. If I stay here, they will see me , and if I backtrack…  

I will kill them.  

My body overheats with a mixture of adrenaline and something else as I push myself against the dead-end wall. With nowhere else to look, I stare down at my feet. Quirking my head slightly, I frown and do a double take. I almost thought my feet disappeared until I wiggle my toes. At first sight, my large feet blend perfectly with the grayish sludge color of the sewer floor. I look at my torso then at my arms and legs and realize they too have changed colors to match the wall I’m pressed against. It almost looks like a—  

Camouflage…need to hide.  

I listen to the instinctual part of me and remain perfectly still, allowing my body to completely melt into my surroundings. Cautiously, I listen to my brothers talk. Mikey’s not paying attention though…..he's staring straight at me. Any minute I’m sure he going to give me away and then I’ll have to—  

Defend myself and slaughter them.   

My sense of smell is suddenly overwhelming and the stench of filth around me is almost too much until a subtle but deliberate scent hooks my nostrils. Its smells like…  

Sweat and sugar.   

The sweet aroma churns my stomach with hunger as I swallow back a pool of saliva forming my mouth.  

Like cinnamon and candy…  

My eyes widen when I realize the scent is Michelangelo. Oh, God…he’s my brother, why am I even thinking about…oh, God.  I close my eyes when I hear him take a shuffled step closer toward the deadend I’m camouflaged in.  

“Mikey, c’mon!” my younger brother stops staring at me when Leo grabs his attention. They talk for a moment, before finally leaving through the manhole above. I sigh with deep relief, not sure what came over me and why I was eying my brother like a dessert platter.   

The mutation.  The realization and fear hit me at the same time.  This primal urge, these instinctual notions, they have to be part of this deplorable mutation! I don’t have time to dwell on my growing mutation as another scent catches my attention. My eyes feel cloudy and numb as they automatically widen at this new savory scent. No….this feels wrong, but..but…  

I’m hungry.   

This two-worded thought is more prominent, more demanding of my attention and actions. So with that final coherent command, my sentient thoughts fade without me even noticing, giving way to a more basic need as I let the predatory voice within guide me to hunt my next meal.  

Chapter Text

“Really, Rick?...Giant squirrels in the sewers? I could maybe see giant rats or mutant alligators, but squirrels? Gimme a break!” I guffaw over the static of my walkie-talkie as I wade through knee-deep sewer water. This graveyard shift is crappy (pun intended), but Rick always keeps things entertaining.  

“You think I’m kidding?....Let’s see if you’re still laughin’ when those giant squirrels crack your head open like a walnut!”   

I shake my head at that idiot’s tall tale. “Whatever, Rick. You ain’t gonna freak me out like you did Gonzalez last week.”  

“You gotta admit that was funny as heck, that kid almost crapped his pants.”  

“Good thing he was in the sewer.” We both belly laugh at our crude humor. It never gets old.  

“Yo, Frank, I’ma grab a choco-log from the 7/11 ‘cross the street….you want one?”  

“Nah…seen enough ‘logs’ for tonight, man.”  

“Ha! Good one! Be right back.” His voice clicks off the walkie-talkie and I sigh at the silence that surrounds me. I should be home now with Linda and my little peanut, but we need the extra cash. With Linda expecting again I gotta pull as many of these graveyard shifts as I can. Extending my lantern in front of me, I squint to get a better view of the pipes along the tunnelway. It doesn’t take long to find the leaky connection. Crap. The whole angle pipe needs to be replaced.   

Digging into my utility bag, something catches my peripheral view. Frowning, I glance in the direction of the movement but see nothing. “Stupid rats,” I mutter while turning my attention back to my bag. Looking around the tunnel again, I can’t help but get the feeling someone’s watching me. “ ‘Ey, Ricky! Is that you? Quit messin’ around, man, I told ya I ain’t scared of no giant squirrels!” No one answers, just the eerie echo of my own voice greets me as it fades into silence down the end of the tunnel.   

My stomach churns with hunger as I watch my prey from the shadows. Spicy sausages….that’s what he smells like. The scent is so enticing, drool trickles down my chin as I run my tongue over my teeth. His scent is strong enough to override the stench of the watery filth he’s waddling in. Crawling into the outer glow of the light being held by my human meal, I watch with delight as my skin subtly adjusts to the dull light, blending perfectly with the bricked structure, mimicking the moldy green hues and corroded burgundy shades. My back claws scrape too loudly against the cobbled brick flooring as the human looks in my direction. I narrow my sight, hoping his light-on-a-stick will not reflect against my eyes and reveal my location.  

A scraping noise to my right startles me. “Ah!” I shout, turning abruptly in the direction of the sound as the water around me sloshes with my jerky movement. Making a slow circle in the surrounding water, I extend my lantern stick trying to see every shadowed corner…just to prove to myself there ain’t nothing down here. My heart races as I anxiously wipe the sweat from my brow. Some of it drips into my eyes; it stings, making me squeeze them shut.   

I slip into the murky water while the human rubs his eyes. With my nose and eyes above water, I can smell the salty sweat as it pours from him like a swine. I circle behind him, rising from the water. Breathing out a slow heated breath, my jaws widen but I pause when he stiffens. He senses me…he may fight back. Ducking back into the water, I drift swiftly past his legs.  

Something brushes past me. My eyes snap open and my heart pounds against my ribcage as large ripples of water flow toward me. Sputtering a crude curse, I back away from the rippling sewage. The water level starts to decrease as I reach the tunnel entrance again. Rick can call me a punk all next week if he wants, but I ain’t going back in that tunnel. Something was in there. “Maybe I’ll just tell the boss man that the water level was too high to work in…ain’t like he’s gonna come down here and—”  

Stupid! Dinner is getting away because I hesitated….should have bit him when I had the chance. I don’t  know when my next meal will be…I can’t let this one get away. Scrambling out of the water, I lunge forward on all four. My hind-legs hit the grimy concrete in an feral dash, hell-bent on catching my prey.   

I stop rambling when I hear that same scraping noise accompanied by loud slaps against the sewer floor. Turning tail, I don’t wait to see what it is, I just run. With the lantern stick still guiding the way in front of me, I run as fast as this stinkin’ rubber jumper will allow me to. Linda was always telling me I needed to lose weight. If I knew I’d be running from giant monster squirrels in the sewers, I would’ve joined a gym.  

Is this the way I came? Where’s the freakin’ manhole?! In my panic I’ve lost my direction and the three tunnels in front of me all look the same. I hear grunts and heavy breathing, but I realize it’s me. My hands fumble over my body as I curse repetitively at the loss of my walkie-talkie. The hairs on the back of my neck stand with fear and static as I look behind me and see a shadowy figure with glowing red eyes. It ain't slowing down, so neither am I. Taking the middle tunnel, I pick up my speed. My feet splash noisily against the damp ground, but my footfalls are being quickly washed out by the sound of something with larger footsteps steadily catching up to me. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I skid to a stop. A dead end. The lantern stick flickers leaving me in semi-darkness. Whatever is chasing me comes to a silent stop too. The lantern dies on me. Slowly turning around, my breath catches in my chest at the thing behind me. I can’t see its face or nothing, but the backlight from the tunnel entrance lets me see its shadowy shape. It rises from its crouched position, standing upright. It definitely ain’t no squirrel. It moves like a person, but somethin's off, like freakishly off. It's tall and bulky, and those eyes.....those demon eyes glow like red hot coals as it steps closer to me.  

“Look, whatever you are, please just let me be.” As I speak, the thing stops. The unnatural silhouette tilts its head to the side and it makes me wonder if it can hear me…maybe even understand me. So I keep talkin', hopin' my big mouth will get me outta this horror movie nightmare. “I…I..got a wife and little girl and another little runt on the way. Please, I just wanna get home tonight…just wanna see my—”  

I never finish my plea with the monster as it tackles me to the ground. Growling, I swing my lantern stick. The thing grunts when it makes contact with its body. I ain’t going down without a fight. The stick of the lantern is ripped from my hand. The fast movement of light gives me a terrifying glimpse of my attacker. There’s a blur of green, several rows of teeth, and then excruciating pain in my arm as the creature snaps it back like a twig. My scream is cut short when something grips me by the throat and pulls . The flesh of my throat feels raw, hot, and airy all at once as my head flops down with a dull crack against the hard concrete ground. My body convulses as my head lolls to the side. My heart pounds like a jackhammer in my head as warm blood pools under my cheek, cutting through the iciness of the sewer floor. My back arches as my rubber overalls are violently pulled, shaking me like a rag doll. Suddenly, my insides feels like they're going through a heated meat grinder. I try to take a breath, but can't. Tears stream down my face as gurgles of blood erupt from my open throat. My eyes are open as my last fading thoughts linger on a family I will never see again.  

When the human's light stick hits the side of my head, it only serves to irritate me. Slapping the stick out of his hand, I slam his arm against the edge of the walkway until the snapping of his limb makes him move a little less. The scent of adrenaline makes my hunger unbearable. His head shakes side to side like a fat worm, the vein in his throat flexing and spasming beneath his sweaty skin. My reflexes are quick as I catch his throat in my jaws in mid-turn. Muscles and veins hang from my mouth like strings of spaghetti. His flesh is flavourful and warm from his sweat and exertion. His eyes are glossy and unfocused as he looks in my direction for a moment before his head hits the concrete, flopping to the side. For a moment something stirs in my chest, but it is quickly forgotten as my stomach urges me to eat. The large mass at his center tells me this is where the most meat is. My bottom jaw drops lower to compensate for the large bite I'm going to take. The rubber texture surprises me as I tear into it. I try to chew it, but nearly choke when I try to swallow it. It's a covering of some sort, hiding the savory meat underneath. I take another large bite, ripping away more of the bitter rubber. My eyes widen with accomplished excitement as the pale flesh comes into view. The first true bite into the human's stomach is everything I thought it would be and more.   

As I paw into the rounded cavity of his gut, the metallic blood tastes like a savory sauce over the chewy entrails. The body jiggles beneath me as I gnaw and pull on a curved bone attached to the ribcage. The bone breaks in my clenched jaws as I grind on it greedily. Extending my jaws to an unhinged state, I allow the large rib to slide down my relaxed throat. Moving on to the juicy clump of fat, I grip it between my waiting teeth and easily peel it like string cheese from the tough muscle it's attached to.   

The rest of the meal is uneventful, yet satisfying as I continue to eat until human's center is an empty bowl of bone shards and folded skin. I tilt my head back and swallow, forcing down the last mouthful of organs and slushy innards as I lick the remaining fluids from my lips. A low content grumble hums in my throat as I sluggishly back away from the remains. I stare wistfully at the untouched arms and legs. My stomach whines in protest at the thought of forcing any more food into it.  

I turn my head away thinking it best to save the limbs for tomorrow instead of trying to cram them into my overstuffed stomach. Yawning, I lay on my belly, curling my back legs against my body while resting my head on my arms. For the first time in months, I am no longer plagued by incurable hunger.  

Chapter Text

Dawn will be approaching within the next hour; the boys should be coming home soon, hopefully with their brother.  I have mentally replayed last night's events several times, and each time reveals my failure as a father.   

He pleaded, begged me to save him, but I could not.  My fist hits the kitchen table in frustration.  I was not strong enough.  He trusted me to help him, but— 

“FATHER!” he screams. His fingers leave behind clawed grooves in the malleable muck as he is wrenched into the abyss of darkness…   

My vision becomes glossy at the recent memory of my poor son being dragged mercilessly into the bowels of his own darkness.  I failed him.  That unmentionable sickness completely consumed him in the spiritual plane, carrying into the physical world as my son attacked me against his will.  Still weakened from the spiritual connection, his burst of strength nearly overtook me, it took everything within me to knock him into the opposite wall.  Thankfully, it jarred his senses.  

"Father?"  The confusion and fear in his face nearly breaks me.  

"Donatello, it is alright.  Please don't –" Stumbling weakly to my feet I inch toward him.  

"Nuh-no, I can't control it."  

"Yes, you can.... you must. You are in control of your body, your mind, and your soul, only you. You must fight this Donatello.  Focus your thoughts, channel your emotions into a singularity of calmness and inner peace."  I try to talk him into state of composure,  but when he looks at me with a crazed look of terror I know my words have become a swirl of confusion in the chaos of emotions and dark thoughts of his mind.   

"I can't be here, I can't let it hurt anyone else."  

And with that final resolve, Donatello ran out of the lair to heaven knows where.  For the past hour, I have tried to search for his presence on the spiritual plane, but I only sense faint impressions that I cannot connect with, nor pinpoint.  My energy is waning, but I cannot—will not—rest until my son is home.   

I watch the entrance like a hawk, waiting for my other sons to come home with Donatello or for Donatello to come of his own accord.  With a sigh, I pace the floor.  The temperature is not below freezing, but it is close enough for my heart to twist with paternal worry as my sons search for their missing brother.  The sound of rumbling thunder halts my pacing.  Sniffing the air, I can smell the incoming rain even before it starts pelting against the streets above.  A heavier sigh leaves my nostrils as I stare at the empty entranceway again.  I just want my boys home.  Sitting on the worn and weathered couch, my spirit is restless as I try to meditate.  I cannot rid myself of the nagging fear that something else is wrong.  I cannot place it, but it burns bitterly around the edges of my psyche like acid.  A small groan vibrates in my chest as I massage my throbbing temple.   

My aura is still mending from the spiritual fight in Donatello's aura.  As much as I desire to run to the streets above to help Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo find their brother, I will be of no help to them in my current state.  I will practice a virtue I often remind Raphael of—patience.  Refocusing my thoughts, I rekindle positive energy in the form of hope to replenish my weakened aura as I wait for my sons to return.  

A chill runs through my body, pulling me from my slumber.  Yawning, I stretch the stiffness from my neck.  I must have fallen asleep at my computer again.  Another cold draft makes my body shiver.  When did my lab get so cold?  I'll have to remember to check the radiator and make sure—  

My thoughts are side-tracked as I scrunch my face in confusion.  Something doesn't feel right.  A cold surface scratches against my face as I shift my body. My eyes flutter open and I catch a glimpse of a flickering lantern beside me.  It lights up briefly before fizzing out, leaving me in darkness once again.  My hands scrub roughly against the ground beneath me.  

This isn't my lab.  Why am I on my stomach? ....I hate sleeping on my stomach.  My body aches with a strange tiredness and heaviness I'm not accustomed to.  I push myself into a sitting position, taking a sharp breath as the fullness in my stomach pushes against my diaphragm.  A reflexive hiccup jars my body.  Groaning, I lean my shoulder against what feels like a cold damp wall.  My hand gingerly rubs the center of my plastron as I wonder exactly how many pizza gyozas I actually ate for my stomach to feel as tight as a drum.  

An electrical hum catches my attention as the lantern at my side flickers to life again, apparently deciding to actually stay lit instead of short-circuiting again.  The dim lighting shows the vague silhouette of the tunnel in front of me.  Why am I in the sewers? ....  

Shifting my body against the discomfort in my abdomen, I gasp in pain.  Gurgles of protest push my stomach forcefully against my plastron.  Our plastrons are fairly flexible, but it offers no relief from this painful pressure.  

Something is wrong and it's more than just a stomach ache. I wake up in an abandoned part of the sewers, my father and brothers are nowhere in sight, and what is that awful smell?....  

My mental analysis is cut short when I lurch forward and my body's natural solution to rid itself of excess food kicks in.  

Vomit splatters in wet chunks onto the sewer floor as I cough and hack for air. I frown as the coppery taste of blood fills my mouth.  Spitting, I look at the bloody mess at my feet.  I just threw up  blood .   

My thoughts over the past twenty-four hours rush back to me, colliding fiercely with my disoriented brain.   

I'm sick and mutating.... I remember that.  I also remember meditating with Sensei, and... and everything went wrong, and I ran....  My head starts pounding from the effort of trying to remember. I place my hand over my temple only to immediately hiss at the unexpected tenderness there. My fingertips pull back congealed blood.  Did I injure myself?....  Maybe I hit my head.  

My hand slips as it makes contact with the condensation on the sewer wall.  I try again and this time I'm able to rise to my feet with the lantern in my hand.  The lantern is attached to a metal pole.  The middle of the pole is bent creating a 'U' shape.  Whatever it hit left quite an impression.  Curiously, I level the bend of the pole with the wound on my temple.  It's a fairly close match.  What on earth happened down here? .... And where is that  god-awful  smell coming from?!  Even for a sewer, the scent is pretty rancid.  My movements are still sluggish as I hold the lantern above my head.  I turn around facing the dead end of the tunnel.  

"Oh, god...."  

My hand shields my beak from the offending smell as I find its source.  I take a tentative step forward, the scientist in me wanting a better look at the mysterious and gruesome sight before me. It's the remains of a human male.... a waste management worker from what's left of his uniform. Something.... something didn't just maul him to death.... no, something devoured him, picking his bones clean and....  

"Ahh!..."  My eyes screw shut as crimson images of gore force their way to the forefront of my mind. I can see his pleading face as it pulls at an empathetic and remorseful part of my being; I can hear his bones snap against my grinding teeth and feel his bloody flesh in my mouth, and— 

Wait....grinding against my teeth? ....flesh in my... my  mouth ? ...My eyes snap open as the lantern stick clatters to the ground from my shaking hand.  I can taste the same putrid scent on my breath that fills the air around me.  Even as my mind puts the missing logical pieces together, I shake my head in denial.  

"No... no! That's not possible, I didn't.... I couldn't..."  

I gag as something forces its way up my esophagus.  My eyes water as it blocks my airway, scraping my throat on its way up.  Hitting my chest in a survival panic, I lean forward trying desperately to force this obstruction from my throat.  When it pushes against my tongue, I reach into my mouth, grab, and pull.  I continue to gag and hack as I stumble to my knees, weak and unnerved that I can feel this thing inside me as I pull it out of my mouth.  My vision blurs from the lack of oxygen to my brain, but I continue my gradual pull.  I gasp wildly as the regurgitated object is freed from my air passage.  It hits the ground with dull clank.  Fearfully, I look down.  It's covered in blood and stomach acid.  It's a bone.  I just regurgitated a bone.... a rib to be precise.  I can't stop the tremors in my body as I look at the gutted carcass beside me.  

I can’t deny the truth of what I did when I see several pieces of ribs missing from the body.  I dry heave until I hack up a handful of smaller bone shards into my hand.  I shriek as I shake the bones from hand.  I remember.   

I remember  everything.    

It was like being in the backseat of a car right before an oncoming collision, powerless to stop the approaching fatality.  The man’s pleas for his life still echo in my mind.  He just wanted to go home…. he… he had a family.  I begged myself to stop even as I ripped into his throat…  

“…Oh, God…”  I choke back a sob as burning tears spill from my eyes.  

I just killed someone in the most barbaric and animalistic way.  I cover my mouth with a trembling hand, clutching my stomach with my other.  Though I am no longer bloated from my cannibalistic actions, the pit of my stomach is still heavy and sick with the weight of guilt.  Never taking my eyes off the corpse of that poor man, I stand on wobbly legs and back out of the dead end.  When my foot squishes against leftover body fluids, I break into a mad dash and don't look back.  

The transition from sewer to rooftop happens so quickly, the icy sensation of rain bombarding my skin takes me by surprise.  I don’t remember climbing out of the sewers any more than I remember the exact moment I savagely lost control of my mind and ate a human.  Skidding to a stop, I nearly slip in the muddy leftovers of a forgotten garden plot on the top of an abandoned apartment complex.  

My heart constricts painfully as I try to slow my breathing.  I don’t know where to go or what to do.  I can’t go home, not after this.  Maybe there was forgiveness and acceptance before, but there won’t be any left for me now.  I look up at the dark sky, blinded by drops of rain as they pour down with more intensity.  My body tenses as a streak of lightening splits the sky followed by a boom of thunder.  I hate thunderstorms.  

Walking toward the edge of the forgotten building, I watch below as the precipitation pelts heavily against the fire escape and a dumpster at the opposite end of the alley.  The rain sounds loud and angry as it hammers against the metal objects below.  I jerk as another crack of thunder whips  fiercely in my eardrums.  For a moment I wonder what my shell will sound like when it hits the pavement in the midst of this thunderstorm orchestra.   

"I can't do this anymore.  It's... it's too much...." I whisper as the blustering wind carries my words into the raging storm.  The thought of the sewers only brings flashes of predatory delirium, giving me all the more reason to step up and over the tempting ledge.  

Why do you worry so about the life of a worthless human?..... That voice makes me cringe as I stop in mid-step from the ledge..... Does a spider worry for an ant?  Does a snake worry for the vermin it devours? …..  His voice sounds so close, so near, it's like hot stagnant breath tickling my ear and scorching my neck.  I stumble back from the edge, glancing around at every side, knowing I will never find a body belonging to the voice, but still jerking at every imagined movement in my peripheral vision and jumping at the spontaneous cracks of thunder.  

Every animal must kill to survive, whether for nourishment, self-defense, or simply for pleasure.  

 "I'M NOT AN ANIMAL!" I scream into the dawn as more veins of lightning race across the sky.  

 And you are not human.  

 Exhausted from the emotional predication, my knees hit the rooftop as I slump forward.  No, I'm not human.  I'm not human.... I'm not even a humanoid turtle anymore.  I'm mutating into something beastly... hellish..... something far worse than I could ever imagine.  

Let me carry the burden your pathetic mind is too weak to handle.  I will hold those memories for you. The gore, the sounds of the human's gurgled piteous screams as you slurped up his entrails... I will keep those memories for you.   

As the rain drenches me through and through, I consider this proposal within my own mind.  The scenes from my heinous act plague my mind, robbing me of what little sanity I have left.  Maybe I should stop fighting it, maybe I should listen to the dark voice this one time.  It would be for the best to forget.... forget this entire night.  I just can't deal with it right now.  I feel like I'm making a deal with the devil, but what other choice do I have?  If he can offer me just five minutes of peace from the turmoil raging in my mind, then I'll take it.  I'll take it and use it to put an end to this terrible mutation affliction.... somehow.    

With a resigned sigh, I accept the mental offer of solace.  Immediately, the anguish and remorse fade away into a very secluded part of my mind, leaving behind an indescribable numbness.  Blinking, I stare absently into the white downpour of rain.  Everything hushes into a muted state, the rain and thunder are both strangely silent....  I can't even hear the beating of my heart as it pounds in my chest..... just silence.  Complete and utter silence.  My body inadvertently shivers even though I can no longer feel the cold volleys of rain leaving goosebumps on my limbs.  My mind and body are consumed in a complete state of listlessness.    

Funny..... now that my mind is clear, I can't seem to think at all.   

Smirking, I curl my black tentacles around his memories and pathetic emotions.  I mold them, let them breed and fester into something more useful.  I will hold tight to his desperation, his anger, his bloodlust for just the right moment.  I will wait.   

I will make him see, he and I are one and the same.   

Chapter Text

Waiting for my brothers under the rendezvous water tower, I pull off my mask and wring out the excess water. I can barely see the next rooftop in this downpour. The wind whistles causing the rain to fall at fierce angle. Water is already puddling underneath the water tower.  It has to be at least 3 inches of rain out there by now. Donnie would know for sure and would even be able to predict the average rise in water in the sewers per hour. Retying my mask, my body aches with a sudden chill that isn't from the cold. I sigh as I fold my arms over my chest. We've been searching for hours and still haven't found Donatello. Neither Raph nor Mikey have called me, which only triples my worry.  The rooftops are dangerous and slippery in bad storms like this. I hope they are being careful. 

“Donnie, where are you?” I whisper into the angry storm around me.   

"Your brother has not been himself lately, refusing to speak to anyone, and when he tries to open up to you, you do not allow it…”   

I feel sick as guilt twists barbed-wire knots in my stomach. How many times had I simply ignored Donnie’s strange behavior over the past few months? I didn’t even try to offer a listening ear, only belittlement of his lack of training and constant questioning about the retro-mutagen progress. Even after our disastrous mission, I simply cut him down like a drill sergeant laying into a subordinate instead of hearing him out as my brother.  

I frown as I stretch my tired mind back to that moment on the rooftop.  Donnie kept talking about important files he had to get from the Kraang. What kind of files? ....Did they have anything to do with why he’s been acting so strangely?  If I would have just listened, we wouldn’t be in this mess now. We would all be home, helping Donnie through whatever issues he’s been dealing with all these months. 

Before I can further chastise myself, I hear the heavy and familiar splashes of my brother's footsteps. Raph swears at the weather as he joins me under the tower, shaking off the extra rain.  

"He would wait until the worst storm ever to run away," Raph grumbles as he cracks his neck from side to side. His cantankerous complaining is a sign of just how worried he is. 

Mikey runs under the tower shortly after him. Arms wrapped around him, Mikey frowns as he looks out into the distance.  He has the same dazed look on his face that he had right before we left the sewers. I know he's worried, but he's been acting weird.... not his usual weird though. He hasn't said a single word since we came topside.  No jokes or quirky comments, just this pensive silence.  Even on our worst day, I can count on Mikey to lighten the mood with his sunny disposition, but not today. Today, Mikey's behavior is more in line with the somber weather around us.   

The storm is making it difficult to see more than 20 feet ahead. I turn to my brothers. Both of them are shivering from the cold, Mikey more so than Raph.   

Dawn is finally breaking through some of the darker clouds ahead.  It's been a long twenty-four hours.  I never thought a failed recon mission would spiral into searching for a distraught brother in the middle of a storm.  My brothers' eyes are laden with exhaustion as they periodically shift and move side to side in an effort to keep warm.  Neither of them should be out here right now.  This is my fault. Donatello is my responsibility.  I've already failed one brother and I refuse to allow my other two brothers to endanger themselves with pneumonia and lack of sleep—both a recipe for disaster in this nasty weather.  Another involuntary shiver from Mikey is enough for me to make my decision. 

"Raphael, take Michelangelo home. I'll catch up." 

"I ain't going back to the lair without Donnie, Leo." I sigh; I don't have the energy to argue. Why can't he for once in his life just follow an order? 

"It’s too cold for you and Mikey to be out here. You're no help to Donnie if you catch pneumonia, now go." My tone leaves no room for argument, but over the years my brother has developed a type of tone-deafness to the obvious warning in my voice. 

"Oh, so it's okay for you to get pneumonia? ....Huh, that's some seriously jacked up logic you got there, Fearless." 

"I don't have time for one of your tantrums, Raph, just do what I told you to do!" The volume of my voice rises in a way that only Raph can cause.  As expected, he immediately starts cursing me, making me wonder if his foul mouth will attract a bolt of lightning. Sensing movement in my peripheral vision, I turn away from Raph's ranting to see Mikey is no longer under the shelter of the water tower, but standing absently in the downpour. His shell is facing us as he takes another step into the rain. 

"Mikey, get out of the rain!"  I shout,- causing Raph to also turn toward our youngest brother. Now , he wants to goof off? ....Before I can inhale and release a more demanding order, Mikey takes off running. My hand loudly palms my forehead before I drag it irritably down my face.  I turn to Raph. "Come on, we'd better follow him." He mutters something about avocados and Mikey's brain before we chase after him into the storm. 

I squint through the rain as my feet slip, barely making the jump to the adjacent rooftop. I stumble forward before regaining my flow and running to the next rooftop. We've searched everywhere and still no Donnie. I couldn’t see or feel his aura anywhere… until a few minutes ago.  Under the water tower, I felt this vibe like a supersonic radio wave pulsing through my body. I had to follow it, because it felt like Donnie, but it felt wrong .... like it was Donnie, but at the same time it wasn’t.  

Even as I run across the rooftops, I can feel the pulses getting stronger and stronger, just like in the sewers before we came topside. I felt terrible for ignoring the nagging feeling in the sewers and I haven't felt right about it since.  So, when that dark sensation tickled my senses again, I couldn't ignore it. Call me crazy, but I gotta follow my feels. I really hope it’s Donnie, but at the same time, I'm scared that it is Donnie.  

I skid to a stop on the next rooftop. The rain's finally letting up, easing into a medium shower. The presence is practically vibrating through me like a dryer on heavy duty. Whatever this feeling is, it's definitely close. 

My veins tingle like needles and pins as something pulls at my aura like an invisible rope…. Donnie.... it feels like Donnie, but something's really wrong.... 

I yelp as the cuff of my shell is yanked back and I’m spun around to face a very irritated brother. 

"You better have a darn good reason for makin' us chase you in a freakin' thunderstorm, you bonehead! We’ve already got Don to look for, what’re you thinkin’?!" 

Heart racing, I shove Raph away as I look around the rooftop, positive I will find him.  He has to be here. I swallow back a hard lump in my throat when there's only me, Leo, and Raph on the roof. My two older brothers share a concerned look as they look back at me "...But I thought.... I thought...." 

"Mikey..." The way Leo says my name like he’s soothing a kid who just found out Santa Claus isn't real makes me cringe with contempt. I shrug his hand from my shoulder. 

No matter who doubts you, trust the things your spiritual sight shows you and believe the things you feel are true in your soul. 

Sensei’s words give me the courage to stand up to my older brothers. "No!" I stand firm looking between them daring them to try and belittle what I know. "Donnie's here!" I frown, determined to make them believe me. 

"Do you see Donnie up here?"  This time it's Raph who speaks but his usual sarcastic bite is dampened by a tired yawn of doubt. 

"No, but... but..." 

"Mikey, it was raining pretty hard earlier and it’s been over twenty-four hours since you've slept. You probably just thought you saw—" 

"I didn't see him, I felt him." I rub at my eyes as desperate tears roll down my cheeks and mix with the now drizzling pace of the rain. "Leo, please... you gotta believe me." I keep staring into his humble eyes until he finally looks away with a long-winded sigh. 

The rain tapered off to a light drizzle, but it doesn't hide the tears of frustration on Michelangelo's face. He thinks I'm pacifying him and it’s taking everything within me not to, but when he stares at me with those huge doe-eyes it makes me want to protect him all the more.  But I fight the urge to baby him. For all his innocence, Mikey has an uncanny way of knowing things that elude the rest of us. It’s not even a ninja awareness, just a natural sensitivity to unnatural things. Back at the lair with Sensei, I promised myself I would listen to Mikey more and I plan to keep that promise. Donnie’s life may depend on it. 

“I believe you, Mikey, but you have to help me out, little brother. Help me see what you see.” I place my hands on his shoulders hoping to encourage him, but I can see his confidence falter into panic. 

“I… I don’t how to show you, Leo! ...I just know he’s here! We have to find him, ‘cause he needs us and—” 

“Mikey, breathe!” My command is a little sharper than I intended, but it makes him stop mid-sentence and exhale the breath he was rapidly inhaling during his panic-mode talking. “Close your eyes and breathe.” Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath before letting out an impatient puff. “We’ll find Donatello, but I need you to focus.” Eyes still closed, he gives me a determined nod. I give his shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “Good. Now, you said you felt Donnie…. what do you feel now?” 

“His aura…. something’s blocking his aura. Something has him… it’s so dark… I can’t…” His eyes squeeze shut and he shudders. Whatever my youngest brother is sensing on the spiritual plane is starting to make him panic.   

“It’s okay, Mikey. You can do this, I’m right here.”  I keep my voice low and calm as I hold tightly to his shoulders.  

I can’t help but feel a small sense of pride as his stance straightens under my touch and the countenance of fear is replaced with concentration. “He’s here, but he’s hurting.” 

“Where, Mikey? Where is here ?”  

A hard line of focus creases his brow as he holds his arms out at his sides. His wrists turn slowly as raindrops drizzle into the palms of his hand. Then he turns his hands palm down wiggling his fingers as if he’s feeling each raindrop. He turns his head as he opens his eyes in the direction that his right hand is pointing. “He’s there, I can feel his aura but just barely.”  I look to where he’s pointing. 

“Mike, that’s the edge of the building. There’s nothing there.”  Raph says with an exaggerated grumble. I rush to the side of the building, looking down at the streets below. 

I sigh with relief when I don’t see a bloody mess of my brother on the pavement. With the way things have been rapidly going downhill, I could only assume the worst. 

“Hey, Leo…”  The uncertainty in Raph’s voice makes me look back to him with concern. I follow his line of vision to the next building, which is slightly lower than the one we are on. There’s a figure slumped to the floor of the roof. Its back is toward us making it easy to see the shape of a shell…. 

“Raph, wait!” I shout, but I’m too late. He’s already bounding to the next building. 

Your brother is hurt both physically and emotionally. You must approach him with caution; his mind is not stable. 

Remembering Sensei’s words, I know my brother, and Raphael is definitely not the ideal person to approach Donnie right now.  With Mikey at my side, we both follow our hasty brother as he leaps down to the next building.  He doesn’t waste time as he approaches our brother’s still form from behind. 

“Donnie! ...What the shell, man?”  I call after my loud brother again, but he just ignores me. “We’ve been searchin’ the whole freakin’ city for ya and…” Raph’s words become lost as he stops a few feet behind where Donnie is slumped forward on his knees.  He doesn’t say anything, he just stands there like a statute. Mikey and I stand at either side of him. One look at Raph’s wide eyes and his bobbing Adam’s apple, and I know he’s afraid.  

Donnie’s drooping form is still…. too still.  

I extend my hand  in front of both him and Mikey, motioning for them to stay put as I slowly take the remaining steps to our brother.  

He stole a bottle of Pentobarbital…. It’s a drug the clinic uses to put animals to sleep… permanently.  

April’s voice rings warning bells in my mind as I come to terms with the fact I could be approaching my brother with a syringe dangling from his arm.  I take deep, slow breaths to calm the fear and panic in my chest.  No, it can’t end this way… not with so many unanswered questions and confusion still lingering over our family.  The wind blows another chilling burst of air in our direction; Donnie’s body twitches. I suck my lip in, biting back the overwhelming relief.  He’s alive…. he hasn’t made another effort to move, but dear God, he’s alive!  Mikey said something had Donnie, so I do a quick scan of the rooftop as I approach him to make sure my brother isn’t being used to bait us into a trap, but I don’t sense anyone nearby. Still being cautious, my steps are quiet, yet loud enough not to startle Donnie as I come around him from behind. 

My heart clenches with worry at the sight of my brother.  There’s a lump and gash just above his right temple. He’s sitting in a puddle tinged with pink…. it’s blood.  There’s dried blood on his plastron that the rain didn’t wash away in his hunched-over state. “Donnie, are you hurt?” I ask gently as I kneel in front of him. His downcast eyes continue to stare unseeingly at the ground. Even as I wipe at the dried blood on his form, he makes no movement to even acknowledge my presence. I don’t notice any other wounds, just dried blood and grime. “Donnie,” I try again, this time giving his slender shoulder a small shake. I tilt my head to try and level myself to his line of vision, but his haunting gaze stares right through me. “Donatello, come on, little brother.” Pleading softly, I cup his chin in my hand. I lift his face until we are eye to eye, silently begging him to say something… anything to let me know he’s okay.  

Everything is blurry, muted, and in dreary scales of gray. I don’t have a desire to leave this current state, but someone keeps calling my name and touching my face. I blink lazily as the shadowy grays swirl into muddy colors of green and blue. The familiar voice continues to beckon me out of the haze blanketing my mind like heavy wool. 

“Leo?...” My brain finally recognizes the gentle tone of my oldest brother.  My voice sounds small and strange to my own ears, but it makes Leo smile for a moment.  Wait, Leo’s here?... 

“Yeah, Donnie, it's me.... are you hurt?”   

“I… I don’t think so.” I feel numb all over as I watch him fumble over my body. I think I should feel something...anything but I feel so detached and empty. 

“What happened?” It’s a simple question, but my brain is too muddled to think of an answer. My body convulses harshly as a chill aches across my skin. “You’re freezing…. have you been in the rain this whole time?” There’s a firmness in his voice, but he doesn’t sound angry… just worried.  What does he mean this whole time? Was I supposed to be somewhere else? “Donnie, you still with me?”  

“…..I think so.”   

There’s a loud voice behind me making my head hurt as I wince, but Leo quickly hushes it. “I think he hit his head pretty hard; he might have a concussion.” 

As the fog starts to lift from my mind, something feels off.  Small tremors lace my body, but I don’t think it’s from the cold.  There’s a nervous sense of danger resounding within me that I don’t understand. Yet, somehow I feel the need to acknowledge this impending anxiety.  Before I can figure out  this eerie feeling, vertigo hits me as my position suddenly shifts from sitting to standing within seconds. I feel myself swaying but Leo keeps a firm grip on my shell. Looking down at my brother, I frown.  He seems to sense my confusion as he holds me close to his side. “Everything’s going to be okay. Let’s get you back to the Lair to get that head wound stitched up.” 

Needing tangible understanding, I reach up to touch my temple and immediately hiss at the throbbing pain it causes. 

Something…. something hit me. A flash of a metal pole jars my memory…. he hit me with a pole and it hurt. I grunt and collapse under the intensity of the painful remembrance as other mental images come flashing behind my eyes causing Leo to stumble with me from the sudden shift in my balance.  Pictures filled with carnage and bloodlust flood my mind, awakening sensations I fight to forget. I remember the coppery taste of innards, the smell of fear, the sound of his screams as he fought against me, fought against my teeth as they ripped into his bowels. These sights, smell, and feelings… urge me to surrender myself to them as something more primal courses through my mind, quickening my heart rate. Something grips and shakes me, and it triggers a need of self-preservation. I turn on the offending touch slamming it to the ground, baring teeth ready to give a warning bite. 

“DONNIE, STOP!” 

I hear shouting but it sounds muffled like I’m under water. The noise becomes more demanding more clear….. I know this sound. I force myself to break free from the watery submersion of my mind. As my blurry senses begin to clear, I stare into the eyes of my eldest brother. My hand is wrapped around his katana strap, grinding him into the ground. My mouth is gaped open awkwardly, jaw unhinged as I stare into the fearful eyes of my brother. I gasp as I shamefully snap my jaws together. My own fear grips me as I fumble off of him, landing on my behind as I back away.  

“Donnie, please just—” 

"You shouldn't have come," I cut off whatever plea Leo has on the tip of his tongue, pushing myself away from him. 

“Just calm down, Donnie, everything's going to be okay.” Leo slowly rises to his feet as he reaches out to me.  

I shake my head fiercely, scrambling to my shaky feet. “No, please just… just stay back, okay?” My voice wobbles as I continue to back away.  

Why do you deny me? Why do you fight what is natural for you?  

“You tricked me!” I sneer over my shoulder. 

I did nothing of the sort.  

“You said you would help me forget…. But you… you made me hurt my brother!” 

You acted on your own accord.  

“No! That’s not true! I didn’t—” 

“Donnie? ...Who are you talking to?” Leo takes a step toward me making me stumble backward in my haste. 

“I… I can’t be here… I’m sorry, I can’t….. It’ll kill you if I’m here!”  

“What do you mean? Is someone chasing you?” Leo reaches out to me again. “No one’s going to—” 

“NO, STAY BACK!” I scream, clutching the sides of my pounding head. “Don't come any closer.” 

“Take it easy, Brainiac.” Frantically, I turn around at the sound of Raph’s voice and realize he, Mikey, and Leo have me surrounded. My heart races as they close in on me. I can feel adrenaline pumping through my veins, pounding viciously as a growl rumbles past my snarling lips. My shell hits the front of a maintenance supply room. They have me cornered. My panic heightens. Instinctually, I position myself in a defensive crouch, afraid of what they will do to me. 

Kill them… before they kill you.  

My eyes widen in horror and the aggression melts away at the choice words of the beast within me. With sudden clarity, I realize I am more fearful of what I will do to them. A gardening hoe is within reach, so I snatch it from the side of the fixture behind me, twirling the familiar-shaped weapon from one hand to the other. 

“No, keep away from me!” I shout, swinging the metal end of the hoe in three quick arches.  The swiping motion effectively keeps them at bay as I back away from them through the broken doorway of the abandoned maintenance room. My tired arms shake as I hold the tool in front of me protecting them from my violent urges. Unfortunately, they won’t leave, as they slowly inch their way into the room with me. I swing the hoe again for good measure. “I said STAY BACK!” With wide eyes they all dodge my swing, holding up placating hands as they keep their distance. Good. They just need to stay there so I can get out of— 

I gasp as my shell bumps into the corner of the room. Looking between my brothers, I realize I have no way out. They obviously realize this too as they slowly approach me like a wounded animal. 

Finally acknowledging yourself for what you are…. an animal. A beast. A monster. It laughs at me, taunting me in my current ironic predicament. 

“No, no, no, stop it…. STOP IT!”  

The moment he single-handedly pinned me to the ground, I knew there was something very wrong with Donatello.  His unhinged jaw is inches away from my face; it's so unnatural, like something straight out of one of Mikey's horror flicks. His eyes were so wild and dangerous I feared my cries for him to stop would go unheeded, but when my words finally get through to him something resembling my brother surfaces in his countenance.  Within seconds he's backpedaling away from me, begging us to stay away.  I learned firsthand the dangerousness of getting too close, but it doesn't deter me from reaching out to my unstable brother. I watch dreadfully as something akin to insanity grips Donnie. He starts talking to himself and swinging a garden hoe at us. Raph and Mikey follow my lead as we slowly approach him. I try to calmly talk him down from his crazed behavior, but I can't tell whether he's talking to me or whatever unseen inner turmoil he's battling. I lean away just in time to narrowly miss having a hoe crack against my neck. 

"Donnie, please, just calm down." He becomes even more frantic when he realizes he's blocked himself into a corner.  Mikey inches his way closer to Donnie, but I give him a stern look to stay put, not wanting to spook him any more than he already is. 

"No, no, no, stop it... STOP IT!" As he turns the hoe upward, I realize too late that he plans to ram the metal end against his temple.  The metal connects with his head causing his injury to bleed anew. 

Before I can react, my youngest brother ducks under my arm, swiftly lunging for Donnie. He skillfully grips Donnie's hands between his, stopping him from further self-harm.  My eyes go wide at Mikey's closeness to our unhinged brother. Donnie's clearly not in the right frame of mind… what if he hurts Mikey?  

I rush forward only for Mikey to shake his head sharply.  I give Mikey a stern look, but the look that he gives me in return makes me halt any further commandment. His eyes shine with a sudden determination and despite my uncertainty, I know I have to trust that my little brother has a plan. 

With impatient fists clenched at my sides, I watch as Donnie struggles against our youngest brother, trying to maneuver the hoe to inflict further pain upon himself. 

"DON'T LISTEN TO HIM!" Mikey yells as he yanks the hoe away from Donnie's temple. It’s obvious Donatello could have easily overpowered Mikey, but those four words give him pause. 

"Leo, what the shell?" I turn to Raph. His emerald eyes burn with action, ready to jump in, tackle Donnie, and drag him home, but I motion for him to be quiet as I nod to our youngest brother. Whatever Mikey is planning it seems to be working because Donnie's struggling jerks to a sudden stop. 

"Wh-what did you say?" He stares at Mikey with wide eyes. 

"I said, don't listen to him." Mikey keeps a firm grip on Donnie's arm, insuring he doesn't continue to beat himself senseless with the hoe. "D, you can't listen to that creep in there." Mikey points to his temple never breaking eye contact with him. "You're not a monster." 

"Y-you can hear him, too?" His voice is just above a whisper but the hopefulness there is heartbreaking. 

Mikey nods with a sad smile. Donnie's trembling so badly its making Mikey's arms shake. "Yeah, bro.... every word.  Does he always talk so much?" His voice strains as he attempts to lighten the mood. 

"Never stops." His response walks the thin line between dark humor and slipping sanity as he snorts bitterly, his eye twitching every few minutes.    

"Well, that sucks," Mikey says so calmly, you would think he was having a casual conversation with Donnie at the kitchen table over warm beverages, instead of in a cold, dingy supply room trying to coax him to come home with us. Mikey's eyes glance up and to the side for a moment as if listening to something too keen for my ears to hear.  

"And for the record, I'm pretty sure I don't taste like a cinnamon roll.... maybe a crème puff..." I think Mikey's last weird comment was meant to be a joke, but it falls short as Donnie's face pales and crumbles into further anguish. "Sorry! ...Sorry, bad joke." Apologetically, Mikey presses his hands against Donnie's plastron as if trying to physically calm its rapid rise and fall.  Donnie breathes in a shuddering sob. My chest tightens with worry as I watch the painful interaction between my two youngest brothers. "Donnie? ...You still with me, bro?" 

"I won't hurt them, so... so JUST STOP!" Don’s voice is wet with emotion as the hoe slips from his hand, clattering to the floor. He whimpers as he slides down the wall, sinking to the dirty floor like a rock to the ocean's bottom. Mikey clumsily tumbles down beside him. Donnie's face is hidden behind his drawn knees as his breath hitches.  Raph and I instantly rush forward but stop short when Mikey waves us back as he sits on his knees in front of our fallen brother. "Just go away..." Donnie whines as he presses the heels of his hands into his temples.  It’s hard to tell if he's talking to us or the unseen presence that only he and Mikey can hear. 

"Sorry, bro, we're not going anywhere unless you're coming with us." Mikey's voice is gentle as he places a hand on Donnie's knee.  He shrinks away from Mikey's touch like it's acid. Unable to push himself any farther into the corner, he settles for sinking his neck further into his shell instead. 

"I can't." 

"Why?" 

"I'll hurt you.... you shouldn't be here... I'll hurt you.... all of you." 

"No, you won't. It's cool, D. Are you worried about Raph? ...’Cause he's totally fine now. It's all good, bruh." 

The fear and panic is evident in his face as Donnie looks at Mikey and vehemently shakes his head as his voice catches in his throat and his sentences become a string of confusing words. "No, it's not! Nothing is good, everything is wrong in me!" He screams slamming his hands against his plastron as if to beat this ‘wrongness’ out of him. His voice eerily tapers off into a whisper again, "I did something horrible, Mikey.... Sp-Splinter tried to help, but I almost hurt him..... I did something horrible.... there was so much blood.... so much.... it was my fault.... I couldn't stop it...." He thumps his temple with his finger.  "….I couldn’t stop it..." he gags and coughs bitterly. "...God, I can still taste it...." 

"Taste what, D?" 

"His blood...." Those two words steal what little warmth there is in this run-down room leaving a daunting chill in its place. 

"He... he... he tried to scream but he couldn't because I..." My eyes glisten with collective moisture at the haunted look in Donnie's face as he chokes on his own words "...It's my fault... he's dead.... and it's my fault." 

"Leo..."  Raph growls under his breath moving closer to me, the tinge in his voice sounding more terrified than angry. Donnie's eerie confession isn't the only thing taking us by surprise. My lips part in shock. I stare with a mixture of concern and amazement as Donnie's skin changes colors before my eyes. 

"What?..." I try to follow this nightmarish story filled with blood and gore that's got D all messed up in the head.  Donnie's really upset and I can barely make sense of what he's saying between his wheezing sobs. His aura is weak and dull, and spiraling into a really dark place. I'm losing him, I can feel it.  

Wait.... where did he go ?  I stare at the corner Donnie was huddled in just moments ago. I can still hear him crying and I can still see his aura, but physically it’s like his body just—Poof.... Disappeared!  

Okay, okay, now I'm really freakin' out!  Not only is Donnie's aura disappearing, but he's disappearing.... Man, I'm freaking out! 

I blink a few times as my vision starts to refocus. My eyes have gotta be playing tricks on me....   

Donnie's still there, right in front of me, but then…..he kinda isn't.  It's like staring at those 3D puzzles to make a hidden picture pop out, except, well, Donnie is the hidden picture. He's totally blended with the grimy grey wall behind him. 

When he suddenly twitches, that's when I can see part of his head.  The top of his head briefly changes back to its normal olive green color. His face is buried against his knees and his arms wrapped around them from what I can tell before he starts to fade into the background again. 

"Whoa, come on, stay with me, dude!" I instantly grab the sides of his head with my hands forcing him to look up. "Come on, bro, stay with me.... look at me."  His camouflaged eyelids roll back to reveal panicked brown eyes beneath. I don’t know if he realizes he‘s doing a disappearing act on me, but I know I have to keep him calm. "That's it, D, just focus on me, okay?  Take slow, deep breaths, like this." I take exaggerated breaths until Donnie's breathing sounds more normal and less wheezy. "There, that's it, you're okay." Leaning back against the wall, he’s breathing a lot smoother than when he was hunched over and hugging his knees. Shivering again, he wraps his arms around his middle. The greyish pigments of his skin make him look really sick as his skin color changes again, getting stuck somewhere between olive green and gross grey, but at least he's not freaking out anymore.  

Why do you pretend to be more than the savage beast that you are? You don't belong with them anymore, not after what you've done.... and well, let's be honest.... you never belonged. You are nothing more than sewer sludge to them. But let's see how pathetic they think you are when you crack open their shells like walnuts and peel away their—  

The stuff that thing is saying in Donnie's aura is totally dark and twisted, but what's even more scary is the look of defeat on my brother's face. "Donnie, no!  You can't believe anything that thing tells you...... You're smarter than that, bro." My voice wavers with the deepest form of empathy I can express, and it’s just enough to pull my brother away from those hideous thoughts and stare thoughtfully at me. "You'll always belong with us, no matter what." 

"No, Mikey, I don't.... I don't belong anywhere." Something deep in the pit of my stomach coils into bitter knots at my brother’s brokenness. That can't be what he thinks.... he can't seriously think we don't want him home. 

"Whatever happened when you left doesn't matter, D. We just want you home." 

Donnie's hysterics start to dwindle leaving nothing but fumes of exhaustion as his bloodshot, heavy-lidded eyes focus on me. "But you don't understand.... You don't know what I've done…. what I’ll do to you." 

"It doesn't matter, I still trust you with my life, Donnie, no matter what."  I mean it... every word. We're brothers; trust just comes with the territory.  Donnie stares at me in disbelief, but I can feel shards of hope trying to come back together in his weakened aura. "Whatever it is, bro, we'll get through it together like we always do. You gotta trust me, bro….. the same way I trust you. We gotcha back, D." 

Though Donnie doesn't utter a word, he doesn't have to 'cause his body's doing the talking for him.  I look down at where my hand is resting on his arm and watch as his skin brightens, becoming identical to my own awesome shade of green.  

With a shameless sniff, I rub an arm across my tear-moistened eyes. I wish this were a really bad dream and that I would wake up in a cold sweat at my computer desk. However, that wish is far from reality as my eyes scan the dilapidated maintenance room. Cold, dark, and filthy….words I could use to describe this room and myself. This room is where I belong, where I should rot and die; yet my brothers are here pleading for me to come with them. But they don’t know, they’ve only seen glimpses of this horrible thing I’m becoming, but if they knew… saw what I did, they would put me out of my misery before I— 

“Come on, bro, let’s go home.” I look up at my baby brother as he extends his hand to me. 

Home… I’m so tired…. I just want to go home…. but can I? Home use to be a place of safety and protection, and at one point in time a place of love, but what is now? ....Nothing more than a reminder of my weakness, shame, and guilt.  

“Let’s go home, D,” my youngest brother repeats as his unremitting trust and hope manages to warm something inside of me I thought the beast had consumed. I’m not sure whether my brother’s trust in me is brave or just plain stupid, but a part of me wants to believe in his hope too. Even in my fear and uncertainty, I nod mutely as I take his hand. It isn’t long before I am gripped and handled by my older brothers as they, too, uplift me from my pathetic state. 

Leo gives a confident smile as he pats my plastron.  I try to return the smile but an excruciating pain suddenly spasms in my left arm. 

“ARGHH!” White specks dance across my vision as I dizzily tumble back. My arm burns like liquid fire as muscles feel like they’re being ripped apart like paper. I should have known better. How could I be so stupid to believe going home would fix this? The fiery pain bends me forward, protectively cradling my arm. I feel the bones shifting violently beneath my skin, jerking my arm against my will. 

There’s no escaping this mutation. 

“Donnie?!” 

“What’s happening?” 

“Holy shell….”  Raph’s voice is the last thing I remember before I start screaming as something in my arm breaks free of its fleshy confinement and my world instantly blacks out.  

Chapter Text

“Holy shell…”  My voice is a scratchy whisper as I watch the sickening display of muscles and joints shift beneath my brother’s skin like a wild animal trapped in a burlap sack. The bones of his fingers break through his skin, elongating and thickening into something grotesque as tendons, muscles, and layers of skin chase behind them, snaking and wrapping around those bones quicker than I can blink.  Just as the transparent layer of skin covers his disfigured arm, Donnie’s eyes roll back and his screams stop.  Leo and I grab him before he faceplants into the debris-ridden floor.  We ease his unconscious body to ground as Leo cradles Don’s head against his knees.  He frowns with worry, pressing his fingers to the side of Don’s neck. 

“His pulse is too low,” Leo says so low that I don’t think he meant for us to hear it.  

“Dude, did Donnie just grow a monster arm? ...Tell me this isn’t Pizzaface all over again and that someone else actually saw this!”  

Stevie Wonder couldn’t have missed that, but I don’t voice this sarcastic thought to Mikey.   

Leo quickly strips the wrappings off his arms and wraps them around Donnie’s reddened, jacked-up limb all the way down to his fingertips. Despite its hideous appearance, he’s real careful as he lays the limb over Don’s plastron.  

Leo doesn't waste any time barking orders. "Raph, grab his legs. Mikey, there's an alley behind this            building. I need you to guide us down and keep a lookout."    

"On it, bruh."  Mike's already out the door as Leo and I hoist Donnie between us like a hammock. I lift  him up higher to get a better grip behind his knees.  Shell, he's heavy.  

"Careful, Raph."  

"I got 'im!"  I snap at Leo.... not like I plan on dropping him.  

We maneuver our limp brother out of the run-down supply room and, with Mikey’s help, down the fire escape and to the nearest manhole.  No surprise that the water level in the sewers is twice as high as it should be from the downpour of rain from the storm.  My exhaustion is starting to show as I heft Don’s legs up again with shaky arms.  I try to keep Donnie’s legs level with the rest of his body gripped in Leo’s arms as I wade in sewer water just below my kneepads.  Leo’s walking backward, looking over his shoulder every few minutes as Mikey leads the way.  

Leo looks from the brother between us back to me.  “We’re almost there, just a little farther.”  

My brows crease into a deeper frown, refusing to let Fearless see my fatigue as I lift Don’s legs up again to keep them out of the water.  “I said I got ‘im.”  He looks at me again, but says nothing as he directs his attention back to Donnie.  The hazy lights of the city above dully shine through the grates as they gloss over Don’s body. He hasn’t moved, moaned, or anything and it makes me wonder if he’s—  

“MASTER SPLINTER! WE FOUND HIM!”  

Mikey’s ridiculously loud voice pulls me away from morbid thoughts as our movements shift to higher ground when we approach the turnstiles of the lair.  Splinter’s already there and as we lift Don over the entrance, he takes him into his arms.  Even though it’s like he’s carrying somebody his own size, Splinter cradles Don like he’s a pillowcase full of feathers instead of the huge sack of potatoes that he feels like. We all follow Splinter into Donnie’s lab where he gently lays him on the medbay pushed against the wall.  Don’s still unconscious as his head lolls to the side when it touches the pillow.  In the blunt fluorescent lights of his lab, I step back gaping at the sight of my brother.  

He’s gotta be sick, ‘cause he ain’t supposed to look like that…. his face is slack; the dark circles around his mask-less face make his closed eyes look like sunken pits.  He’s nothing but extra-long limbs as I notice how thin he is.  His skin is ashen gray, but I really don’t know what to think of it since he was just the color of Mikey back at the rooftop.  No matter how hard I try not to, my eyes keep trailing down to his disfigured arm that I had the unpleasant honor of watching warp into… into… God, I don’t know what it is, or why it’s happening to my brother.  None of this crazy crap makes any sense.  

”We found him topside on one of the rooftops.  He wasn’t himself…. he was terrified and paranoid about something…. something Raph and I couldn’t hear, but Mikey could.”  Mike looks a little shocked and dumbfound by Leo’s admittance.  

“….It was the darkness.  It’s so much stronger now, Sensei.  Donnie’s suffocating in there.”  His eyes gleam with concern and sadness as he stares at our lifeless brother.  

“His aura,” Splinter nods, understanding the Mikey’s gibberish a heck of a lot better than I am.  Donnie’s suffocating in the dark? What the shell, does that even mean?!  

“I think something happened before we found him.”  Leo steps forward as he fills Splinter in.  

“I assume this ‘something’ is the cause of his wounded arm?” Splinter questions as he takes the wrapped and misshapen limb briefly in his hands.  Tuh… he don’t know the half of it.  

“No, that totally happened after we found him,” Mikey offers from beside me.   

Splinter’s whiskers twitch as he looks across the three of us before turning back to Donnie’s arm.  We tried, but his arm still managed to get wet in the sewers.  Sensei starts unraveling the damp wrappings around our brother’s arm.  The sound reminds me of sticky tape being peeled back.  I can feel the blood drain from my face as I realize Don’s skin is clinging to the wrapping.  Splinter realizes this too as he abruptly stops and looks at Don who still hasn’t moved through this painful-lookin’ ordeal.   

“Leonardo, get the ointment in the top drawer of the dresser in my room; Michelangelo, fill a basin with warm water….”  

This is bad…. really bad.  My pounding heart is the only thing I hear drumming in my ears as I stare at my deathly-still brother.  What if his arm rots off, or his other arm starts growing and rips him apart?.... Is he still breathing?  

“RAPHAEL!”  I jump as my name cracks like a whip past Master Splinter’s lips.  

“Get the first-aid kit, now !”  

My cheeks burn with shame from my physical and mental slowness.  Dumbly, I stumble backward toward Donnie’s shelf and clumsily grab the big red tool box with the white cross on it.  The box is roughly taken from my hands as Master Splinter lets it drop loudly on the bedside table.  Leo and Mikey are already back with their instructed supplies.  I stand back, away from my father and brothers as they shift and handle things too fragile for my brute and forceful touch.   

None of this makes sense.  Sure, Don's been acting a little emo lately, but on the roof, he completely crossed the line of sanity and ran full slam into Crazy-ville, like something in that oversized brain of his just snapped.  There was something dangerous and wild in his eyes, but it doesn't explain the monster arm, as Mikey calls it.  I can’t help but wonder if the Kraang managed to get their tentacles on my brother before we got to him, doing something to him that screwed up his mind and body.  Just the thought of those wads of alien chewing gum experimenting on my brother makes my blood boil.  My fists clutched at my sides, I know I should be doing something, anything aside from standing here like an idiot.  Oh, God, Don….  

My eyes burn as I blink away the moistened blurriness.  He’s too still…. nobody living should be that still. Don should at least be screaming his head off in pain from all the poking and prodding, but he’s…. he’s just lying there….  

Donatello…..  What has happened to you?   

My sons are quick to retrieve my requested supplies as I work to disinfect his arm.  I am careful as I peel back the filthy and damp bandages my sons used as their only alternative to protect Donatello's arm from infection.  Even in my gentleness, some of the skin still detaches with the discarded wrappings.  As I sponge over the reddened areas with disinfectant and thoroughly pat it dry; a more attentive look reveals that this isn't an injury as I previously thought.  There are no signs of bruises or gashes…. but his arm has grown.  

As I feel along his shoulder and down his bicep, the skin is no longer textured with small smooth scales like his brothers, but with dry and thick calloused bumps and ridges.  Even in its enlarged and deformed state his arm appears…. Unharmed.   

My breath catches in astonishment as I trail further down this new arm to the peeling, raw skin around his hand and wrist.  The broken and irritated flesh quickly starts knitting together a layered tapestry of skin.  I gently touch the newly formed covering to find it already hardening to match the armor-like appearance of the rest of his arm.  Taking in the full appearance of this limb, it is obvious his body was not ready for this rapid growth.  The cuff of where his shoulder meets the inside of his shell is stretched to its limit and I fear it may crack.   

“Did he come in contact with mutagen? ” I ask my oldest.  Knowing the lives we live, it is the only reasoning I can fathom for this strange mutation.  

“No… at least not when we found him.  He… he was covered in blood.”  Leonardo pauses as he pulls another stitch through the deep cut on his brother’s temple.   

“Since there are no other wounds aside from the one on his head, I assume it was not his blood.”  

“I… I don't think it was.  You were right, Sensei, he wasn't stable when we found him….  And then his arm….”  His face pales considerably at the mention of the appendage. “It just… it just changed—”  

“Into a monster arm,” Michelangelo finishes his sentence, his countenance in a state of disbelief.  

“And he's been unconscious since then,” Leonardo concludes as he finishes the last threaded stitch on Donatello's brow.  

Raphael has remained surprisingly silent as his brothers and I tend to Donatello to the best of our abilities.  The dark haze in his emerald eyes and the tremors he tries to hide tells me his restless anger needs an outlet in this situation where he feels helpless to revive his brother.  However, I cannot soothe the flames of his compressed frustrations at the moment.   

Even with all of our ministrations, Donatello has yet to awaken and something warns me that if he does not wake soon, he may not wake at all.  

If it were not for the weak pulse at his neck, I would have already thought him lost.  Cupping the side of his head against my hand, my thumb gently strokes the unwounded side of his brow.  Placing my other hand on his plastron, I close my eyes and listen for the warm hum of his aura.  I open my spiritual senses to the presence of my son.  I am not fully recovered from my first connection with him, yet I push myself to try harder to feel my son’s aura, but I feel nothing.   

Please, my son, please hold on.   

Dizziness clouds my mind as the extra effort drains me, but it is worth it when I feel the weak flutter of my son's spirit.  I sigh with relief but I know Donatello is not out of the woods yet.  Such a weak presence means his spirit may not be with his body much longer.  His skin is cool and clammy, but not feverish.  If his skin held a fever, it would at least serve as a sign that he was still fighting.  However, his body resembles one who no longer has the will to fight.  

Fear swells within my heart.  Michelangelo said that Donatello was suffocating…. that this evil within my son is stronger.  What if I have already lost Donatello to the dark parasite within his aura?  No, I mustn’t think that.  No matter how faint, his aura is still there.  This fact alone gives me hope.  Even with this faith, I am not foolish enough to believe I can once again enter Donatello’s spiritual plane in my weakened state.  I will need help.  I look over to my three sons, still wet and cold from the storm, weariness making their shoulders droop and bodies sway, but worry for their brother keeps them upright, watching me with anxious and expectant eyes.   

“What can we do, Sensei?” my youngest asks as the willingness in his eyes—in all of their eyes—overpowers their fear.  

“Your brother’s spirit is weak.  At the moment, I am not strong enough to reach out to him in the spirit realm alone.  I will need the help of all of you.  We must meditate to connect with him.”  

“Meditate?.... Meditate?!  His freakin’ arm just mutated and we’re just gonna sit here and meditate?  No offense Sensei, but we should be out there bustin’ up Kraang!  I know those pink slimeballs are behind this!”  

“And when you find the Kraang, will you suddenly have knowledge of what is wrong with your brother?  Are you so sure these creatures are the cause of your brother’s plight?”  I am calm, but my voice holds an undeniable sternness that my hot-tempered son knows better than to challenge.  He squeezes his knuckles, eliciting a cracking sound as grunts down any argument he intended to speak.  I sigh deeply.  Raphael means well in his passion and is simply trying to help his brother in a manner that is most familiar to him.  However, he must understand his recklessness holds no grounds and is simply delaying Donatello the help he desperately needs right now.  “Your brother made it known to me before he fled the lair that he was sick.  Donatello holds the pieces of this scattered puzzle, but if his spirit is too weak to fight, then any efforts to save him will be in vain.  If you do not wish to help your brother, then…”  

“Okay… I get it.  I'll do… whatever you need me to, Sensei.“  Even as he tries to calm his temperament, his passion, his willingness is ever bright.  That is all I can ask for at such a dire moment.  

“Good.”  With everyone on one accord, I gather blankets to warm Donatello as well as my freezing sons. Aside from Michelangelo’s mishap in touching Donatello’s aura, none of my sons have ever connected with someone's aura before.  It is best they are comfortable as not to cause undue stress on their own bodies by concentrating through cold bodies and chattering teeth.  

“My sons, it is important that you follow my instruction while connecting with Donatello's spiritual energy.  There is another presence there with every intent of destroying your brother’s spirit.  I fear he has been fighting this presence for a long time and can no longer fight it by himself.  He needs our help. Now, clear your minds, we do not have much time.”  

Chapter Text

Drifting is a piece of cake, so it doesn’t take long for me to pop into Donnie’s aura space. Master Splinter is right beside me trying to guide my less experienced bros. His grey spirit flickers in concentration, but he’s got this. He’s like a super grand master meditator after all.   

I can’t help but gasp as I spin in a slow circle taking in the sight around me.  In the lair, D’s lab is spotless, everything arranged in an OCD feng shui type vibe. But this place would be Donnie’s worst nightmare.  

It looks like a house of horrors in here. Don’s aura of high tech computers, monitors, and panels are totally trashed and destroyed.  It looks like an experiment went horribly wrong, exploding into a monstrous creation of living darkness.  I shudder as thick globs of black guck drip from shattered computer monitors, clinging and pulsing through the cracks of the electronic panels.   

“Sensei…Is this Donatello’s aura?” At the sound of Leo’s hushed voice I turn around to see Master Splinter managed to get Leo and Raph here in one piece.  

“I am afraid so; its condition has worsened within hours. You must treat everything you see, hear, and feel as if it were real. Any harm to your spirit here can have grave effects on your psyche and physical body when we depart. Be watchful and careful of your surroundings as we search for your brother….”  

Sensei’s voice becomes distant as a purple lever draws my attention.  Black slime is slowly crawling up the handle. The lever seems important….and it’s shiny .  Caution totally eludes me as I pull the lever down. I let out a startled ‘eep’ as sparks spray from it like fireworks, and a row of panels and monitors whirr to life.  

“Mikey, get away from that!” Leo shouts. He pulls me protectively away from the equipment and against his side. “What did you do?”  

“Didn’t Sensei just say not to touch anything?!”  

“He did not say not to touch anything….just to be watchful and careful which I totally am!” I counter Raph’s snappy remark with my own logic, which only makes him palm his face and mutter grumpily to himself.  

Master Splinter hovers close watching the broken equipment come to life. The screens that aren’t broken flicker to grey static as distorted images spurt into view. The images are of all of us and they start moving....it looks like a home video that’s been pieced together.   

Donatello, you aren't following through with your attacks and your stance is all wrong!.... It's a video of Leo giving Donnie an earful in the dojo. This can cause a serious mishap in a real fight….. In the video, Donnie has his usual unreadable expression, but when I really pay attention his body language gives away his true feels—biting his lip, drumming his fingers against his thigh, his tense posture……he's nervous, totally afraid of not doing those moves just right.   

Static fills the monitor for a split second before the images blend into another scene.   

My son, it concerns me that you are not grasping the concept of meditation. …. In this clip, Donnie’s a lot younger, like before he had his first growth spurt…I think we were eleven. He doesn’t even look at Sensei; he just keeps his eyes on the floor.  I can’t help but feel his disappointment, too.    

“Sensei, are. ..are these Donnie’s memories?” Leo whispers, studying the video.   

“I believe they are, Leonardo; memories associated with deeply rooted emotions.”  

Jeez, you're such a sissy. You can't hang out with us until you grow a pair …. Wow, we were thirteen then. Raph is poking his finger at Donnie’s plastron right before he takes off yelling after Leo in the sewers.  Raph and Leo were buddy-buddy back then and always left Donnie and me behind when they did their ‘big bro’ stuff.  I watch as this younger Donnie turns away from the sewer entrance and dejected tears stream down his face before he quickly wipes them away. There are a lot more clips of Raph teasing, shoving, and/or laughing at D. I steal a glance at my red-clad brother only to see his aura-self standing there with clutched fists and lips pressed into a hard line. I watch as the red outline of his aura waves like steam in a desert heat. For a moment, I mistake Raph’s aura as a bottle of rage getting ready to explode at any moment, but I don’t think its anger that’s pulsing from him. Before I can give it any deeper thought, my attention perks up to the sound of my voice on the screen.   

“Oh, here's the really cool part! ….If you pour in the hydrogen peroxide into the container with the potassium –“  

“Bruh, I’m falling asleep over here. I'm gonna take my board and hit some pipes. Catch ya later!”  

This scene looks like a normal day in Donnie’s lab.  He went all nerdy-science-talk on me, and just like that, I ditched him that day to skateboard in the sewers. I remember that day and many days like it. I just thought Donnie preferred to nerd-out by himself, but now I see how wrong I was. A lump forms in my throat as I watch myself leave on the screen. There's a look of hurt on D’s face as he puts away his chemistry set. His lonely sigh hits me hard and guilt feels like a ten-ton weight chained to my heart as I look away from the screen. It’s amazing how seeing the same events through someone else’s eyes can have a totally different perspective.  

A high pitch screech from the monitor makes me wince as I face the screen again. This time the images look different as they twist and warp, distorting our video images into something horrid.   

It brings me shame to call you ‘son’….   

You aren't good enough for this team. …  

You’re pathetic. …can't believe I'm related to you. …  

You're a monster.   

More subliminal messages of hate fill the screen as the black slime closes in on it. All of our voices shriek into a high speed whine as the video fast-forwards into a blur of scary exaggerated features of ourselves. Uh-oh. I think it’s gonna. ..  

“GET DOWN!“   

I don't have time to react as Sensei pushes us down shielding our bodies from the spray of glass and black crud that explodes from the screen. Stretching from his hovered position over us,  Sensei hisses as he peels a black glob from his shoulder.   

“Are you alright,  Sensei?” Leo asks as we all make sure there isn’t any more sticky black stuff clinging to him.   

“I am fine.”  

“Sensei, what happened? Those last few memories of me weren't true at all! I never said any of those things!”   

“Yeah, and I never called him a monster….ever.” Agreeing with Leo, I look up at Sensei, hurt beyond words by the horrible images we just saw.   

“This presence within your brother has corrupted his memories, turning truth to lies and lies to truth.”  

“What is this presence you're talking about, Master Splinter? Is it making Donnie's body…mutate?” Leo asks the million dollar question.   

“I do not know, but I fear they are strongly related.”   

For a moment we’re all speechless, silently trying to process the images that have just been engraved into our minds. Maybe all of those memories weren't real, but a lot of them were and it doesn't make the guilt any less bitter.  I’m not the only one feeling this way, as I look to my father and brothers and see the same gut-stabbing hurt plastered on their faces in their own unique way.   

Leo’s gone all serious—ninja mode serious. His aura body holds a blue tint and tosses like troubled water at his center. Even though his feelings of guiltiness and regret are on open display in this world, Leo still manages to find balance…an unmistakable anchor as our leader. He squares his shoulders with an unspoken sense of responsibility.  

Raph’s aura-self is the complete opposite. His spirit is a murderous red so hot it’s painful to stand too close to him. There’s so much anger there. There’s a cocktail of other emotions I can’t quite make out.  He kind of reminds me of one of those cartoon thermometers that gets redder and redder as the temperature goes up until the glass finally bursts at the top. I step a little closer to Leo….just in case.  

Master Splinter is the easiest to read.  He doesn't try to hide his pain though it is more controlled than the rest of ours; I can see it in his seasoned grey soul. It’s a worried urgency I think only fathers possess when their children are in unspeakable danger.  

“Sensei, we have to find Donnie. We have to fix this. The way he sees us.... I just... I had no idea we made him feel that way.”   

“None of us were aware, Leonardo, but we must use this new insight to our advantage in order to save your brother.”  The blackened walls of Donnie’s spiritual chamber groan and whine like a warning for trespassing. “We must hurry, we do not have much time.”   

Monitors along the walls flicker with ghastly intent as we follow the long dark corridor before us. Sensei leads the way reminding us every few minutes to stay close. Mikey’s aura follows close behind bumping into my spiritual space and leaving imprints of his anxiety with every touch. I tug him forward until he’s walking beside me and wrap my arm around his shell. Offering him a smile and giving his shoulder a squeeze is enough to diminish the fear and imprint my own encouragement into his aura.    

Looking over my shoulder, I notice Raph tagging along behind us. He’s been scowling since we brought Donnie back to the lair, and hasn’t spoke more than a single sentence since his outburst with Sensei. Normally I simply ignore Raph’s moodiness, but now his silence is unnerving me. The red flames lapping dangerously within his aura aren’t helping to ease my concern. I just hope he keeps his temper in check. Getting Donnie back is more important than Raph feeling the need to explode into a derogatory rant  when we find him.  

As we approach the end of the hall, an eerie light pulses into view. The corridor expands into a large cavern.  

This must be the heart of this darkness, because the atmosphere is denser and darker here, at least in the spiritual sense. The walls and ground are coated in black sludge. As we step into the belly of this beast, we’re careful to avoid the droplets of slime as they stretch like mucus from the ceiling. I gasp as I take a closer look. Some of the drops have hardened into spikes that hang down like venomous fangs. I nudge a lump of black sludge near my foot—hard as a rock. This swampland of darkness is hardening into a rocky terrain….that can't be good.  

“Donnie!” I cry out; my heart sinks when we finally find him. The black muck surrounding this place has Donnie wrapped in its tendrils like a cocoon, as he dangles from a thick black secretion. The only thing visible is his head. Red veins pulse like a heartbeat from the black muddle that covers Donnie. His aura jerks in rhythm with each pumping motion of this dark creature. It’s literally sucking the life from my brother in this spiritual plane.  

I rush forward as an auric katana materializes in my hand. Forcing my spiritual energy into the blade, it slices through the cord of black mucus and Donnie drops to ground.  The hands of my brothers and Sensei immediately grab at Donatello, ripping the black tar from his spiritual form. I join them.  I wince in pain as the acidic heat from the darkness burns my aura. The task seems impossible as the darkness holds firm to my brother’s spirit, but it just makes us rip and tear at the fiendish parasite even more.  

As Master Splinter pulls away the last piece of darkness, Donnie’s eyes snap open. He inhales harshly, as if robbed of precious air.  

He looks bewildered as Sensei helps him sit up. “Where am I?”  

“We are in your spiritual plane, Donatello,” Sensei answers calmly.  

“No, I mean my body, where is my body?”  

“You are safe, child. Your physical body is in the lair, as well as ours. We have come to help you fight.”  

“No…no, you shouldn’t be here…. I shouldn’t be in the lair…”   

“You are where you belong,” Sensei reassures him as he places his hand on Donnie's shoulder.   

“I don't belong anywhere,” Donnie mutters, shrugging away from Sensei’s touch. I shudder as waves of despair empty from my brother’s aura. He glances at me and my other brothers. “You should have ended me on the roof…. Saved everyone the trouble. “  

“Dude, you don't mean that….” Mikey's pleading eyes search our brother for a sign of misunderstanding. However, one look at Donnie's fading aura and I come to the painful realization that he means every word.   

We have to fix this… I have to fix this. I can't change the past but this moment, this moment of truth in its purest form is what matters right now.  

Afraid for my brother's emotional state, I pour out my apology and remorse. “Donnie, we’re sorry…. We had no idea how badly we hurt you until we saw and felt it for ourselves.” He won’t look at me. Crawling closer to him, I rest my hand on his leg. I almost shudder from the cold despondency radiating from his aura. “We want to make this right.” I turn to Mikey and Raph for support of my declaration. Mikey offers a genuine smile and nod that warms our huddled circle like a summer day. Raph is just as unresponsive as Donnie, his fists clutched tightly on top of his thighs as he sits on his knees. I give a sidelong glare, but he’s too busy staring a hole in the space in front of him. Why is he being so pig-headed now?! I look back at Donnie to see him catching a glance at Raph’s self-centered behavior. His aura is fading as he retreats further into himself. Now’s not the time to be a jerk, Raph….  

“Sorry isn’t enough. You can’t make this right….No one can,” Donnie whispers, wrapping his arms around himself. I peel away a piece of dark slime that starts to creep up Donnie's leg. The slime shifts into small spider-like creatures that continue to attach to his body again. Something snatches me by the waist and yanks me back with lightning speed. The grip tightens around me like a hot metal ring choking the strength from my spiritual state. Shaking away the dizziness from the violent movement, I’m shocked to be suspended in the air by a black snake-like appendage. Looking to my left and right, my heart rate quickens when I see my father and brothers gripped in a like manner. As the darkness swings us tauntingly in its grasp, I crane my neck to look down. Fear-stricken, Donnie stares up at us as he shouts at the black faceless creature to let us go.   

My spirit struggles to breathe through this creature’s death grip. It  surrounds and penetrates my aura. My heart aches at this parasitic feeling of depression and hatred that teeters precariously over a point of no return. Even with the dark impressions of this evilness, something else disturbs me more. There is something else beneath this layer of crushing darkness…. Something quiet and gentle; loss and….hurt.  

Donatello.  

How did I not see this before? The way this darkness pulses with every meditative breath he takes, the way it draws to him…responds to his emotions…it is a part of him.  

“Donatello, please, you must stop this. You must control your emotions!”  

“But, I’m not doing this…. I'm not!” His genuine hurt is heart-breaking as the darkness around my sons and I tighten like a rope of hot tar. He does not realize what he is doing. This spiritual sickness is amplifying Donatello’s emotions into something tangible and malevolent. The longer it holds me in its grasp, the more I see this presence for what it is--an unforgiving spirit.  

“It is alright to be angry, my son, but you must not let it consume you,” I grunt between bouts of soul-crushing pain. “Forgive the wrongdoings of your brothers and myself, not for our sake but for your own.” I watch helplessly as dark matter takes the form of long black fingers that claw and grab at Donatello's legs. He stands there unfazed by the evil slithering up his limbs.  

“I'm not angry! I forgive you all, I do!” His voice cracks with desperation. “I don't want to hurt any of you!” He takes several steps back as the blackness coats his legs like thick oil. The tendrils that hold my sons and me captive pull us further away from him. In vain, my son rips at the darkness on his legs only to watch it return with twice the diligence as he fights his own emotions.   

Whether it is out of fear or ignorance, he is not being truthful in what is really tormenting his soul. If he continues to harden his heart, he will destroy us all in this spiritual plane. “Maybe you are not angry, but something is upsetting you. Whatever it is you must acknowledge it and let it go, or we will all perish here…. Donatello, please…it is alright.” The coils of black rope loosen just enough for me to take a much needed deep breath. Fear melts away from his spirit and is quickly replaced with a kind of sorrow that eats away at the soul until there is nothing left.   

The coils suddenly release us. My sons and I manage to land on our feet even in the midst of this shape-shifting terrain. We waste no time running toward our beloved Donatello. However, the darkness is faster, boasting up like a wave and whipping us backward, away from my son. My fingers graze the ground as my feet skid to a stop, finding  balance on this wavering plane.   

They don't know, do they?  They don't know what a monster you are. I can't believe you haven't told them what you did. 

The voice of this faceless creature is crafty and malicious just like the slithering movements of its body. Black tentacles twist and turn with taunting intent that keeps Donatello circling to watch his blindspots. I do not know what lies this creature speaks, but his words  trigger something within my son because his counterattacks are becoming sloppy.  

I take a step to aid my son, but find my feet stuck in the  ground as it manipulates into thick mud. Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo have met the same fate as they struggle to no avail to pry their feet from the ground.  

Better yet, why don't we show them.  

"No! Please, don't—”  

An illusion flickers into view. It is a peculiar memory of a sewer worker. From this point of view, I watch as the man scrambles backward, unspeakable fear trembling through his body and spluttering through his words:  

“Look, whatever you are, please just let me be….I…I..got a wife and little girl and another little runt on the way. Please, I just wanna get home tonight…just wanna see my—”  

The man never finished his sentence as we have the unfortunate view of this poor soul being slaughtered… eaten alive. I turn away not needing to see any more of this tragic fate. Donatello's horrific deed leaves a confusing multitude of feelings swarming around the auras of his brothers—disbelief, nausea, sadness, and fear. Whether it is fear for their brother or of their brother I cannot tell.  

“My fault…it’s all my fault.” I listen with dismay as Donatello’s voice intertwines with the sinister bass of the darkness around him. The ground loosens its hold from our feet only to shape-shift into a pair of large hands that engulf Donatello’s knelt and huddled body. Its large menacing fingers dig into the ground surrounding him. He has created his own caged prison of remorse, fear, and hopelessness.   

With this heartbreaking insight, I realize it is not his family he needs to forgive, but himself. As ninjas I knew one day my sons would be forced to come to terms with ending another’s life if for nothing more than self-preservation. But to slaughter… devour another in such a way is incomprehensible to me. How do I provide reassurance and comfort for such an animalistic act? It is absurd and disturbing to feel the aura of my son and this fiendish creature as one and the same, but I do. I sense hints of intelligence in this creature as equally as I feel the undertone of feral instincts within Donatello as he quivers within his self-imposed enclosure.   

“My son…” My words are thick with remorse and pity for the state of my son’s soul. I clutch my chest, all other words lost on my lips at one look at my hurting child. As I reach out to the black bars encasing my son, four solid walls rise from the ground with the quickness of a bear trap forming a box, entrapping Donatello in a cube of darkness. In mere seconds, he is hidden from me. The black box is a foot taller than me and twice as wide.   

This is no ordinary box. The blackness breathes and moves coating the box like a thousand demonic leeches. “Donatello!” I find my voice again as my hands slap the surface of his prison box. The box is not as malleable as I thought. The solid concrete stings my palms with a jolt of energy, making me recoil….the energy vibrates through me like a deep pain that lacerates my soul.   

Donatello….he was once structured in logic and reason, fighting so hard to bury and hide away the very emotions that are destroying him now. I snap out of my thoughts as my youngest son pulls at my arm.  

“Master Splinter, his aura is fading! If we don’t get him out, he’ll…he’ll…” I do not know how Michelangelo knows this, but his gift of aura insight is enough to make me attack the cube once more in hopes of freeing my son from his own imprisonment.   

As my fist makes contact with the barrier, pain burns through my aura with a wave of shock that knocks me several feet back.  

“Sensei!” Leonardo and Michelangelo rush to my side as I shake away the dizziness that clings stubbornly to my mind. I fear another shock will send my aura crashing back into my body, but I must get Donatello out somehow. With the help of my sons, I stand with shaky legs. It is then I noticed Raphael's absence.  He is standing a few steps away from the cube, his aura a wild and passionate flame. Our eyes met briefly before he turns back to the cube. I am all too familiar with that look. It is a seething glare, a warning of an impending explosion of rage. I feared this would happen. He was much too quiet when they brought Donatello home, silently stewing in his own fiery temperament.  

 His fists tremble with barely contained fury as he takes another step toward the cube. “Raphael….” The warning in my voice is not enough to deter my hotheaded son from rearing his fist back. His aura explodes into a bright flame that consumes him.   

“If he ain't coming out then I'm going in.”  

“Raphael, no!” My shouting is too late as his irritation and unexpressed emotions come out in a single punch that connects with the side of the cube.   

The blow echoes like the sound of unbreakable metal. It sends an aftershock that nearly knocks me off my feet again. Raphael is completely unfazed as his fists continue to hammer against the surface of the cube. Neither Donatello or Raphael are managing their emotional states very well—Donatello collapsing under the inflictions of his emotional pain, while Raphael gives in to his emotional frustrations. Neither of them are stable in this spiritual state. Black rocks tumble from the ceiling like hail as Raphael hits the wall again and again. If he continues this recklessness, I am certain we will perish here.  

That coward. That jelly-shelled coward.   

I grunt, punching this stupid wall again. Things get a little shaky and he hides, except instead of hiding in his lab, he's hiding in this stupid box.  My aura burns like a blister ready to burst, but as I continue to slam my fists into the wall a numbness washes over me. I know this should hurt….should be tossing me back in a heap like the others, but it’s not so I keep hitting the box hoping it’ll crack like a walnut. The ground shakes beneath me with each blow. Chunks of the black ceiling crash to the ground creating billows of soot clouds, but I keep beating the wall.   

To say that I’m peeved is an understatement. One way or another, I’m gettin’ inside that box and draggin’ my wretched brother out of there. My fury drives my fists against the box like a jackhammer against concrete. My spirit aches with things I’m too angry to give voice to, but they build up anyway adding gasoline to the flames of my aura. I feel the fire within me explode into a bright crimson flame. Cranking my fist back, I put my full weight behind it. A warrior’s cry rips from my throat as my fist connects with the wall like an atomic bomb at ground zero.  

Hurt from my brother’s self-isolation rebounds from the wall jolting down to my core. That selfish prick.  Before I can spit out a suitable swear, a large crack spreads from the gouge I made on the box. I bellow again as I shove my shoulder into the weakened spot. I realize too late that I slammed into it a little too hard as my entire body crashes through the black box.  

Groaning, I pick myself off the ground. That really took a lot out of me. Turning around, I see the grand entrance I made is already sealed again like I didn’t just spend the past five minutes smashing it in. If I were claustrophobic, I’d be freakin’ the shell out right now ‘cause I take five steps before I collide with the other side of the box. Crap. My aura flares up again, turning me into a turtle-flashlight bringing everything in this small space into view…including Don.  

There he is, curled up face down on the floor with his arms and legs tucked beneath him. My exhaustion immediately gets shoved aside as my anger finds its spark again.  

“You gutless quitter!” I don’t hide the peevish tone as my voice startles Don. With owlish eyes, he stares up at me from his knees. “You coward!”  

“Raph?...I—”  

“Shut up.” I don’t need him spouting off his angst, I just need him to listen. “While you’re in here hiding like a pantywaist, we’re fighting that black crap out there! Get it together and stop that thing!”  

“I can’t control it!” I glare at his cry of defeat.  

“You’re not even trying! The others are getting their butts kicked because you won’t fight back!”  

“I can’t fight this.”  

I stare at him completely outdone by his dumb as dirt declaration. There’s this uncomfortable pressure building up in me and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to contain it. “Get up.” His confusion and fear rolls off him in annoying waves that makes me grind my teeth in frustration. “I said, GET UP!” Before he can protest, I grip him by the arm and haul him to his feet with enough force to make him stumble forward, but I shove him back.   

“How are we supposed to fix whatever the shell is wrong with you if you’re hiding in here, genius?” We can’t do this without you.  

“I told you I can't fix this!”  

“That's because you were being retarded and trying to do everything yourself!” As my index finger pokes his forehead, I can feel his guilt and it takes everything within me not to slug him out of his self-pity.  

He smacks my hand away. “There's nothing you could possibly do that I haven't already tried.”   

I roll my eyes. Again with the know-it-all attitude. “Stop being so dramatic.”  

“Dramatic?!  Did you miss the surround sound HD of me ripping the intestines put of that sewer worker? Unless you plan to snap my neck, there's nothing you can do. I’m not being dramatic, I'm being realistic!” His voices goes from cynical to morose as he stares at me and sighs. “.... I ate somebody… ate.   I don't want to hurt anyone else.”   

I find myself sighing too as I try my best to reel in my less than pleasant thoughts. Seeing Don’s lovely movie reel of what a horrible brother I am unfortunately gives me a resentful reason to choose my words carefully. He likes cold hard facts, so I give it to him straight. “I know you don't, but that thing out there does. Unless you get out there and help us, that's exactly what it’s going to do, kill people.” He turns his head from me. He doesn’t like what I’m saying but I know  he's listening. “Ya know, I'd rather die fighting, than die in here doing nothing.”   

He doesn’t say anything, doesn't even make a move to leave this dreaded room. So I make a move for him. “Come on. We're getting outta here.”  

As soon as I grab his arm, he comes to life trying to squirm out of my steel grip. “Stop it! Raph, please just stop!”  

“No, you stop! Stop hiding behind these stupid emotions and use them to fight back!” The lava of heat at my core spreads until I can feel it just beneath my skin. I try to push the dangerous fire back into my core where it won't overtake me, but something keeps drawing it out, provoking it like a kid poking a stick in a bear's cage. Then I look at my brother and realize he's the one drawing this fire outta me, pulling at it like a lifeline. As he pulls at my aura, his aura leaves behind a painful impression. It makes me double over for a minute with swear-worthy agony. In that moment, I feel just how lost my brother is, how hurt he is….how alone he feels.  

And in that instant I can't keep the fire inside from erupting like a pressured volcano.  

Raph has always been the strongest of the four of us, but in this spirit world, his strength is unrelenting. My arm feels like it’s caught in a pitbull's jaws as I desperately try to pull away from my brother. He’s too pigheaded to understand how dangerous I am. His eyes were filled with disgust as he called me a coward. Maybe he's right….maybe I am a coward. His best line of action is to leave me to my own demise, get everyone else out of my demented aura, and jab his sai into my  jugular. Then everyone would be safe. But what is my meat-headed brother doing instead?... committing suicide by dragging me out of this prison. He never tries to listen to me, to understand anything I say. He just rages on with his never-ending belittlement. Why won't he listen? I don't want to go out there, I can't go out there….. I’ll put my family in danger. This monster inside me will kill everyone I care about. My father, my brothers, they'll all die if I go out there…. and April…  

The energy drains from my aura at the thought of everyone I care about being slaughtered, mauled, and eaten. There'll be no one left; I'll be alone.  

Raph hunches over in pain. Somehow I’ve already managed to hurt him, but he still doesn’t let go of me. With a gaping mouth he stares at me with this strange look in his eyes. I stop struggling, afraid I have injured him somehow. Before I can ask if he’s okay, his arms engulf me, nearly throwing me off balance. I gasp for air trying to breathe through his vice-like grip. The first thing I notice about this awkward embrace is that Raph is hot, literally on fire. It’s a wonder his aura hasn’t combusted into a cloud of spiritual dust. He doesn’t seem fazed by the intense heat radiating from him, but I feel every fiery fiber of his being and it burns .  

Initially, I scream trying to pull away from the fire as it penetrates my aura. My guilt, fear, and self-hatred are forgotten in this moment and all I feel is this intense anger and it hurts worse than any emotion I've ever felt in my life. When the burning stops, I think it’s over; just another one of Raph’s hot-headed explosions translating into this spiritual underworld, but I was wrong.  

The furnace of rage gives way to a soul-piercing semblance that carries  just as much intensity as the fire, if not more. I can't really wrap my mind around this new sensation. Beneath my brother’s anger and frustration are emotions that put my senses into overdrive, hacking into my aura like a fiery virus….not unbearably scorching like before but hot enough to be uncomfortable, like wearing a leather jacket in the middle of summer. The thick and humid feeling makes me feel like I’m drowning, suffocating as I’m forcefully submerged in his grip. I can’t break free of it. This feeling is so strong its very fibers are like titanium-laced threads.  Even with these dangerous sensations of sudden asphyxiation, I'm not afraid. It’s an intense yet comforting sensitivity, like being wrapped in a blanket and a brillo pad at the same time.   

I expected to find disgust and resentment of me in Raph's aura, but instead his spirit speaks abstractly of his strength and his painfully stubborn and protective nature. I don’t understand how his aura can feel so warm yet overwhelmingly painful all at once, but somehow I know he hasn't given up on me.   

“Stop acting like a wuss, because my cocky, know it all little brother ain’t a wuss.” His husky voice is barely above a whisper as he mutters into my curve of my neck.  

His words hold an unmistakable sentiment that renews a sense of self-worth within me that I thought to be long gone since my mutation began.  

Our auric connection is drastically cut off when Raph pushes me away. Feeling like a plug pulled from a socket, I blink questioningly at him not sure what to think of that aura connection. Apparently, neither does Raph as he purposely looks away. There's an awkward silence between us.  

Before either us can think of anything to break the silence, the four walls of this prison-like box begin to fade until there is nothing separating us from the rest of our family.  

“Donnie! You’re okay!” I wince as my little brother collides into me causing our auras to mesh together like a vibrating symphony of purple and orange. His emotions are vivid and raw. It’s a little painful how much my little brother believes in me, but not nearly as painful as the volatile emotions that just exploded from Raph. Speaking of Raph, he almost instantly falls into his comfort of aloofness as he discreetly steps away from me.  

“Master Splinter already told us you were sick, Donnie. I….I know you think we don't care, but we do. All of us do. Please, let us help.” Leo steps forward, his ocean blue aura anchored by something so dedicated, I know he won't take no for an answer.  

“We'll figure out the deets together, D,” Mikey chimes in with a boost of encouragement as he finally lets go of my waist.  

“Your brothers and I are ready to fight with you, Donatello. Will you not fight for yourself?” Splinter asks, his grey aura calm, unmoved by the chaos around us.  

They're here, ready to fight for me. I don't deserve their devotion, but I also can't deny the ingrained need for my family.  

You can’t win, you’re not strong enough. The body-less mockery seems to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.   

“We tried this spiritual refinement before, Sensei. It didn't work,” I remind my father.  

“Yes we did, but this time we have strength in numbers.” Sensei gestures to Mikey, Raph, and Leo before continuing. “But you must be willing to fight. Remember, the body, mind, and spirit are all connected. We cannot mend your body while your mind and spirit are wounded.  If the battle is not conquered here, the physical fight for your body is already lost.”  

I try to take charge of my fear, but find myself jumping at the swift movements in my peripheral vision.  

Sensei takes hold of my shoulders, pulling my attention away from this faceless enemy. “With enough will-power your spirit will fight what your body cannot, but you must have the will to fight, Donatello.”    

“I do….I want to fight.” My voice cracks as I fight back the urge to cave in to the darkness that whispers words of failure around me. “I've tried everything…..how can I fight this, Sensei?”  

“This thing...this creature, may indeed be a part of an external sickness, but it is you who gives it strength.” Shocked and a bit hurt at the accusation, my brows furrow in confusion.   

“Sensei,  I promise you I’ve done nothing but try to stop this thing.”  

You are to blame for all of this. They should end your miserable existence now. You’re nothing more than a pathetic nuisance, a freak, a --  

Sensei grips me by the chin until I am facing him again…. Wait, when had I looked away?  “Every time you believe it's lies, every time you let its malicious words burrow into your soul, you feed it. If you continue down this path it will destroy you.” There’s a sense of severity in his tone that I don't take lightly.  

“My son, these lowly thoughts did not develop overnight. To some degree you have taken on these misperceptions of yourself over time. This is why you so easily believe the lies of this beast.”  

I can't bring myself to look at my family. My father’s words pierce something at my core that I’m not ready to face, leaving my aura raw. It scares me to know this darkness is emulating my subjective thoughts, but it terrifies me even more to be emotionally exposed like this in front of my family.  

I’ve always been able to convince myself that my emotions weren’t important, that they didn't matter. I buried mine, denying myself access yet leaving myself fully vulnerable to this monster inside me. I look at my family and see a commitment in their eyes that I don't deserve, and I know I owe it to them to fight.  

With a nod, I make up my mind and steady my gaze to my father. “I won't feed this beast anymore.”  

I offer a proud grin to my second youngest as his aura swirls with a readiness for warfare.   

“You must regain control of your spirit and mind. I will teach you a healing meditation; it will help contain this sickness. Leonardo, you and your brothers hold off the creature while I help your brother.” With a slight nod, my eldest directs his brothers to take their positions. I have a feeling this evil will not submit without a fight. I turn my attention back to Donatello as he awaits my instruction. “Repeat after me and do as I do.” Positioning my hands, I begin the mantra:  

“Rin, Pyo, Toh, Sha, Kai, Jin, Retsu, Zai, Zen…again….” My hands glide with ease into each position. His movements are slow and uncertain at first, but soon Donatello is performing the healing hands in tandem with me. The ground shakes beneath us. “Do not stop,” I encourage him when his words falter. It angers me that this thing is able to strikes so much fear in him, but I channel my fury into reassurance, calmness, and protection for my son. Donatello's purple aura becomes stronger, more solid as his voice carries a more confident tone.  

“Yo, Leo! Incoming tentacle!” My ear twitches at the sounds of my youngest, but I dare not turn around lest I lose focus. Donatello is my first priority. I have faith his brothers will hold back the darkness long enough for me to help Donatello bind it.  

“Focus your energy,” I direct him when I noticed the edges of his aura sharpen with a white glow. “Find the sickness.” His brows crease into a frown of concentration. He grunts in unison with the creature as it screeches in agony.   

YOU WILL NOT WIN! I WILL CONSUME YOU AND KILL EVERYTHING YOU LOVE!  

“Do not back down!” I insist, urging him to continue.  

“….Pyo, Toh, Sha…” His battle is not easy, but he shoulders through repeating the ancient words of healing.  

“I think it's working, Sensei. “ I chance look to my left to see a triumphant smile on Leonardo's face. The black sludge is retreating, unable to slither and spawn without Donatello's consent.   

“Now, Donatello. Bind it now.” I don't have to tell him how. He follows his spiritual intuition.  

“Retsu, Zai, Zen!” His aura glows with a powerful brightness as the darkness takes the form of single blob of filth shrinking away from us. A steel wall rises from the ground like a katana blade, wedging itself into the ceiling. The wails of the creature stop abruptly. The wall is the only thing separating the fiendish being from my son.  

“Well done, Donatello.” I congratulate him as I rest my hand at the cuff of his shell.  

“I couldn't have done it without you….all of you.”  

“Woo-hoo! Victory party in the real world, dudes!”  

“It is not wise to celebrate too soon, Michelangelo. This is a temporary fix to a complex problem.” Contemplating the current situation, I fear we are not out of the woods yet. Donatello adverts his eyes in silence. Yes, he has much to explain, but not now. My sons’ auras flicker with exhaustion and I doubt my aura is in any better shape. We need rest.  

“We must return to the physical world. Such exertion in the spirit world can be stressful on the body.”  

“You're leaving?” There’s a hint of panic in Donatello's soft voice. For a moment it reminds me of a much younger version of my son, who once clung to me when he was afraid to sleep in his room by himself. “The material seems sturdy,” he decides after giving the wall a firm rapping with his knuckles. His intellectual wheels turn with curiosity and a need for answers. “Precisely how long will this wall last?” It is a relief to see Donatello more like himself, even if he is using his intellect to hide his fear.  

“It will last for as long as it needs to.” He sighs. It is not the measurable answer he wants to hear, but it will have to do for now. “We will discuss everything soon, my son. For now, continue the healing meditation; let it soothe your spirit and calm your mind. We will be with you when you wake.”  

He nods, giving the wall another once-over. The vivid aura of my youngest engulfs Donatello in yet another hug.  

“Don't worry, D. I'll make sure that my awesome face is the first thing you see when you wake up.”  

“We want him to wake up, not go into a coma.” Michelangelo pulls a sour face at Raphael’s comment. It is enough to bring a small smile to Donatello's face.  

With a final reassurance, the four of us leave Donatello's aura to reunite in the corporeal world.  

I am the first to come to myself, wincing as the stiffness of my limbs speaks volumes of my age. An orchestra of groans lets me know my sons have also returned to their bodies. Bleary eyes stare expectantly at Donatello who is still prone and unconscious on the medbay. His breaths are more even, his color a more natural green, and a touch of his brow reveals the warmth of life within him.  

“Rin, Pyo, Toh…” he breathes out a meditation before shifting on the bed and falling into a deeper sleep.  

“Your brother will be fine, but he must rest, as should the rest of you.”  

Raphael does not argue, but immediately dashes from the room. I have a feeling something happened between Raphael and his brother right before they were freed from the black box. I am much too tired to question my temperamental son at the moment and decide to let him be for now.  

“But Master Splinter, I want to be here when he wakes up.” Michelangelo whines around a wide yawn.   

“No buts. You heard what Sensei said.” Leonardo helps his heavy-eyed brother to stand as he also tries to fight the exhaustion taking its toll on own body.   

“That goes for you as well, Leonardo.”  

“But Sensei, I—”  

“No buts,” I interject using his same words to enforce my point.  “Both of you, go to bed.” Leonardo attempts to persuade me otherwise, but a vibration stirs in his belt strap. Upon looking at the small screen of his phone, Leonardo’s features soften. “It’s April. She’s been calling for the past hour. I should probably call her back. She must be worried sick. She doesn’t know we found Donatello.”  

“Very well. After you tell April that Donatello is home, you are to go straight to bed. I will let you know when Donatello wakes.”  

“Hai, Sensei.”   

The faint sound of Leonardo’s voice wafts from the hall as he walks Michelangelo to his room.  

Finding a comfortable desk chair, I move it to Donatello's bedside. Tucking a sheet over his body, I gently take his mutated hand into mine as I sit down. Hopefully, Donatello will be able to offer answers and explanations when he awakens.  

Chapter Text

6am.  

That’s what time it is according to my glow-in-the-dark  Chocokat alarm clock. It’s only been an hour since I was able to coax April into going to sleep.  I look down at her sleeping form beside me. Even with only the lamp from my nightstand on, I can still see the worry lines creasing her forehead.  I’m really worried about her. I’ve never seen her so upset. Her hysterical face is permanently etched into my memory….  

“April! God, you scared me!” I didn’t hear her slip through my cracked window and only turned around because of the obnoxious thunder crackling across the night sky. “You’re soaking wet! What took you so long? You weren’t answering your phone… I was about to go look for you!” I wave a bat in my hand to emphasize my point. “I thought that creep had—” 

I stop my breathless ranting and take in the appearance of my best friend. She’s shivering, but I think it’s from more than just the rain because her face is gothic pale and her blue eyes are animated with fear. Dropping my bat to the floor, I grab her by the shoulders. “April? ...April, what’s wrong?” She doesn’t answer me, just blinks at me with eyes that are too big, too afraid, and my heart races a mile a minute as I assume the worst possible thing that could happen to a girl meeting a guy in the middle of the night. My skin feels slimy and covered in worms at the very thought. 

“April, did he hurt you?” My voice wavers to a raspy whisper as I push down my own demons, hoping I’m prepared to shoulder April’s trauma if I have to. She stifles a hiccupped sob as she cups her hand over her mouth.  

“I should have stopped him,” she whispers. 

“It’s not your fault. That scumbag had no right to take you like that. No, means, no.” There’s a sudden clarity in her eyes as she finally look at me. 

“No! ....No, that’s not what I mean! God, Simone, I’m sorry, that’s not what I mean.” She shakes out of my hold and walks past me. Another deep roll of thunder reminds me to close the window before my carpet is thoroughly soaked from the slanted downpour of rain outside. Turning back to face my friend, I find her pacing my bedroom floor. “We met at the animal clinic and had a fight… sort of…. and then he said he was sorry, kissed me, and just left.” 

“Okay….” She’s going to have to do a better job of explaining to me why exactly she’s so upset, because an apology and a kiss is usually a good thing the last time I checked. 

“He stole…. some drugs from the clinic. His brothers are looking for him, but I’m afraid he might be… might be….” 

“Oh, April.” I waste no time squeezing her tiny frame in one of my bear hugs. Loved ones who are also addicts, sounds like a chapter out of my screwed up life. I get it now. Her boyfriend’s on drugs and it’s got to the ‘intervention’ phase. I totally get it. Pulling gently away from the embrace, I rub the sides of her arms up and down offering an empathic look. Quickly tugging open my dresser drawer I pull out an extra set of PJs and push them against her chest. “Here, why don’t you dry off in the bathroom and put some fresh clothes on. I’ll make some hot cocoa, okay?”  

She sniffs as she nods hastily, “Yeah, okay.” 

I feel better knowing she wasn’t raped, but equally as bad knowing her boyfriend maybe in serious trouble.  After I settled her down a bit, she managed to clarify a few things. For one her BF, Donnie, isn’t a drug addict but was feeling crappy enough to contemplate suicide by stealing pentobarbital from an animal clinic. She said she called his brothers so they would be on the lookout for him. That was over five hours ago. April’s been calling his brothers every hour on the hour, leaving messages, worried sick about him.   

“Donnie….” she mutters pitifully in her sleep as she curls  into a ball and hugs my stuffed elephant, Mr. Toots, a little tighter.  She must really love this guy. Regretfully, I bite my lip. He called April, reaching out for help, and the first thing I do is take her phone and lash out at him. How was I supposed to know the guy was a loose cannon?    

I jerk with a small shriek as her oddly shaped phone plays its little jingle. The screen’s light glows from beneath our mess of blankets littering my bedroom floor. I try to reach and answer it so it doesn’t wake her, but I’m not fast enough. She’s awake in seconds, fumbling with the talk button before slapping the phone frantically to her face.  

“Leo! Did you find him? ....Is he okay?.....” I perk my attention, curious to know if April’s guy is okay. “….Oh, thank goodness, I was so worried…. no, no…. I understand, Leo. Just keep me posted… let me know when he wakes up, I’ll come over. Okay, I will…. you too.” She sighs deeply as she ends the call.  

“So what’s the deal? Is he okay?” Sitting on my knees, I lean forward ready to support my friend in any way that I can.   

“Yeah… yeah,  he’s okay. His family was able to intervene before he….” She blows out a shaky breath. “He’s resting now, so I guess that's a good thing, right?“  

“Trust me, resting is always better than the alternative.” I relax my back against the side of the bed as April leans against my shoulder.   

“I know. I’m just worried.” She tugs at the pajama top I gave her to wear, which is two sizes too big, as she wraps herself more snuggly in it.  

“At least he has his family to support him… and he has you.” I give her arm a nudge and she sighs deeply like she always does when she carries everyone's problem on her shoulders.  Come to think of it she's been doing a lot of sighing since she's been hanging out with this Donnie guy. I don't know how she does it but I just don't have the patience for boy drama. I keep guys around for two reasons: To party hard  and to fool around. When a guy sticks around for more than those two reasons, that’s when things start getting complicated and complicated is so not my thing. But April’s not like me. She wears her heart on her sleeve….. I keep mine handcuffed to my fist. I don’t know what to think about April hanging out with a guy like Donnie. He seems to have a lot of issues. But when I look at the emotion dancing in April’s eyes I know to her, he’s worth it.  

“I have this feeling….” she whispers, shaking her head as if to erase whatever bad vibes are racing through her head. She told me once that she sometimes gets these freaky supernatural vibes. Her spooksville sixth sense is usually pretty on-point, like that time she had a feeling and then giant 12-foot rats invaded the city. I’m not sure what her crazy vibe means for her friend Donnie, but I’ll be here for her no matter what happens. I pull the blankets up to our chins as we sit in silence. Rays of daybreak tiptoe into my room as tiredness outweighs our brooding and we eventually fall sleep.  

“He’s home now…. resting. We’ve all had a pretty rough 24 hours.” I know if I hadn’t mentioned Donnie was resting, April would demand to see him. I don’t blame her. Donatello gave us all a scare this morning.  

“No, no…. I understand, Leo. Just keep me posted, let me know when he wakes up, I’ll come over.”  

“…Sure.” I don’t mean to hesitate, but I’m not sure if Donnie will even be in the right frame of mind for company when he wakes up. “You should get some rest, April.” Beneath the anxiousness, there’s a slur of exhaustion in her voice.  

“Okay, I will…. you too.” Tapping the end button, I slide my T-cell into my belt. I peek into Mikey’s  room to find him still sound asleep. Good. He’s been so brave through all of this. I watched my baby brother mature in so many different ways in just a matter of hours.  

Raphael’s door is still shut. I don’t know what happened while he was trapped in that black box with Donnie, but whatever happened spooked him pretty bad. Master Splinter is still in the lab keeping watch over Donatello.  Grabbing my katanas, I stealth my way past the turnstiles and into the sewers.   

Tunnel 49.  It’s the number of the tunnel in Donnie memories. It’s the same tunnel that Donatello—  

I shake my head at the hideous thought as my feet splash against the waterlogged passageway. My brother isn’t a murderer. That… that thing that possessed him is the true monster, manipulating my brother, forever tarnishing his gentle nature. I swallow hard as the stench of blood and raw meat fill my nostrils before I even reach the tunnel. As I look up at the archway, the number 49 stares back at me. The walkway of the tunnel is completely flooded from the storm earlier. I would count it a blessing if the downpour managed to wash away the evidence of my brother’s casualty.  Unfortunately, I’m not that lucky.  

The blood drains from my face when I step on something spongy as bubbles pop to the surface the murky water. Feeling the gelatinous substance between my toes, I stumble backwards. I misstep on something round and fall on my rear splashing into the sewage beneath me. Pressing my hands firmly against my mouth, I stifle a shriek as a half-eaten head bobbles between my legs. Splashing madly, I backpedal away from the floating head, crawling out of the flooded area. Tears burn my eyes as I gag on the bile in my throat.   

“Oh, God….” I spit the bitterness from my mouth. “Donatello…” His name sounds like a sad song on my lips. The sad song of a disheartened brother alone with his inner demons, who didn’t feel worthy of being saved. Not just any brother…. my brother. I let my pride and arrogance keep me from being the big brother I should’ve been. I received a much needed wakeup call at the sake of my brother’s health and, possibly, sanity. I turn back to the tunnel and notice other body parts floating eerily in the sewage. Knowing how much my brother has suffered gives me the strength to push through my own sickness and do what needs to be done. I wade through the corpse-ridden water to the pipe wheel on the opposite side of the flooded tunnel. Grunting, I turn the pipe wheel, slowly opening the sealed door at the end of the tunnel. There’s a drain on the other side of this door. I just need to open it enough for the body to flush to the other side and—  

I’m not prepared for the suction caused by the lifted door as my feet slide from beneath me. Tangling my arms in the holes of the pipe wheel, I hang on for dear life.  As the water recedes from my waist to my knees, I loosen my grip on the wheel. My eyes sweep the tunnel floor, searching for any ‘pieces’ that didn’t get flushed away. The remaining ankle-deep water is clear of any incriminating evidence that could lead back to my brother and our family. A small thump against my foot makes my whole body jitter. I look down expecting the worst. Instead of finding a gnawed off hand there’s a blue wallet bumping my foot, trying to follow the flow of water to the drain. Picking up the water-logged wallet, I gingerly open it.  

Frank Vass is the name printed on the driver’s license inside the plastic window of the wallet. When I shift my thumb over the picture ID, the wallet extends itself revealing credit cards and pictures. A wife and child….a little girl, probably no older than six.  I remember Frank from Donnie’s memories. He just doing his job, earning money for his family. I wonder how much Donnie remembers from his encounter.   

I did something horrible.... there was so much blood.... so much.... it was my fault.... 

A hard lump forms in my throat as Donatello’s earlier babbling echoes in my mind.  He remembers enough….too much.  

Opening the wallet further reveals soggy dollar bills… four hundred dollars to be exact. Closing the wallet, I sigh deeply as my chest tightens with sorrow for my brother and this family that will be without a husband and father…. and so close to the holidays. My brain starts to strategize as I stuff the wallet into my belt pocket. With a small huff, I turn the pipe wheel the opposite direction, lowering the door back to its dead-end state again.  Donatello comes first. I’ll figure out the Vass family situation later.  

I return to the lair, quietly sliding my bedroom door open.  

“Leonardo.”   

Apparently not quietly enough. My arms clench at my sides as I face Master Splinter. “Hai, Sensei.”  

“Why are you not in bed?”  

I open and close my mouth a few times, certain I will have to do backflips tomorrow no matter what I say. “I… I was just….” Sighing, I decide being evasive isn’t the tactic. If I’m going to be leader of our team, then I need to take responsibility for actions and stand behind my reasoning for them. “I went to tunnel 49.” I don’t have to say anything more as the shocked expression on Sensei’s face is enough for me know that he understands what I was doing. He stares at me for a moment before placing his hands behind his back and giving me a small nod.  

“I did not mean for you to…. you should not have gone there. I did not wish for you to view such an ill-fated outcome.”   

“Donatello is my brother; he’s my responsibility.”  

“And you, my son, are my responsibility. What if you were met by humans searching for this poor soul? Did you not think your brothers and I would grow concerned at your absence? It is enough that your brother is unwell, did you wish to bring further worry to your father?”  

I hold my head down, feeling less like a leader and more like an careless child.  I should have told Sensei what I was doing, but would he have let me if I did? ....Probably not. I wasn’t there when Donnie needed me, so I wanted to protect him now and maybe redeem myself in the process.  At the warmth of his hand on my shoulder my eyes meet his, ready for further rebuke.  

“Although you should have told me your intentions, your actions showed the mind of a quick thinker and a heart of a protective leader.”   

I do my best to hide my gladness with a formal bow. “Thank you, Sensei.”  

“Now, please go to bed, Leonardo.”  

“H-hai, Sensei.” I stumble into my room, relieved Master Splinter let me off the hook with a mere slap on the wrist.  At least I can rest a little better knowing nothing in the sewers will trace Frank’s disappearance back to my brother. Donatello is home; he’s safe. We can help him through the rest.  

Chapter Text

“…D….wake, bro?...”  

Sounds pull me away from the comforts of silence.   

“Guys! ….waking up. …hurry… come on, D! ”  

The sound is actually a persistent voice. My body is abruptly shaken, further breaking up the thick fog and grounding me to my surroundings.  

Mikey? ….is what I try to say but unfortunately it comes out as a groan instead. My eye is briefly pried open allowing bright light to flood my cornea. Hissing, I squeeze my eyes shut to block out the offending light. There’s small yelp and shuffling as another voice comes into my hearing range.   

“Stop that. Wouldja give him some space? No one wants to wake up seeing your ugly mug.”  

Feeling heavy with exhaustion, I find myself slowly drifting back into oblivion until a voice penetrates my sanctuary of silence once again.   

“Donatello, you have rested long enough. It is time for you to wake up.” I try to mentally distance myself from the voices around me, to rewrap myself in this cloak of unconsciousness, but pressure is suddenly applied to my neck. It doesn't hurt, but it’s enough to cause discomfort and ruin my plans of drifting back to sleep. “Open your eyes, Donatello.”  

As much as sleep calls for me, I know I can’t hide in this in-between space of cognizance forever. When I open my eyes again, the room is dim. I'm in the medbay of my lab. Master Splinter is sitting beside my bed. My brothers are here too. Mikey’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet; Raph is leaning grumpily against the wall; and Leo is motionless near the light switch. They're all in here just.... staring at me. If they're all in my lab and I'm on the sickbed I can only assume I am injured in some way. The more awake I am the more the throbbing pain in my head makes itself known.  

“What happened?” My brothers exchange looks with expressions I can't interpret in the dimness of my lab. When I try to sit up, Master Splinter’s paw gently presses against my plastron until my head meets the pillow again.   

“What do you remember?” Sensei implores with a tone that's too level and calm.   

My temple pulls with the tightness of stitches when I scrunch my brows trying to jog my memory. “I was hit in the head?” It’s a question, not really a statement of certainty. It would explain the headache and memory fog.  

“Yeah, bruh. That hoe was pretty brutal.” Mikey’s answer gains him a smack on the back of the head by Raph. I'm not sure why a prostitute would want to hit me, or when Mikey started picking up on crude terminology.   

“You had the head injury when we found you on the roof. We were hoping you could tell us what happened.” Leo's voice is also too calm.   

“How long have I been unconscious?”  

“Most of the day.”   

“What time is it?” My eyes narrow in suspicion.   

“It’s about 6pm.” Leo's being pretty tight-lipped. They're hiding something. They aren't telling me something, hoping I will figure it out, but what? ….what is it that I should—  

A tightness in my left arm puts a stop to my train of thought. I try to wiggle my fingers but they feel strange and restricted. Looking down at my arm, I squint trying to see it better in the dim lighting. It looks large and lumpy, and it feels heavy when I try to lift it.…..is there a cast on my arm?   

“Turn on the lights.” The words leave my mouth in a rushed whisper.   

“Perhaps you should tell us what you remem—”  

“Turn on the lights!” my voice heightens as I feel the rough contours of my arm… It’s not a cast…. it’s not a cast.… something’s wrong with my arm….  

Sensei nods and Leo flips the light switch. I blink until my eyes adjust to the fluorescent lights. A harsh gasp explodes from my chest as I stare at what was once my arm.   

I can't help but recoil from the sight of my hideous appendage.  My elbow pad and wrappings have been removed. My arm’s twice the size it should be and covered in discolored brown spots. With my right hand, I trace the deep ridges and jagged rises along my left arm. As I curl my fingers, my thick claws scrape against the palm of my hand.   

I’m mutating into a monster. Those five words open up a stream of images in my mind. Within moments, I remember everything with the sharpest of clarity. Meeting April at the clinic,  attacking Sensei….  

The sewer worker…..  

My stomach flips as images of flesh snapping and ripping from human bones assault my memories. I killed that man….. tore him apart like a lion devouring the carcass of its prey. Everything happened so fast…. I remember the rooftop… my brothers… they…. they came for me. We were going home, but my arm…. the pain was excruciating…. and then there was darkness….. I was ready to lock myself away, bury myself so deep within my conscious I would never hurt anyone else, but they wouldn’t let me.  My family came for me. They saw the horrors of my deed and yet there's no katana at my throat ready to end my miserable existence.   

They came for me.   

Even with this touching sentiment, the stark reality of my situation sinks its talons into my soul, digging up a fear I can't ignore. I'm turning into a monster.  

Tossing the sheets from my body, my mind slams into the present as I quickly stand on shaky legs. “I need to obtain a epidermis sample and—” 

Before I can take a single step, Raph is in front me in a matter of seconds, pushing me down with enough force to make the bed squeak beneath me. “ Hey, you wanna slow down on the crazy and tell us what the shell is going on?” Raph demands, crossing his arms over his plastron.   

  “Raphael, control your tongue.” Splinter chastises him. Raph’s  livid but I suppose he has every right to be. “Donatello, now would be a good time to enlighten us on your current situation.”  

Suddenly, I feel very small in front of my family as I painfully force down the panic and fear from my chest and let it settle back down in the pit of stomach. Pull yourself together, Don… I've put my family through enough. The least I can do is tell them the truth without falling to pieces like an unstable compound.  

His pupils shrink to pinpoints as his entire skin changes color like it did on the rooftop. His olive color drains into light tint of green—more white than green. It's a quiet sound, but I hear the small catch in his breathing as his gaze takes him somewhere far from us. It's a gaze so haunted I know he reliving that horrible moment in the sewers. He's on the verge of breaking but this time I'm here and I won't let him do it alone. I take a step closer to the bed, ready to be the big brother he needed me to be months ago but suddenly the fear and panic leave his eyes and the expression is wiped from his face like words from a chalkboard.   

  "Donnie?" Hearing his name immediately brings him back to the here and now as his skin changes back to its olive green hue, as if he wasn’t just about to have a panic attack. Any emotional trauma that started to show is eerily shut down within seconds. He immediately goes into a straightforward explanation of the past few months.  

  “ I have an acute case of Mutagenic Radiation Poisoning.” His voice is calm and monotone. “MRP for short.”  

  “What exactly does that mean, Donatello?” I ask, narrowing my gaze in concern.  

  “Mutagen behaves in a similar manner of nuclear radiation.  Exposure to nuclear radiation breaks down the biological structure of an organism. Depending on the length of time and amount of exposure, it usually results in some form of cancer in a living organism and if left untreated will shut down vital organs until the organism is deceased. I recently discovered mutagen holds similar properties; extreme exposure to mutagen over an extended period of time can drastically alter an organism’s DNA.”  

  “Dude, you touched mutagen? That’s like your number one rule: Mikey, don’t touch the mutagen!” My youngest brother emphasizes pulling a whiny face to impersonate Donnie.  

Donnie shakes his head. “No, I never touched it. Mutagen has radioactive qualities and interacts with organic objects through wavelengths.”  

  “So, mutagen radiation….. mutated your arm? ” I ask, rubbing my chin.  I need to understand what’s going on with Donatello. I try to block out the images of my brother ripping the flesh off of Frank Vass.  

  “…Yes.” He answers slowly as he covers his deformed arm with his normal one. His evasive answers don’t go unnoticed.   

  “Well, Raph, Mikey, and I have been exposed to mutagen just as long as you have and nothing’s happened to us.” I question his reasoning, hoping to pull more answers from him.  

  “Actually, I’ve been in much closer proximity of mutagen for much longer periods of time in my lab. I’ve studied mutagen for the past year and spent more hours than I can count trying to recreate the retromutagen.” He pauses a moment, trying to gauge our responses, but I keep my body still and my expressions to a minimum. Sensei, Mikey, and I are in a semi-circle around the sickbed.  Raph is the farthest away, leaning against the doorframe.  I can see the muscles clenched like taut rope along his jawline. I give Raph a meaningful look to knock it off, but he ignores me. Even as I try to remain outwardly stock still, I can’t help but worry about this mutagenic radiation poisoning. It doesn’t seem like something to be taken lightly.   

  “Mutagen in the form of radiation bonds to atoms differently than skin to skin contact…it has a slower reaction. By the time I figured out what was happening to me, it was too late. The mutation was already in progress.”  

  “So, the growth spurt, appetite, and color changing…”  

  “Yes, they are all symptoms of the radiation bonding with my DNA, and….wait, did you say color change?” He looks at me, confusion creasing his brow. I point at his hand which is currently blending with the white sheet it’s resting on. When he lifts his hand for a closer look, it slowly changes back to its original color. “Oh.” There’s a look of both concern and fascination playing across his face.  

  “Where’s the rest of the mutagen?” If mutagen is powerful enough to affect Donnie just by being in close vicinity, then it shouldn’t be in the lab at all.  

  “I locked the rest of the canisters in the steel cabinet.” He nods toward the large metal cabinet that’s near the back of the lab. “I’m deducing the metal will be strong enough to serve as somewhat of a protective barrier to prevent anyone else from being poisoned.” With a nod, I sigh through my nostrils. It shouldn’t be in the lair, anywhere near our family, but the metal cabinet will have to do until we find a safe way to dispose of it.  

  “At least it’s only your arm, bro. What if your face mutated instead and you ended up looking like Raph?...ow!” Mikey rubs the back of his head after Raph gives him a well-placed smack.  

“Unfortunately, the transformation is far from over. On a cellular level, my DNA is still rapidly breaking down and reconstructing itself. The observable rate of change has recently accelerated. I've concluded that one of two outcomes will occur: I will either continue to mutate into… this,” he emphasizes by extending his mutated arm, “or the poison will ultimately shut down my vital organs and…” He doesn’t have to say the rest. When I see the sobering look on his face, I understand the gravity of the situation.  His calmness as he explains all of this is unnatural. He’s suffered through this for months….his body’s changing, his emotions completely unhinged, and he ate an innocent human less than 24 hours ago, yet he’s talking to us like he’s giving a lecture at a college. Most would think he’s handling this well, but I know better. I restrain myself from questioning his emotional state. There will be time for that once we figure out this mutagen radiation issue.  

  “Can’t you just use retromutagen to reverse the breakdown?” I nod at Mikey’s hopeful idea.  

  “I can’t use the same formula that I used for the retromutagen. Because of its antimutagen nature, it will only returns subjects back to their original pre-mutated DNA structure, which in my case will be a pet turtle.  It’s either full mutation or full reversion, there is no in-between.”  

  “You ain’t as smart as you think you are, Brainiac.” This time my glare makes contact with Raph. His scowl softens as he looks at the floor. “….I… I mean…. you know, just ‘cause you ain’t figured it out doesn’t mean it can’t be done or whatever.” He stumbles over his words trying to save face.  

  “I’ve exhausted every alternative for the past month and—”   

My neck whips around to face Donnie.  Did he just say a month?  He’s known about this poison in his body for a month?...   

  A coolness scrubs over my skin as everyone stares at Donnie in silence. Judging from the wide-eyed look on his face, he hadn’t intended to tell us.   

  “Un-freakin’-believable….” Raph mutters between grinding teeth. He palms his face and looks heavenward shaking his head.  

  “Donnie…. you’ve  known this for a month ?” The corners of my mouth pull into a frown as a mixture of hurt and guilt settle in my chest.  

  “Maybe a little longer,” he mutters, clutching his arm. The shame is evident on his face as he avoids looking  us.    

  “How long have you known, Donatello?” Our father's stern voice forces Donnie to answer with a more truthful answer.  

  “Approximately six weeks.”   

  For six weeks, Donnie dealt with this… suffering through this sickness by himself. My heart aches at how much  I’ve failed my younger brother. When did he stop coming to me for help? When did he feel the need to handle this on his own? ...When did he stop trusting me?  

I hang my head in remorse. This is my fault. My omission and dishonesty are the cause of my family’s disappointment and grief.  

“You mean this whole time I was helping you in the lab…. it was…. you were…” My little brother struggles to wrap his mind around my deceit.   

  “Mikey, it’s not what you think, I—”    

  “The Kraang files weren’t really for retromutagen…. they were for you, weren’t they?”  

  “Just… just let me expla—”  

  “Weren’t they?!” he yells at me, his face flushed as tears stream unabashed down his face.  

  I nod doggedly until I swallow and find my voice again. “Yes, Mikey. They… they were for me.”  

  “You lied to me…” He might as well have kicked me in the face with that morose accusation.   

  “Mikey, I’m so—”  

  “I’m smart enough to be your lab flunky, but too stupid to tell you were dying ?”  

  “No! Of course not!”   

  His light blue eyes wobble with more tears revealing just how upset my little brother is. I never meant to hurt him, I was only trying to protect....  

Myself.   

There's no point denying my selfishness. I was only protecting myself from my own insecurities.... From my fear of being rejected by the one person I knew wouldn't turn his back on me. I’ve been wrong about so many things over the past few months. Wrong about my father's teachings; wrong for the way I treated my brothers.... For the way I underestimated Mikey's constancy.  

He glares at me as much as he can through glossy eyes and his anger is almost convincing until a harsh sob erupts from his lips. Without thinking, I reach out to him with my clawed hand but he backs away retreating from the lab.  There’s an abrupt door slam that seems to echo through the lab.  

“I’ll check on ‘im,” Raph mutters with a sigh, turning on his heels as he beelines out of the lab as well.  

It’s shamefully silent for a few moments before Sensei speaks. “You said you have tried alternatives. Have any of your findings been fruitful?”  

I shake my head negatively. "I don't have a cure, but I'm working on an inhibitor. It… it won't stop the symptoms, but it should slow them down enough for you guys to decide what to do." Now might be a good time to mention the Pentobarbital. They should know every option available.  

Leo frowns and something fervent and bright glistens in his eyes. "What do you mean decide what to do?" He gives me this knowing look and I return it with a confused one. "There's nothing to decide; we'll find a way to fix this and that's that…. no drastic decisions need to be made, okay?" His cryptic words give me pause. If I didn't know any better I would have thought he already knew what I was thinking. "April's dad is a scientist, maybe he can help."  

“No!” The outburst comes out louder than I intended, but I don’t want April or her father involved…. I’ve hurt April enough as it is.  

“Leonardo, call Mr. O’Neil. Donatello, now is not the time for shame or bruised pride.”  

I nod looking down at my large feet. He’s right. April told me after being kidnapped by the Kraang, her father pretty much immersed himself in subjects of biology and genetics. There is a possibility, no matter how small, that Mr. O’Neil may hold some knowledge to reversing this poison in my body, but I also can’t deny the scientific probability behind my slim chances of survival. When Leonardo steps out to call April, it’s just me and Master Splinter. I can feel his eyes grazing over my body.  

“Do you still hear the darkness?”  

I’m a little taken back by his forwardness; I was hoping not to discuss that ‘spiritual’ experience ever , but my curiosity is slowly overriding my discomfort of the topic.  

“Uh, no…. not anymore.” Pausing a moment, I try to reorganize what happened into a logical query.  “The healing meditation you showed me when we were… ‘there’….. how… how does it work?”  

He hums softly to himself. “The same way science is used to create medicine for the body, meditation, prayers, and affirmations are used to provide healing for the mind and spirit."   

“I know, but how does it work? I mean for weeks that voice tormented me and all it took was repeating a few healing words gets rid of it? Logically, it just doesn’t make sense.”  

“The soul is a curious thing. There is indeed logic of the soul, things that intellect alone cannot comprehend, the logic of hope, faith, and love—the matters of the heart. The mind, body, and soul are equally important. When one fails, the remaining two will carry the burden until the three elements are once again balanced.”  

“What if two elements fail? ...the mind and body for example.” I ask, hypothetically.  

He gives me an encouraging smile. “As I said, my son, the soul is a curious thing. The willful soul will push the mind and body to persevere through the most impossible trials. Do you understand what I am telling you, Donatello?”  

Nodding, I rest my tongue between my gap. “I think so…. I think I understand ‘soul logic’ better than I ever thought I would.” I offer a morose smile. Unfortunately, experience was a harsh teacher, and me, an unwilling student. “Sensei, I’m…. I’m sorry for not taking your lessons on spiritual refinement seriously. I should have listened years ago when you tried to teach me to strengthen my spiritual awareness, then maybe—”  

A comforting hand on my disfigured shoulder is enough to lessen the bitter taste of regret on my tongue. “It will profit you nothing to dwell on past mistakes.” He gives me a knowing look and I know he’s referring to more than just my stubbornness. My mind briefly flits to the carnage in the sewer and my stomach churns like a washing machine’s agitator.  I swallow back the nausea.   

“We must press forward for solutions.”  

I clear my throat and refocus my thoughts. “Speaking of solutions, you mentioned the wall was only temporary….” His expression sobers as he confirms my words with a nod.  

“Yes, the wall is only meant to block negativity and spiritual sickness for a short period of time.”  

I release a slow sigh. Even after seeing the spiritual manifestation of the mutagenic radiation coursing through my body, it’s a lot to take in. My world of science and logic has betrayed me, deserted me for a metaphysical world of souls and emotional sensitivity that I’m still not sure how to fully accept.  

“How will I know if the wall starts to fall, for lack of better words?”  

“Some describe the feeling as an itch they cannot scratch. You should continue to meditate with the healing hands mantra to keep the wall strong.” With hesitation I nod. What if meditation isn’t enough? ...what if that abomination takes over my mind again and—  

“It is alright to be afraid.”  

“I’m not.” I answer more quickly than I intended. Taking a deep breath I steady my thoughts and the tingles of fright forming a layer of static over my body. “….I’m just thinking is all.”  

“Talking is also helpful.” He looks at me hopefully, but the suggestion only makes me clamp my lips together and fidget with the calloused scales on my left arm. I hunch over as he sighs, because I know he expects more from me.  

“Very well. For now, you will rest.” My mind is still reeling from everything. I can’t seem to form  the words to object to his command, so I ease myself back under the sheet and allow my father to reposition my pillow. “Donatello, it is important that you tell me if you feel the wall begin to slip.”  

“Hai, Sensei.”  

He turns off half the lights, leaving me in the dimness of my lab. I almost ask him to stay, but the plea dies on my lips with a hushed breath as I pull the covers under my chin. The dull ache in the arm cuff of my shell makes me turn on my right side to relieve the pressure off my mutated arm. I thought telling my family the truth would take some kind of proverbial burden off my shoulders, but it only makes my stomach queasy and head hurt. Even in my honesty I still feel like I’ve let everyone down.   

Moments after closing my eyes, images of my family being slaughtered at my hands assault the inside of my eyelids. I sit up as rigid as a jackknife, my hands clutching the sheets as they fall to my lap. My temple throbs where the stiches are but it doesn’t compare to the cement-like weight pounding in the back of my mind. Okay, sleep is out of the question. Yawning, I slip out of bed and with sluggish legs make my way over to my desk. I decide gathering my mutagen notes for Mr. O’Neil will be a better use of my time as I awkwardly pluck at my computer’s keyboard with my right hand.   

Chapter Text

“Mike, its me.” I keep my voice low, but the demanding tone is still there as I wait for him to open the door. I sigh loudly when he doesn’t answer. I’m really not in the mood for this… at all. “I’m coming in.” And with that three word warning, I turn the knob. It’s not locked, which means he’s upset and wants to be alone, but still wants somebody to come check on ‘im.  

“You alright?” I ask, stepping into his room, avoiding the discarded pizza boxes littering the floor. He’s lying belly-down on his bed, hugging his pillow to his face. I sit at the foot of his bed and stare at my hands, not exactly sure what to say. After that spiritual escapade into Donnie’s psyche, the last thing I want is another chick-flick moment. When he doesn’t answer, I try my usual tactic. “Mikey, you’ve got about ten seconds to start talking or I will leave you in here to brood for the next hour.” If he doesn’t wanna talk, I ain’t gonna force him but brooding’s not really his thing so I don’t expect him to give me the silent treatment much longer.  

“Why didn’t he tell me, Raph?”  Eight seconds…. that’s a new record for him.  

“The heck if I know. The same reason he didn’t tell the rest of us, I guess.”   

“Raph, he totally tricked me, dude, for months . He was lying to me when I helped him with the ‘ retromutagen’. ” He bends his fingers like imaginary air quotes. “He lied to me about the Kraang files and I went all-out mutiny on Leo’s mission for him. I defended him while Leo gave me stitches… stitches , Raph!”  He waves his arm in my face to make sure I see his itty-bitty stitches. “He just…. used me.” Sniffing, he rubs at his eyes. I don’t say anything, not yet. It’s best to let him get it all out in one longwinded angst. “Thought he understood me, took me seriously, ya know?” His tone drops and it reminds me of someone dragging their fingers down a window. “I guess he just sees me the same way everyone else does.”  

“As what? ...A goofball?” I snort, because he clearly walked into that one. He glares at me through those puppy dog eyes of his. Guess my humor was too soon. I roll my eyes with a sigh. “Look, I get it, alright? You’re ticked off…. Shell, I’m ticked off. The Brainiac’s been mutating into a freakin’ monster for the past six weeks and he spills the beans after he made some poor sap his dinner. I wanna strangle him for being so stupid.” My biceps tense as I clench my fists in frustration. Before my anger can rise to its full capacity, traces of Donnie’s emotions wash over my mind like a tidal wave extinguishing my internal firestorm before it has a chance to fester. As much as I want to ride out these flames of fury, I can’t. Whatever happened to me in Don’s aura has had me outta whack since we returned to the physical world. I hate feeling like this… like a raw egg smashed into a brick wall, insides splattered and completely exposed for all to see against a gritty wall. Yeah, that’s a pretty good analogy.  

Something keeps pulling back the colorful language at the tip of my tongue, replacing ‘em with softer words and thoughts that make me uncomfortable as I squirm at the foot of Mikey’s bed. “Listen, Don made some stupid choices about this whole mutagen crap…. I mean a lot of stupid choices, but idiot or not he’s still our brother. He can’t change what he did or didn’t do any more than I can change the things I did….” My words trail off as Donnie’s memories of me come to the forefront of my mind again. I haven’t been able to shake his memories or his feelings; it’s like a bleach stain in the fabric of my mind.  “.…The point is, whatever happens from here, he’s gonna need you and you need to be there.” I look at Mike as he rolls into a sitting position beside me. He’s studying me and I can’t help but frown under his visual scrutiny.   

“He’s gonna need you too, Raph.” I blink at my little brother’s assumption. His tears are gone, replaced with a smile that looks more natural on his face. How is this the same brother that can reassure me one minute and annoy the crap outta me the next?  

“Everything okay in here?” I hear Leo step in the room before he even speaks, but don’t look at him right away.  

“Just peachy.” The sarcasm is there, but much more subdued than I usually serve him.  

“Yeah, Leo, it’s good, bruh. Thanks, Raph.” Mike’s smile spreads a little wider.   

“Whatever,” I acknowledge his gratitude. Absently scratching my head, I look up at Leo.  “We miss any more surprises?”  

Leo leans against Mikey’s desk as he lets out his infamous sigh. “Donatello said he was working on an inhibitor to slow down the mutation, but it won’t stop it. I’m going to call April. Her dad may be able to help.”  

“Yeah, Mr. K does science-y stuff at a college, right? He’ll be able to fix Don for sure!” And there’s the ball of unfiltered optimism we all know and love.  

“Maybe…. We’ll have to take whatever help we can get at this point. There isn’t time to waste. We don’t know how long that healing meditation will last or if it will even hold off his physical mutations.”  

“Well then, stop yapping and call her already,” I gesture in annoyance.   

“What do you think? ...Cute, right?”  Leaning on a clothing rack, I smirk at the long sleeve velvet shirt Simone is modeling in. It looks cute with the pink belt, black mini skirt, and pink plaid tights she’s wearing. Her boots squeak against the tile floor as she spins a full circle pushing out her hip as she faces me again. The shirt has cut-out shoulders and a huge keyhole opening in the front that puts her cleavage crease on full display. She managed to drag me from her house this evening. She said staring at my ‘turtle phone’ was not going to make Donnie’s brother call me any faster. So here we are in the mall. She says we need something ‘sexy’ for the party she’s making me go to tonight.  

“I’m sure Tyler won’t have any complaints.” I tease with a small smile.  

“Okay, no….Tyler was two weeks ago.  This week’s Brandon. Stay with me, April.” She teases me in a ‘you should obviously know this’ attitude.  

“My fault.” I toss my hands up apologetically. “So Tyler the Tease is old news, got it. So what’s Brandon’s alliterative name?”  Though I keep my sarcasm to a low-key playfulness, I’m a little concerned with how quickly Simone’s been blazing through guys this semester.  

“Butterfinger Brandon.” She wags her brows with a sultry voice.   

“Butterfinger?”  

“Yep. Rumor has it he’s a miracle-worker when it comes to using his fingers; they say his pinky alone can make a girl—”  

“Oh my God, Simone!” I shriek and laugh at my friend’s perverted antics which only eggs her on.  

“Annnd, that’s what Brandon will be saying tonight.” I laugh again, swatting her arm as she gives me a knowing look.  

“Okay, now we have to find something for you to wear,” she says as she sashays back into the dressing room to change her top.  

I groan. I really don’t want to go to this party. “Simone, I’m really not in a partying mood,” I tell her for the fifteenth time today.  

“You’ll feel awesome once you get there, trust me!”  

“What if I get a call about Donnie? I won’t be able to hear it over the sex-fueled music pulsing through the speakers.” I appreciate Simone trying to take my mind off of last night’s drama-fest, I really do, but I can’t stop thinking about Donnie and how close we were to losing him…. how close I was to losing him. I’m pulled out of my thoughts when Simone bursts out of the dressing room wearing her black t-shirt with a picture of a melting cartoon popsicle and the words ‘hot mess’ underneath it.  

“When his family does call, you can’t be all ‘Angsty April.’ You gotta be positive… upbeat. This party will totally drown out the angst and put you in better mental zone. One hour, April. Just come crash this party with me for one hour. Come on!” She smiles so big her cheeks squish her eyes into tiny slits.  “Please?”  

I purse my lips, ready to agree to this party when my phone’s ringtone jingles from my back pocket. My heart hammers against my chest as I place the phone to my ear with bated breath.  

“Hello?”  

“Hey, April.” 

“Leo! How’s Donnie doing? Is he awake yet?”  

“He woke up about thirty minutes ago…. April, do you think you could bring your dad to the lair tonight? We could really use his help.” 

“Of… of course, Leo but what’s wrong?”  

There’s a heavy sigh on the other end and it’s not Leo’s normal sigh; this ones more burdened than usual. “We’ll explain everything when you guys get here. Just come as soon as you can.”  

“Okay, Leo, we’re coming.” I tap my phone off, stuffing it back into my pocket.  

“What’s wrong? Is Donnie, okay?” Simone’s expression does a 180 as she goes from party-happy to worried friend in a matter of seconds.  

“I… I don’t know. His brother just called and he wants my dad and me to come over. It sounded serious.”  

“You want me to come with? ...You know, moral support and all…”  

It’s times like this I wish I didn’t have to lie to my best friend, but I have to keep the truth about Donnie and his family a secret even at the sake of Simone’s feelings.  

“No, that’s okay…. Donnie’s family is a bit…. private.”  

“Oh.” I can feel her dejection and it pricks at my conscious like the thorns of a cactus. As she forces a smile, she also forces back her feelings of exclusion. “…Well, you know it’s cool and stuff. You go check on your BF and I’ll party hard enough for the both of us, okay?”  

“Yeah, okay….. wait, he’s not my BF!”  

“Mm-hm. The way you were groping Mr. Toots last night and moaning Donnie’s name tells me otherwise. Mr. Toots is scarred for life.”  

Laughing out loud, I’m grateful for Simone’s humor, despite it being a cover for her true feelings.  I grab her into a tight hug. “Thanks, Simone, for everything,” I whisper into her ear.  

She smiles pushing away from the hug. “Just go see about your man.  And…. um…. could you, like, tell him sorry for calling him a spazz-face jerk and a douchebag?”  

“You called him a douchebag?”  

“No, but I was thinking it.” I roll my eyes good naturedly. “Go. Text me later.”  

“I will.” After another quick hug, I sprint from the store and immediately start dialing my father. I hope I can catch him before goes to class this evening.  

“And you’re sure Leonardo didn’t mention what this was about?” I ask April as I step clumsily over a pipe.  

“No, Dad. He just said they needed your help and to come ASAP.” I can hear the worry and agitation in her tone as she pulls me along by the hand. When April called me about the turtles, I cancelled class for tonight. It’s a peculiar thing when ninja mutant turtles need help from an adjunct college instructor. April filled me in on the predicament with Donatello. Pentobarbital ….He’s such a smart lad. I would never suspect him of suicidal tendencies. Considering he is a mutant living in the sewers, hiding from a world that shuns his existence, I’ll have to revoke that previous thought…. It’s a wonder this issue hasn’t come up sooner . I’ll need to change my counseling technique a bit and—  

“Are you sure it was this manhole, Ricky?”  

I pull April close to me, gesturing my finger to my lips as we hide in the curve of the nearest tunnel. Two shadows come into view as a large circle of light glows on the adjacent wall. We listen as foreign voices echo and serve as a companion to the shadows.  

“Course, I’m sure! We were workin’ a double shift last night. I grabbed a snack at the corner store and when I came back, I called down to him but he didn’t answer. I thought he bailed on me…ya know his wife’s been havin’ a hard time with the pregnancy, so I thought it was an emergency or somethin’. But when she called the office and said Frank never came home, I knew something was wrong.”  

“It ain’t like Frank to just disappear like this. I just checked the tunnels on the south side.  There’s some unstable areas over there…easy to get trapped in, but I didn’t see any sign of him.”  

“Yeah, I already checked the closest tunnels and maintenance areas….nothing. I gotta bad feeling about this, Bob.  I mean what if Frank got attacked by one those mutant sewer squirrels.”  

“Aw, gimme a break, Ricky! I’m tired of hearing about your stupid squirrel fetish. This is serious, man!”  

“I am being serious! Ain’t you been watchin’ the news?” The shadow on the right becomes more animated as its arms flap passionately at its sides.  “Ten-foot rats,  giant acid monsters, and the huge freakin’ spaceship that hoverin’ over the whole city a few months ago….it ain’t no coincidence, Bob.”  

“Whatever, Rick. I told ya that was probably some kinda Russian terrorist satellite. I’d quicker believe Frank got his butt kicked by robot ninjas than eaten alive by mutant squirrels in the sewers.”  

The shadows of what I deduce are city maintenance workers gradually shrink down the wall as their voices fade. The clanking of metal vibrates in the tunnel as the workers retreat up the ladder rungs to the world above. April and I share a look, unsure of what to think of the overheard conversation. A couple of years ago, a disappearance in the city could mean something as simple as someone being in a shady neighborhood at an ungodly hour. Nowadays, it could mean alien abductions, unexpected mutation, or worse.  We continue in silence until we approach the familiar subway entrance.  

“April… Mr. O’Neil. I am grateful you were able to come at such short notice.” Mr. Hamato is standing there, awaiting our arrival.  

“Master Splinter!” I can’t help but feel a tinge of envy as April rushes past the turnstiles and embraces her Sensei. She’s grown and matured so much under his guidance. My heart still aches at the accomplishments and milestones I missed when I was abducted by the Kraang… and then mutated by the turtles. I sigh. It’s bound to happen when a bunch of teenagers play superheroes. However, the fact that I no longer sleep upside down or have a daily intake of fruit flies speaks volumes of those boys’ integrity and reliability. Speaking of the boys, all of them are sitting quietly in the den, minus Donatello. Leonardo is the first to see us and stands to join his father’s side. His brothers follow suit.   

“I came as soon as April told me. Can you tell me a little more about what’s going on with Donatello?”  

“I think perhaps it is best to hear it from him.” Curious, I follow Mr. Hamato to a metal door which I can only assume is the infamous lab April talks about.  

As he pushes the door open, my eyes scan the room. It’s dimly lit, but I can still see the blue glow of a computer screen and the silhouette of a rather large figure. At this moment, two things happen. Mr. Hamato flips the light switch and the bottom of his walking stick echoes like a shotgun gun as he hammers it against the concrete floor.  

“Donatello!” The paternal tone makes the mutant turtle squeak as he spins around. His hands fumble for purchase as he clutches several files, a notebook, and a clipboard to his chest. “You were instructed to rest. Were my directions not clear?”  

He places the stack of items on the corner of his desk. “Yes, Sensei…. I just wanted to get a few notes together for Mr. O’Neil and—”  

“Donnie!” My daughter yet again collides with another mutant as she thuds against Donatello’s plastron. “I was so scared! I thought you had…. that you were…” He seems a bit taken back by the encirclement but quickly recovers as he places his hand over the small of her back, slightly hunching his body to return the sentiment with a one-armed embrace.  

“I’m sorry.” A deep remorse trembles from his voice. Seeing April so emotionally bound to this humanoid turtle is slightly unsettling and reminds me of just how little I know about the depth of my daughter’s relationships. Have I really been too preoccupied with work to notice this…. development?  

“You’ve hit quite a growth spurt since I last saw you.” My heightened voice is enough for them to reluctantly separate. As Donatello straightens his body to his full height, I see he’s the same height as his Sensei.  

“Well, sir, a lot has happened since you last saw me.” I don’t understand his statement until he reveals his arm from behind his back.  

“Oh, my.” This definitely is not what I expected.  Donatello’s left arm is grotesquely disfigured.  I find myself intrigued and a little frightened by its very reptilian appearance of enlarged scales and ridged surface. It doesn’t even look like a part of his body and from the way he leans slightly to his right, I’m sure it’s quite heavy. April steps back, taking in the full view of his appendage and there’s an immense amount of worry that ghosts over her face. Something tells me it’s going to be a long evening.  

Chapter Text

For the next forty minutes, Donatello starts from the beginning of how what he thought was a growth spurt spiraled out of control into something very dangerous.  I’m sure this is a repeat to his family, but they still listen in silence as he speaks.  Their body language speaks louder than their words ever could.  Mr. Hamato is closest to Donatello and me.  When Donatello begins to fidget with knick-knacks on his desk, one look in the general direction of his father seems to calm his nervous hands.   

Leonardo and April are the next closest in proximity to the purple-clad turtle, though I think it's for two completely different reasons.  Leonardo’s stance pretty much mirrors Splinter’s as he stands near his brother protectively.  Leonardo’s eyes are warm and encouraging like his father's, but Donatello completely avoids any comforting eye contact that Leonardo tries to make with him.  My daughter is standing a couple of feet from Leonardo.  However, the way she keeps tethering with one foot in front of the other, I know she wants to stand closer to Donatello, but she won't… she knows I'm watching her.    

The youngest one, Michelangelo, is behind Leonardo and April spinning distractedly on a lab stool.  He seems incredibly anxious about something but I'm not sure if it is due to his brother’s current predicament or simply his normal excitable nature.  Lastly is Donatello’s more aloof brother, Raphael.  He is the farthest away from his family as he leans against lab door.  An uncaring scowl compliments the hard, thin line of his lips.  Even though his posture is cold and statuesque, his eyes hold a watchdog-type protectiveness as they roam over the occupants of the room several times.  I even catch him watching me as I study him.  

I continue to gaze over Donatello’s ‘growth spurt’ notebook as he explains everything up to this point.  I hum thoughtfully to myself as I review his rather detailed exposition and footnotes on what he calls Mutagen Radiation Poisoning .  Unfortunately, I know first-hand what a fascinating and terrible substance mutagen can be.  

“At this point I’ve exhausted all of my resources to try and reverse the process and the best I can come up with is a mutagen-based inhibitor to slow down the mutation, but it won’t stop it.” Donatello concludes as he takes a nickel, an eraser, two beakers, and a bag of Skittles and arranges them in ascending order by size.  He seems a little uncertain of which beaker should be next, both beakers being the same size. He switches their positions three times before finally deciding to put the chipped beaker behind the undamaged one. He looks up with wide brown eyes to find me also staring at his choreography of objects and quickly stops.  It’s strange seeing him without his mask.  Exhaustion has created heavy bags under his eyes; his skin seems a bit off-color as well.   

Not once did he waver or stumble through his explanation of his mutation.  He doesn’t sound like someone who’s been physically and emotionally affected by mutagen, but I know better.  I know that months after being unmutated, I still have my psychological struggles.  I can only imagine what it would feel like to mutate slowly, being completely aware of the impending transformation.  Donatello hides his trauma well, but I still manage to pick up on the small things.  Now he’s rearranging pencils and pens on his desk into neat rows before he catches me staring again and then ceases the behavior.  I mentally document his mannerisms.  

“Is there anything you can do to help my son, Mr. O’Neil?”  Mr. Hamato is very forward in his request.  

“I’m not a scientist in the way you may think, Mr. Hamato.  I specialize in the science of the mind, not the body.  Honestly, your son probably knows more than I do.”  I can't pretend to be something I'm not.  I won’t deceive this family with false words of know-how.   

“But, Dad, you’ve been researching genetics and chemical toxicology at the university for months now.  You have to know of something that could help.”  April stares at me with this glowing hope that ‘daddy can fix anything’.  The same hope that glistened in her eyes before her mother died of cancer nine years ago.  

“Mr. O’Neil, I understand your knowledge is limited in the area of mutation, but any help is better than no help at all.”  Mr. Hamato’s sage voice softens my resolve.  This strange family of mutants protected my daughter, treated her like their own when I could not.  Studying an assortment of sciences pertaining to anatomy, mutations, and toxins has become a bit of an ‘off-the-clock’ hobby while teaching at the university.  Since my mutation experience, one might even call it a bit of an obsession.  Maybe it’s time for me to put this knowledge to good use.  

“Alright…. alright.” I confirm my word with a nod. “I’ll see what I can come up with. I have a few colleagues that haven’t disowned me that I could discretely get information from as well.”  There’s a cool breeze of relief that washes over the room and despite my inadequate knowledge, I feel like this is the right thing to do.  “Donatello, you have an superb breakdown here of your findings,” I gesture to the thick notebook in my hand, “but I would like to take a look at your blood samples myself.”  

“I have samples in the mini fridge.”  He points to the small box underneath his lab table.  “Everything in my lab is completely at your disposal.”  

“Excellent, but first I would like to get a better understanding of your symptoms.”  

“If you look at the appendix, you’ll find I’ve outlined in detail each symptom as it developed and also—”  

“Uh… actually, I mean a physical examination….  If it’s alright.”  I look over to his father for permission.  Even if Donatello is a highly trained ninja, he is also still a minor.  “It’s important to make sure the symptoms you’ve noted are not causing your body any immediate harm.  As thorough as Donatello has been, there are some things that may need a second set of observant eyes.  

“That will be fine, Mr. O’Neil.  I will remain present for the exam.”  Donatello’s face darkens with embarrassment to a distinct shade of army green at the mentioning of his father being present… and so does the rest of his body.  

“I didn’t see the metachrosis noted, so I presume it is a new symptom.”  

“Unfortunately,” Donatello mutters.  Mr. Hamato ushers the others out of the lab, all except Leonardo.  

Donatello and Leonardo partake in a silent staring contest that seems to speak volumes between the brothers. Apparently Leonardo is the victor because Donatello simply sighs as his older sibling remains in the room.  

“I promise to make this as quick as possible,” I reassure him.  He replies with a shaky nod, but otherwise keeps his eyes fixed on the floor.  His thick index finger taps at a consistent rhythm against his thigh as his eyes trail the floor.  Within seconds, his olive green skin changes to a neutral brown.  I remember seeing something on the Discovery channel about lizards changing colors when they are in distress.  His posture stiffens under my prolonged stare.  

Trying to alleviate any undue stress, I work quickly.  Enlisting the assistance of Leonardo, I use his physique as a comparison in case there are subtle changes in Donatello’s anatomy that were missed.    His skin is rough, with an almost armor-like texture with scales that are more noticeable than Leonardo’s.  I look at Donatello’s notes and then back at his neck again.  “You noted a lump formed near the cuff of your shell, but there’s nothing there.”  I call his name when he doesn’t answer right away.  He blinks out of whatever thought he was in as I repeat myself.  He turns his head as if to look over his own shoulder.  

“How is that possible?...” he asks no one in particular as he cups the back of his neck with his hand.   He winces as he rubs the reddish area.  

“It looks a bit irritated.  Perhaps your cells are trying to correct the mutation on their own…?” I speculate as I smooth my beard along my chin.  

“Maybe…”  He isn’t buying my theory any more than I am, but I’m not sure what else would cause a sizeable lump to suddenly ‘disappear.’  

I move along, examining his left arm.  Aside from the actual mutation, the limb looks healthy.  My eyes trace from his clawed fingertips to his shoulder.  I frown.  “This could be problematic.”  I touch along his arm cuff where his shoulder blade disappears into the inside of his shell.  His enlarged deltoid presses tightly against his arm cuff, extending the bridge area between his plastron and his carapace.  His plastron seems fairly pliable on the sides, but this appendage growth seems to be stretching the bridge to its limits.  “Does this hurt at all?” I ask, applying a bit of pressure to the stretched area.  

“No, not in particular,” he answers, squirming under my touch.  “Just a bit uncomfortable is all.”  

“You should keep an eye on this.”  I circle the area of his rotary cuff with my finger.  “Any additional growth could cause loss of blood circulation or damage to your shell.”  His Adam’s apple bobbles once before he briskly nods.  I continue the surface examination, finally reaching his feet.  They are bound snuggly in wrappings.  Taking a seat, he allows me to unwrap his feet.  My brows furrow with concern at the tight band marks imprinted on them.  The way he hunches over and avoids looking at anyone tells me he’s embarrassed.  I wonder how long he has kept this from his family?   

Doing a quick double take from Leonardo’s feet back to Donatello’s, I can see a rather interesting development.  “Bend your toes.”  He does as instructed and I watch as his much larger toes curl forward.  The small spur on the back of his heel also curls inward and it strangely reminds me of a bird’s foot… three toes in front and one toe at the heel.  It almost looks like an evolutionary mutation.  I don't voice my thoughts, preferring to do further research before I spout off any uneducated guesses.  I also collect a skin sample from his left arm which isn’t an easy task; his skin is tough, almost too tough to simply slice a small sample from the upper epidermis.  I begin to pack the samples and notebook into a messenger bag Donatello gives me, when another question comes to mind. “Donatello, have you noticed any psychological changes over the time span of your mutagen exposure?”  

Mr. Hamato and Leonardo share a glance as Donatello goes through a list of descriptions.  “Paranoia, aggressive tendencies, depression, and possible psychosis.”  His voice still maintains its monotone rhythm even with the serious issues he’s just listed. I find it a bit disconcerting.   

“I see…. those are some weighty self-diagnoses.”  He looks as if he wants to say more, but decides against it, clamping his mouth shut.  “Well, I think I have everything I need.  At this point, staying away from mutagen would be the most logical thing to do for now.”  

“I assure you, Mr. O’Neil, Donatello will not be in the presence of mutagen because he will not be in his lab.  He will be in his room resting .”  Mr. Hamato gives Donatello a pointed look.  

“But Sensei, I still need to sample-test the inhibitor and—” A sterner look from his father is enough to make him sigh in defeat. “Hai, Sensei.”  

“I’ll work on this and see what I can come up with.  You mentioned a meditation technique that seemed to be blocking some aspects of the mutation…. do you know how long it will last?” I ask, looking from Donatello to his father.  

“The healing mantra is only meant to temporarily heal the spirit and mind.  It will clear the poison from his aura, but it will not stop the physical mutation.”  Mr. Hamato offers his knowledge of the subject and it has me rather intrigued, but I don’t dwell on it long.  Time is of essence.  If this poison is mutating his body at such a progressive rate, there’s no telling how much time we have before his next mutation spurt kicks in.  

“Give me two days to research and pull as many of my resources as I can.”  Splinter and Leonardo nod with a level of trust and faith that I’m not sure I’m worthy of.  Donatello’s expression, on the other hand, is rather grim.  

“Mr. O’Neil, I’m not looking for a miracle cure, but any help you can provide I would be immensely grateful to receive.”  Donatello is honest and polite, but it doesn’t fully disguise the look of defeat that haunts his countenance.   

“Donatello, what were you counting?”  

“Sir?”  His brow furrows in confusion.  

“When I started the examination, you were tapping your thigh to keep count of something.”  Judging by the surprised look on his face, I’d say I hit the nail on the head.  

“…Just the cracks in the concrete, sir,” he answers downplaying the nervous tic.  

“Mr. Hamato, could I have a word with you?”  

“Certainly.  Leonardo, Donatello, please excuse yourselves to the common area.”  

“Hai, Sensei.”  The boys bow in unison before exiting the lab, although Donatello does spare Mr. Hamato and me a quick anxious glance before leaving.  

“I’m concerned about Donatello’s mental state,” I express, moments after the boys close the door behind them.  His whiskers twitch as I continue.  “As I’m sure you know, a regular mutation through mutagen is quite devastating to the psyche.  I imagine a slow descent into a secondary mutation would be no different.  However, Donatello is showing somewhat dissociated behavior concerning this situation.  He seems emotionally detached, using obsessive-compulsiveness as a coping mechanism.  His behavior is more than likely a result of the physical and emotional stress he’s experiencing.”  Mr. Hamato is quiet, hopefully taking in my concerns.  “I’ve seen it a lot…. when I had my practice…”  I clear my throat, trying not to dwell on my lost reputation.  “You should keep a close eye on him, especially after his attempted suicide.”  

His ears perk and his brows shoot skyward at my last word.  “Donatello has not attempted suicide.”  

“Maybe not, but he was certainly considering it if he stole a bottle of Pentobarbital from the animal clinic April works at.”  His brows remain their raised position.   

“This ‘ Pentobarbital’ is used to commit suicide?”  

“Well, it’s more of a euthanasia… a mercy killing. It’s usually used by clinics to prevent animals from suffering through terminal illness or diseases in which survival is unlikely.” I instantly regret the use of the term ‘animal.’ I assume it might be insulting…. I wonder if they see themselves as human hybrids or animal hybrids.  

“I see.”  He doesn’t seem offended.  His features are heavily clouded, burdened with the information I shared with him.  

“….You didn’t know, did you?”  

“No…. I did not.”  His voice is tight as he clears his throat.  “Thank you for telling me, Mr. O’Neil.”  

“Of course.  Donatello is not only my daughter’s friend, but is now currently my informal patient. He’s a minor.  You are obligated to know anything that could threaten or cause him emotional or physical harm.”  Had the table been turned, I would want to know these things about April.    

“Mr. O’Neil, you said you study the mind first and foremost…. how can I….”  

He hesitates with his question, but I already know what he wants to ask: How can I keep my son from killing himself?  I’ve seen many heartbroken parents who wonder where they went wrong for their child to want to end their existence.  “You surround him with the love and support he needs.  Keep an open line of communication.  He’s trying to cope with what’s happening to him.  Let him know he doesn’t have to do it alone.”  It’s the best advice I can offer.   

“After our spiritual encounter, his brothers and I are beginning to see where our support has faltered.”  

“Acknowledgement is always the first step.  It sounds like you guys are on the right track to mending the emotional hurt.  Communication is key,” I reiterate with an encouraging smile. “You have my word, Mr. Hamato.  I will do everything in my power to help Donatello.”  

He offers me a nod and smile as we form a mutual bridge of parental understanding.  

When Master Splinter shooed us out of the lab, Raph wasted no time muttering, “Goin’ topside,” as he parkours the turnstiles and disappears into the sewers.  Mikey and I share a look before he shrugs apologetically.  

“You know how Raphie is.  When his feelings get all spinny like those teacup rides, he doesn’t like for us to see him mentally puke.  He’ll be back once his brain-stomach settles.”  

“Right…” I nod questioningly at Michelangelo, deciphering his Mikey-speak for ‘Raph-needs-to-blow-off-some-angsty-steam.’  Tilting my head, I offer him what I hope is a smile of strength.  “What about you, Mikey? ...How are you holding up?”  

“Me?” He points to his plastron. “I’m totally good, Apes.  I just gotta make sure me and Don are good.  I kinda yelled at him for not telling me about all this.”  He gives me a sheepish smile and I can feel just how sorry he is for whatever he said to Donnie.  Sitting beside him at the kitchen table, I feel the warm fluffiness of his love and I know he’s going to dump it all over Donnie the second he has a chance to.  I pat his hand affectionately.  

“So how did you guys end up finding Donnie?”  His eyes light up as he goes into this fantastical story of how they found Donnie on the rooftop and later rescued him from the darkness of his own psyche.  Donnie strictly stuck to the facts of the whole ordeal, but when Mikey tells the adventure in his usual animated way, it’s a story filled with suspense, drama, the supernatural, and an unwavering bond of family.  

“And that’s when Leo called you, then you and your dad showed up, and then Donnie went into that loooooooong science-y blah-blah about—”  

“Okay, I think I got everything from that point,” I kindly stop him from repeating what we just went through an hour ago.  “Mikey, you said Donnie was covered in blood when you guys found him….  Did he tell you guys what happened?”  When Mikey described Donnie in his story as being covered in blood and ‘totally freaking out’ I was worried about how he ended up in such a state.   

“Well…. he, um, didn’t actually tell us, he kinda showed us.”  Mikey taps the side of his head.  

“You mean when you guys were in his aura?”  

“Yeah… you could say that…” He rubs the back of his head as he averts his eyes to the side.  Before I can prod him for more answers, the lab door opens and shuts again.  It’s Leo and Donnie.  My father and Master Splinter are still in there… must be pretty serious.  

I want to run and hug Donnie again, but I restrain those notions not wanting to push myself on him after everything he’s been through.  

His skin has changed colors again, now an earthy brown.  Donnie’s large feet drag against the concrete floor.  His movements are sluggish as he sits in the chair beside me.  He looks down at the table as several seconds of silence chisel by.  

“April, Mikey, where’s Raph?”  

“He went to puke out his feels from his brain-stomach,” Mikey answers him as if that was the most natural thing in the world to say.  

“He what?!” Leo's exasperation growls through his tired countenance.  Mikey hops out of the chair, grabbing Leo by the arm as he walks him in the direction of the den.  

“Dude, don’t you know anything about brain anatomy?  Come on, I’ll tell you all about it.”  I narrow my eyes with a smile as Mikey winks at me over his shoulder.  Clever little imp.  

Now that I’m alone with Donatello, I take a moment to look him over.  Even with his intimidating new height, his hunched posture just makes him look timid and withdrawn.  His mutated hand is hidden in his lap while he busies his right hand with the pepper shaker on the table.  He moves it between the fork and the salt shaker.  I know he wants to say something, but he doesn’t so I take the lead.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My throat tightens as I try to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice.  

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”  His voice is calm and monotone as he fiddles with the salt shaker.  He’s been acting like this for the past hour.  He explained his mutating body to my dad like it was just some insignificant phenomenon in nature.  As I focus on his mind, I don’t feel the mental block anymore.  His emotions are at the forefront of his psyche, a jumbled mess of fear, shame, and dejection.  The emotions are cornered, forced out of their hiding place.  Listening quietly, I can practically hear his mind shifting and shuffling awkwardly through his feelings trying to make sense of it all.  As his mind shifts, so does his hand as he turns the fork vertically on the table.  Even without my psychic abilities, I can see how lost he is.  

My heart aches with his pain, but burns with my own hurt and anger.  How could he?  How could he not tell me this was happening to him?  And his only excuse is he didn’t want to hurt me?... I can feel a cool detachment slowly draping over his psyche.  His lack of care for his own emotions makes me shiver.  How can he possibly care about hurting me, if he doesn’t even care about hurting himself?   

“You thought killing yourself wouldn’t hurt me?!”  I blurt out the words in a dark whisper before I have a chance to dial back my emotions.  The salt shaker slips from his fingers as his mouth gapes open.  A trail of white crystals follow the shaker as it rolls in a circle on its side.  His coolness melts away into something warm and shameful.  “I saw the Pentobarbital vial missing from the case.”   

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like that.”  

“How exactly was I supposed to find out? ...When your brothers found you belly up with a syringe sticking out of your arm?!”  My tongue lashes out without remorse.  I want him to know how serious I am.  “I was scared out of my mind, Donnie.  I tried to look for you, but the storm made it impossible to see anything.  I called Leo and—”  

“You told Leo?”  His voice is soft and nervous.   

“Of course I told Leo…. I told my dad, too!  I didn’t know what else to do!  I barely slept last night.   Every time I closed my eyes I kept seeing your lifeless body consumed by darkness,” I whisper harshly, air escaping from my lungs as I take a heated breath.  His face is blurry as my eyes well up with tears.  As I blink away the watery haze, I see an unmistakable wetness in his own eyes.  With a hard swallow he turns his attention back to the salt shaker, putting it back in line with the fork and pepper shaker. With a thick index finger, he brushes the salt crystals into a small pile.  

“I’m not suicidal.  I just needed a fail-safe in place just in case the poison is…. irreversible.”  He rubs the last few grains of salt from his fingers.  

“That Pentobarbital is irreversible, but you obviously already knew that.”  I feel his emotions recoil at my words, but I don’t back down.  Honestly, I’m so upset with him right now, I want him to know just how much he hurt me.   

“Hours went by and I still hadn’t heard from your brothers.”  I speak as calmly as I can.  Although my voice is barely above a whisper, I know he can hear me.  “I thought you were dead.  When Leo finally called and said you were home, all I could think about was how close I was to losing you.”   

“I’m sorry.  I was trying to protect you.   You don’t understand how dangerous I was…. how dangerous I still am. ”  His remorse sends small static pulses through my mind.  The pulses quicken with intensity, painfully prickling my mind with his fear.  There was a time when I couldn’t sense Donnie’s emotions, but now I feel his regret, dejection and brokenness.  They’re the most pure and sincere emotions I’ve felt from him, aside from the night we kissed.  My heart aches anew at the remembrance of that special night, forever a mural in my memory.  With all that’s happened, I don’t really know where we stand in our relationship with one another; it feels so shaky and vulnerable…. but whatever kind of friendship/relationship this is I don’t plan on jumping ship anytime soon.  

Donnie jolts in his seat as my fingers find his mutated hand under the table.  I tug his large arm until he allows me to guide his hand onto my lap.  It’s large enough to cover both of my thighs.  The skin is calloused with spiked ridges, but I gently stroke his hand as if it were instead made of the softest silk.  

“It’s going to be okay.  My dad will help you figure something out.  Everyone’s here for you, Donnie…. I’m here for you.  You know that, right?”  

“Yeah…”  He clears his throat of a tearful falter.  “…Yeah, I know….  That’s what I’m afraid of.”   He gives me a weak smile, but I still see the haunted look in his eyes.  I wish I could take away his hurt.  Cupping his face between my hands, I plant a small kiss between his eyes.  

A loud ‘ahem’ makes us both jump.  My hands release his face as Donnie abruptly pulls away from me.  “Come on, April.  We should be going.  I’m sure Donatello is overdue for some much needed rest.”  My ears burn with humiliation at my father’s arched brow as he looks from me to Donnie.  I don’t know which is worst, my father’s sidelong look or Sensei’s knowing eyes.  

Leonardo stares at me inquisitively which only makes the heat in my cheeks burn more fiercely.   Mikey’s cheesing it up like the Cheshire cat.  My nose wrinkles as I scowl at him and it only makes him smile even more.  “Mr. Hamato, you and your boys should be careful in the sewers.  On our way over, April and I overheard some maintenance workers looking for a missing co-worker.  They seemed to already be under the assumption that there are mutants in the sewers, more specifically mutant squirrels.  You should probably keep a watch-out for a loss worker in case he stumbles upon your home.”  

Leo and Mikey are unnaturally quiet at the mention of maintenance workers.  I catch Leo’s firm head shake when Mikey opens his mouth to say something.  Obeying his eldest brother, he clamps his mouth shut, looking down and away from me and my dad.  Donnie is completely zoned out, his skin taking on a more grey and ashen appearance.  Master Splinter clears his throat before speaking to my father.  “Thank you for your concern, Mr. O’Neil.  We were aware of the lost worker.  Leonardo was able to lead the human away from our home, isn’t that right, Leonardo?”  

“Hai, Sensei,” Leonardo answers quickly joining Mikey in gazing at the floor.  Something fishy is going on here.  I don’t sense that Master Splinter is lying, but there’s something about his words that seem to have a different meaning than what he intended.  Curiosity is gnawing at my mind.  I’ve known Sensei and the boys for over a year, they can’t seriously think they can hide something from me now.   

“Glad to hear it.”  I’m pretty sure my dad picks up on their weirdness too, but he doesn’t seem very bothered by it.  Unlike me, he won’t bluntly ask about it, but simply store it as psychological observation like he does everything else.  “Well, we’ll be going now, Mr. Hamato.  See you in a couple of days.  If any other developments occur before then, just give me a call.”  

While my father says a few more words to Sensei, I rub my hand along Donnie’s coarse shoulder, telling him I’ll text him later.  Leaving the Hamato home, we begin navigating the tunnels again.  The first five minutes in the sewers are eerily quiet aside for the cadence of pipes groaning and water dripping.  

“Care to explain why your lips were on Donatello’s face?”  

I groan.   

Chapter Text

“Soooo, we’re not telling April and her dad about you-know-what?” Mikey whispers loudly several minutes after Mr. O’Neil and April leave the lair.    

“For now it is best to keep this knowledge to ourselves.  I will find the appropriate time to inform Mr. O’Neil.”  

They’re talking about me like I’m not sitting less than six feet away at the kitchen table.  I stare at the fork, the pepper shaker, and salt shaker and ponder putting them in descending alphabetical order before I actually start doing it.  Tonight was horrible.  I felt like fungi under a microscope as I suddenly became the object of my family’s scrutiny.  Despite the embarrassment and shame of being a freak show display to everyone, I still managed to keep my composure.  For their sake, I need to be level-headed and stay focused on the task at hand.  This could be a matter of life or death...  How many more people will I kill if this mutation gets out of hand?  I don’t want to hurt anyone else, but I suppose it’s too late for that.  I tried to protect everyone and my efforts have exploded painfully in my face.  Raph can’t even stand to be near me—he was the first one out the lab with no reservations; Mikey hasn’t spoken to me since his outburst; and it’s only a matter of time before Sensei and Leo confront me about the Pentobarbital …. their disappointment will be enough to make me want to crawl under a rock and die.  They’ll all think I’m a basket case.  My head is spinning just thinking about it.  Sighing, I rest my head against the heel of my normal hand.  I rub the area between my eyes…. where April kissed me.  My face flushes with a warmth I feel unworthy of.  I can’t erase the piercing hurt in her eyes as she begged me for a reason I would hide this from her.   

I thought you were dead…. all I could think about was how close I was to losing you.  

I don’t understand how she could still feel so strongly for me after everything I’ve done….  Then, I remember she doesn’t know what I’ve done.  The sewer worker’s guttural screams before I ripped his throat out still echo in my mind.  I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on breathing normally while my heart races.  If she knew the truth, she’d be horrified and repulsed by me.  

“Where is Raphael?”  

The million dollar question for tonight.  “He went topside to get some air,” I tell Master Splinter… or at least that’s what I gathered from Mikey’s ‘brain-stomach’ explanation.  

“Call him.  Tell him to come home immediately.  I do not want any of you topside until things have settled down with the search for the sewer worker, understood?”  

“Hai, Sensei.”  I watch as Master Splinter looks toward the kitchen table at Donnie.  For a moment I think he’s going to walk over to my downtrodden brother, but he pauses and turns back to me instead.  

“Please see to it that Donatello eats something before he goes to bed.”  He doesn’t give me a chance to reply as he turns away and heads in the direction of Donnie’s lab.  I don’t dwell on Sensei’s odd behavior for long as a glimpse of orange in my side view pulls my attention.  

“Hey, Mikey, could you call Raph?  Tell him to come home ASAP.”  

“But Sensei told you to call,” he pouts, inching his way to the kitchen.  Glancing over at Donnie’s dazed expression and hunched form, I’m not sure if he’s really up for ‘Mikey’ levels of bonding right now.  

“Mikey, Donnie’s had a stressful couple of days.  He doesn’t need a lot of excitement right now,” I hint as gently as I can.  I know Mikey means well, but Donnie will only wear his ‘I’m okay’ mask around our youngest brother.  I could see him coming apart at the seams while he put on a brave face for all of us tonight.  I’m afraid he’s going to break  in the worse kind of way and I need to be there to pick up the pieces.  “I’m just going to get him to eat something and make sure he goes to bed, okay?”  I search my baby brother’s eyes for understanding.  Come on, Mikey, work with me.  

“Okay.”  His voice hits a low key of disappointment as he walks past me.  “I’ll call Raph.”  Before he can completely pass me by, I rub my hand and rest it on his shoulder with a small squeeze.  

“He’ll be okay,” I reassure him.  He gives me one those innocent smiles before heading to his room.  I turn back to the kitchen and see my second youngest brother hasn’t moved from the table.  In the kitchen, I bring a pot of water to a rolling boil before pouring in some ramen.  Donnie’s stillness terrifies me; it reminds me of the same stillness he held on the rooftop.  Neither of us speak as I wait for the noodles to cook.  Honestly, I’m not sure if he even realizes I’m  in the kitchen, because his eyes haven't left the salt shaker on the table.  His hands are clasped between his knees, his shoulders drawn in tension.  I try not to stare as I prepare a small bowl of ramen for him.  Opening a jar of black olives, I sprinkle a few over the freshly cooked noodles.  

Pushing the bowl into his view, I take a seat in front of him.  “Donnie, you need to eat something.”  

My head feels heavy and hollow at the same time.  There are so many things I’m worried about yet I feel completely numb to as well.  I blink vacantly as a small bowl obstructs my view of the table.  I look up to see Leo’s concerned eyes staring at me.  He says something.  His voice is soft, but his words don’t really register.  I blink again and look down at the bowl.  It’s filled with ramen noodles and my favorite topping—black olives.  I think he wants me to eat.  As if on cue, my stomach cramps with a gripping hunger pain I’ve tried to ignore all evening.  I slowly stab my fork into the bowl.  Just as I maneuver the noodles to my lips, two olives in the bowl catch my attention.  Trapped air gathers in my lungs and in that moment, I no longer see two olives but the fear-stricken eyes of the sewer worker.  The fork slips from my fingers, hitting the side of the bowl before clattering to the table.  

“Donnie…” I hear Leo’s voice but only flinch when his hand touches mine.  

“I’m fine.  Just not hungry,” I lie as I cover my weak stomach with my hand.  

“You haven’t eaten anything since…. you woke up.”  He tries to recover his words, but he’s too late and I hear the pause in his speech.  ‘You haven’t eaten anything since you mauled that sewer worker’ is what he means to say.  I gaze over my brother’s features.  His eyes are warm with worry, yet dull with tiredness.  His habitually trained and upright posture is heavy-laden by a burden even his shoulders struggle to uphold and I’m the cause of it.  “You don’t have to eat all of it.  Just a few bites, okay?”   

Not wanting to cause my brother any additional grief, I steady the fork as I spin a few ramen and olives on it.  Without looking, I shovel the squiggly noodles and moist olives into my mouth.  I recite a C++ code sequence in my head to keep from thinking of how much its texture reminds me of more cannibalistic and nightmarish images.  I manage to choke down two more bite-sized servings before pushing the bowl away.  

“Donnie, I need to—”  

“I’m really tired,  Leo,” I interject, too afraid to face his disapproval.  However, it’s not a complete lie.  I am tired though I can’t imagine attempting to sleep at a time like this.  His cerulean eyes soften with sympathy I don’t deserve.  I must look more haggard than I thought because he accepts my pitiful declaration without question.  I sulk away to my bedroom, hoping to avoid my family the rest of the night.  

Immaculate, methodized, orderly…. just a few words to describe my son’s room.  Pausing at his desk, I look around for the third time since entering his room.  Not a single item is out of place.  Everything is positioned in the most rational locations.  I search for disharmony, any anomaly, but find none.  My clever son has perfected the art of deception when it comes to his own well-being.  This is the room of a reserved, studious, and thoughtful teenager, not the anxious and emotionally wounded child currently in the kitchen.  

Looking from his desk to his bookshelf, I still have not found the deadly Pentobarbital Mr. O’Neil spoke of.  I left Leonardo tending to Donatello while I searched his lab.  Finding nothing out of the ordinary there, I continued my hunt inside his bedroom.  There is no suspicious clutter in his room or excessive piles or stacks.  Everything has its proper place, some items having specific labels.  Finding something akin to a trophy display, I step closer to the hand-crafted shelves on the other side of his room.  A smile twitches my whiskers as I see some of my son’s most prized possessions.  My eyes pause over one of Donatello’s first introductions to the world of science.   At the tender age of ten, he glued letters from discarded keyboards onto a crude wooden plank to create his own periodic table.  There are similar creations of scientific and mathematical interest on the shelf: a completed Rubic’s cube; a plastic human skull with Donatello’s disjointed notes dividing it into various sections; and a small mechanical device showing our planetary system.  All the items a demonstration of my son’s genius mind at work over the years.  Turning away from the shelf of accomplishments, I sigh as I clasp my hands behind my back.  

Tonight, Donatello hid his fear by obsessively organizing his desk in front of Mr. O'Neil.  I believe in a like manner he has meticulously created this spotless room to hide from us.  The evenly-spaced pencils on his desk, alphabetized books on his bookcase, and even the sharp angle at which his sheets are tucked at the corners of his bed, have all been a disguise for more deeply rooted insecurities.  I can imagine him through the years translating his emotional complications into a more tangible form.  Cleaning, organizing, immersing his mind in books is how he dealt—or rather has not dealt—with his emotions.   

After a certain age, Donatello stopped sharing his feelings and instead shared his thoughts and theories.  I was ignorant to this subtle transition in my child, but if I am truly honest with myself, this behavior has always been evident, I simply did not confront it.  He was my timid and quiet child; he did not pull for my involvement in his activities as greedily as his brothers.  I regrettably saw this as a level of maturity and not the silent plea for attention that it was.  

At the thought of my gentle son contemplating suicide, I blink away the moisture threatening to cloud my vision.  Do I know my sons as well as I think I do?  With a calming breath, I push my paternal doubts aside.  Donatello needs me.  My tears will only serve to create a deeper guilt in my son, something I will not impose upon him.  Mr. O’Neil’s words ring true to my spirit.  I must keep communication open with Donatello.  He must know I am here to support, not condemn.  As I conclude my mental dialogue, the doorknob slowly turns.  

In the thirty seconds it takes him to notice my presence in his room, I see his shattered countenance, an aura of melancholy that immediately fills the room upon his entrance.  However, as soon as he sees me his emotional blinders are once again in place.  

“Sensei?  ...Is something wrong?”  He cannot hold my gaze for more than a second before his eyes meet the ground.  His obvious shame outweighs my disappointment.  The doorknob wobbles under his nervous grip as he awaits my response.  

“Donatello, please sit.  We need to talk.”  He nods as he closes the door behind him.  Even with his height competing with my own, he looks nothing more than a fearful child waiting for punishment as he sits on the side of his bed.  There is an unnerving quietness before I calmly speak.  “I know about the Pentobarbital.”  His hands wring together, tossing and turning over one another.  
 
"I'm sorry... at the time I thought it was the most viable solution and I—" 
 
His words stir an indignant flare hurt within my chest, but another calming breath brings it back under submission.  "Donatello, I simply want to know where you have hidden it." 
 
There's a hint of disbelief of my intentions as he stumbles for an answer.  "I, um, i...it’s in my desk drawer….in the lab." 
 
I slowly shake my head.  "No.  I have already checked.  It is not there.  Did you take it with you when you left the lair?" 
 
"No... No... I'm certain it’s in my drawer.  I'm telling you the truth!" his heightened voice pleads with me, making my ears twitch and my heart ache.  I want to believe he is telling the truth, but my parental need to protect him makes me leery of his honesty in his current state of mind. 

“Calm yourself, my son.  A lot has happened, you simply need to think.  Try to remember where you placed the drug.”  

“But I do remember!  I promise you, I put it in my lab desk drawer!”  His voice raises to an almost tearful desperation.  I have no doubt now he is being truthful, but it does not take away my concern that there is a misplaced vial of death somewhere in our home.  

“I took it.”  

Surprised by the new voice at the doorway, both my son and I look toward the open door where Leonardo appears holding a small vial between his index finger and thumb.  Staring at my eldest son, I wait for the explanation that had better come quickly.  

“I found it in his lab desk after we returned from the spiritual plane.  April told me about it earlier.… and what it was for.”  Leonardo pauses, glancing over to Donatello.  “I was holding it for safe-keeping… I mean, I was going to give it to you, Sensei, but with all that’s happened I could never find the right time.”  

“Now is as good a time as any, Leonardo.”  Turning my palm upward, he nods before quickly depositing the poisonous vial into my hand.  

“I’ll just be… out here.”  With a weak reply, Leonardo excuses himself from the room, closing the door behind him.  

Donatello and I are once again engulfed in painful silence.  Such a delicate situation… should the wrong words be spoken, the damage will be irrevocable.  He visibly tenses as I sit beside him on the bed.  He watches me as I roll the small vial within the palm of my hand.  

“This vessel could have delivered you prematurely to Death’s door,” I state the obvious, before collecting my words.  “You thought this was a viable solution?”  

“At the time, yes.”  

“My son, do not humor me a fool.  You and I both know that is not the truth…. not the entire truth,” I interject when I see his lips ready to protest my claim.  He settles with a sigh which only confirms my words.  “At some point, you no longer trusted us to help you.  You lost faith in the love of your family.”  

“No.”  His insightful brown eyes widen as he shakes his head sharply.  “The radiation caused paranoia and other psychological issues.  It affected my cognitive thinking.”   

“Yet you still managed to maintain the cognitive skills needed to determine this was a viable option?” I ask him, gently poking at the holes in his poor explanation.  “The poison created nothing.   It merely manipulated thoughts already present and uprooted emotions you hid from yourself.”  Even now as I break down his logical defenses to allow him room to release bottled emotions, Donatello struggles to find words to express his insecurities.   

“It’s just... sometimes I…. it’s hard to….”  With a furrowed brow,  I sympathize with my son's emotional difficulty.   

“Why did you feel this,” I hold the vital in his view between two fingers, “was a solution?”  

He pauses several moments, before a slight breath leaves his lips and he finally speaks.  “My decision was based on the option less likely to cause additional….”  He swallows before speaking again through strained vocals.  “It wasn’t worth the risk.  It would have been a humane alternative…. completely painless.”  He disguises his words to appear reasonable and beneficial to his family, but I see my son's words for what they really are—he does not think his life has value.   

“There is nothing painless about this alternative to your family, Donatello.  Do you not see that?”  My voice softens as a fear from a darker, unforgotten place makes itself known.  

“I have lost many things in life—my wife and child, my human form…” I turn my hands over thoughtfully.  “The night I was changed by the mutagen, I thought myself a cursed man.  I felt as though I truly lost everything, but instead I gained so much more.”  I offer my son a knowing smile.   He knows this story all too well, but I feel he is in need of hearing it again.  “You were all so small, mere babies in this unforgiving and cruel world.  There were so many cold winters, and never enough food or medicine.  I did everything in my power to protect you, care for you, to love you.  I swore on my very soul  I would protect you and your brothers at all cost.  It is a promise that still holds true.  Even if it means protecting you from yourself.”  It is hard to express the ever-growing fear of a father to a wounded child without appearing angry or overbearing.  My words may seem like a lecture to Donatello, but this discovery of planned suicide makes this conversation all the more necessary.   

“But I didn't.  I didn't take the Pentobarbital.”  

“But the fact you even conceived such a notion, that you were so quick to make this decision, it…. scares me.”  His disposition is more attentive as I acknowledge my fear.  “You so quickly decided you were not worth the love and concern of your brothers…. of your father.  Look at me.  Please.”  When he does not comply, I twist my torso more to face him and place a sturdy hand on his shoulder.  “I love you, Donatello.  If you doubt this for a second, I will remind you over and over again, as many times as it takes for as long as it takes.  I fought for your survival all those years ago, and I will fight for you even now as you struggle to fight for yourself.”   

I can see the reflection of my love through the glistening pools of his eyes, but I can only hope he truly accepts my words.  When a set of tears break free from their translucent barrier, I sweep him into an embrace.  He does not return it, but he does not pull away either.  A tight smile tugs at the corners of  my mouth as I feel his weight shift slightly towards me.  “I know you are burdened with grief for the life taken in your poisoned state and fearful of the near future, but take comfort in this single truth: you are loved, my son.  You.  Are.  Loved.”  I emphasize my words by pressing his teenage mass snugly against my chest.  There are surely other things I should be, could be telling him, but it is the first thing whispered into my spirit to say.  Perhaps it is appropriate; love is after all the foundation of which all else is built.  “It is when you are hurt the worst that love truly heals; it is when you need it the most.  Love from others, as well as love for yourself.”  

“I know.  It’s just… hard.”  His timid voice is muffled against the fur of my neck, but he makes no effort to right himself so I flex my ears to better hear him.  “The way I feel… I never bothered to… I just didn’t think they were….”  I rub a soothing circle across the scutes of his shell as he takes a deep breath through his tears, turning his face from the crook of my neck to speak again.  “Recognizing these emotions is like moving a muscle I haven’t used in years.”  I nod with understanding but say nothing more at the moment.  Donatello has never been one for platitudes.  He always makes spoken words count with an intended purpose and I know admitting this is very difficult for him, because he is also admitting his lack of intellect and understanding of himself.  

I hum softly in a deeper thought.  “Yes, exercising an unused muscle can be a painful ordeal, but with repetition and a determined mind, it will become easier.”  

We sit in silence aside from his  occasional sniffling.  His body slumps against me, and it is a weight I am grateful to bear considering how things could have ended last night.  He takes a stuttered breath, releasing it in a heavy sigh.  I know there is much Donatello desires to express and his brothers wish to make amends as well, but his sluggish motions remind me how much sleep my son no doubt lost over this vexing time span.  Any additional conversations will have to wait.  “Sleep now.  Things will look better in the morning.”  Keeping my voice to a light whisper, I gently pull away.  

His despondency is an unfortunate godsend as no protest leaves his lips.  With half-lidded eyes, he lies across his bed as I unfold a lavender blanket at the foot of his bed and drape it over him.  Tucking the blanket over his shoulder, he blinks several times as my hand rubs over his head before succumbing to a much needed sleep.  With a final glance, I leave the door ajar behind me.  

“Wait, lemme get this straight….. Don’s mutating? ....Dude, that’s  so metal!”  

“Casey, you’re a moron.  There’s nothing ‘metal’ about this!” Raph barks, his arms waving madly at his sides.  For a minute I think he’s going to slug me, but instead he grinds his teeth as his fists slam down on either side of his legs making the couch beneath us squeak its protest at the abuse.   

My hockey team had an epic semi-season win tonight.  I just came in from a bangin’ after party to find Raph's gargoyle butt planted on our kitchen counter.  Nearly gave me a freaking heart attack.   My dad's working a night shift and my little sister’s at a friend's house, so it’s all good.  At first I thought he wanted to hang out and bash up some thugs, but when he flopped down on our tattered couch with a growl, I knew something was up.  That’s when he told me about Donatello and the radioactive mutagen.   

I always miss out on the cool stuff!  I haven’t been around the lair for weeks…. been pretty busy with hockey and trying not to repeat physics—again.  Not to mention those Purple Dragon scum that keep wheelin’ and dealin’ in my hood…  I’ve had to grind their faces into the sidewalk more times than I can count.  Either way, Raph’s about to blow a gasket because Don kept his mutation on the DL.  I don’t get why he’s so mad… I mean, he should be looking at the golden opportunity that just dropped on their laps.  

“No, check it…. just hear me out for a minute, yo,” holding up my hands before he dismisses my awesome scenario.  “So what if Donnie does mutate?  He’d be, like, bigger, stronger, and look wicked cool!  Dude, he’d be like Don-zilla, the Kraang-annihilator!”  

“Shut up, Casey!  You think this is funny?!  My brother doesn’t need another mutation, he’s fine the way he is.  Do you hear the crap that spewing from your mouth? ....You have no idea what  you’re even talking about!”  

I shake my head trying to get him to listen.  “No, man! You’re not getting what I’m saying!  He’d be like Slash, yo!  You’ve seen the way he clobbers the Kraang with that mace like he’s playing whack-a-mole!  Imagine what Don could do if he mutated again!”  

“It doesn’t work that way!  Don’t you remember what happened to Dogpound?  Or maybe you forgot about the jelly mold of guts, aka Timothy, that’s in Donnie’s lab?  You can’t pick and choose the good mutations over the bad ones… they just happen!  You weren’t there when Spi—Slash mutated.  He nearly killed my brothers…. He wasn’t himself.  His mind was…”  His face goes from angry to broody within seconds as he swallows back whatever it was he was going to say.  “Look, just drop it, okay?  It was a mistake coming here.”  He gets up to leave, but I grab the cuff of his shell and grunt as I pull his fat butt back down on the creaky couch.  

“Come on, Raph.  Don’t be like that.  I’m just tryin’ to be optimistic, ya know?  I mean, you just said Don was pretty sure there was no way to reverse this and your bro is like a genius…. he would know, right?  There’s a chance Mr. O won’t be able to reverse it.  Maybe you guys should start thinking about the ‘what ifs’…. just saying.”  April always says  I have a bad case of ‘foot-in-mouth syndrome.’   Don-zilla sounded like a good idea in my head….  Maybe I should have just kept my big mouth shut.  

His belt pocket buzzes for tenth time since he’s been here.  The scowl on his face eases up a bit as he looks at the screen of his phone.  Placing the phone face down on the cushion between us, he sighs and scrubs his hand down his face.  

“That Mikey again?  Maybe you should call ‘im back and—”  

“I was horrible to Don.”  Okay, angry Raph has left the building and angsty Raph is in full swing.  “I thought he was just being an oversensitive wuss, but I didn’t know.”  In the dimness of the room, his eyes are bright and wet against the glow of the TV screen and low light of the bargain store lamp in the corner.  “He was hearing freakin’ voices in his head and I just kept pushing him and pushing him.   Gah, I’m such idiot.”  

“Dude, voices?  You didn’t say anything about Brainiac hearing voices.”  My eyes widen wanting to know more.  When Raph started ranting and raging about his ‘idiot’ brother, he never mentioned Don was hearing voices.  Sounds like some ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ stuff to me.  “Is he alright, man?”  Don and me have our differences, but this is starting to sound kinda serious.  Raph immediately looks away.  I'm ready to harass him for details, but his head snaps up instinctually toward the sound of the TV.  I follow his gaze to the news anchor chick reporting the eleven o’clock news:  

Public service worker Frank Vass  was reported missing last night while performing sewer maintenance.  It was previously believed Vass was injured or lost in sewer tunnels below; however, this evening a floor manager at the County Water Treatment facility informed authorities of a body found in one of its treatment tanks.  Forensics confirmed the body is indeed Frank Vass. They described the body as being mangled and preyed on a by large unknown animal.  Vass's co-worker, Ricky Hernandez, has other speculations in mind. 

The screen cuts to a Hispanic guy with a blue jumpsuit uniform and a hard hat on.  He looks pretty skittish and paranoid like he hasn’t slept in a few days.  

I’m telling you, this ain’t no ordinary croc in the sewer story, whatever did this to Frank was some kind of monster… or… or alien!  Crazy crap like this been happening since those glowing green bottles fell from the sky.  This crap ain’t no joke, I’m telling you, man! 

When ‘Raving Ricky’ pulls the camera to his face, it cuts back to the news anchor.  

Monsters in the sewers.... What do you think?  Like us on MyFace and tell us— 

“Dude!” I exclaim turning the volume down.  “Have you guys been holding out on me? ...Are there mutant monsters in the sewers?!”  He ignores me, still staring at the TV screen.  The silent treatment; now I know they fought a monster down there.  “Aww, man, can’t believe I missed out on that…. I bet is was so metal!  So what kind of mutant was it?  Did it have six arms and pus-filled  boils all over it?  It was probably super—”  

“Gotta take a leak.”  I barely catch his hurried reply as he beelines for the bathroom before slamming the door shut.  

“Weird,” I mutter to myself, scratching an itchy spot on my head.  Three short buzzes from Raph’s phone pulls my attention away from my moody friend.  Curiosity trumps any death threats Raph may spit at me for snooping through his cell as I pick up the shell-shaped phone.  There are dozen missed calls and a stream of texts I don’t hesitate to read.  

Mikey: ...leo made me call.  sensei put us on lair lockdown.  Better get home dude  

Mikey: u wit casey?  

Mikey: bro where r u???!!!!  

Mikey:  sensei not kidding bout lockdown…. they found the body… leo is pacin  hole in floor…. D is… idk :(    

Mikey: raph? jus lemme kno ur ok  

Mikey: please   

“What the shell are you doin’ with my phone?”  My fumbling hands nearly drop the bulky phone at the sound of Raph’s booming voice.  

“Crap, man.  Don’t do that.”  Within seconds he’s in front of me snatching his phone back scrolling through the texts I’ve just read.  “What is Mikey talking about? ...what body—” I may not be the sharpest tool in the box, but it doesn’t mean I’m a slow leak either.  “Holy crap…. holy crap… the news.  The sewer worker that was mauled…”  

“Casey… don’t,” Raph warns, his eyes narrowing into green slits.  But I can’t stop because something keeps tugging at the back of my mind.  I can’t keep the horrible thought from creepy its way to the front of my mind.  

“Raph, what the heck happened down there?  What kind of mutant freak—”  

The rest of the words are knocked from my windpipe as my body is slammed against the wall.  Black spots circle my vision until they fade into a much more horrifying image of my best friend’s sai  against my throat.  

“Don’t you ever call my brother a freak.  Ever.”  His gravelly tone is dangerously low.  

“What the frick, Raph?!  I was talking about the killer mutant you guys fought in the sewers… What are you talking about?”  Raph’s eyes widen with an ‘oh, crap’ expression plastered to his face and in that moment of realization a hard cold truth drops into the pit of my stomach.  “You said Donnie was mutating.”  The back of my head collides with the wall as the sharp metal presses against my Adam’s apple.  I’ve seen this look on his face before.  It’s that murderous look Raph has when an enemy injures one of his brothers.  I start talking fast.  “Dude, would you chill ?!” I squeak trying to force words out of my constricted throat.  “Raph, come on man.  You know me.  I’m on your side!”  

“Jones, if you breathe a word about this to anyone…”  

“I’m not! ...I won’t!”  He glares at me and I scowl at him.  “Would you put the fork down already, you meathead?”  The insult seems to bring him back to his senses.  He lets me go and my feet hit the ground awkwardly…  I hadn’t realized he actually lifted me off the ground.  

“Sorry, Casey.  Things have just been hitting the crapper like crazy these past few days.”  

“Literally.”   

“Not funny.”  

“Sorry.”  Foot-in-mouth syndrome never fails.  “Things are pretty bad with Donatello, aren’t they?”  

“Now you see why Don mutating would not be ‘metal.’”  His sarcasm is full of bite but the way he spins his sai around his wrist, I know he’s freaking out about his brother.  If he killed that guy and he’s only part-mutated, I don’t even wanna think about a full-blown mutated Donnie.  “It’s getting late.  I better head home before I get Hashi.”  He doesn’t look at me as he heads toward the window.  

“Raph, wait!”  He doesn’t turn around.  His hand lifts the window pane, then he pauses.  “You know I got your back, bro.  Whatever I can do to help.”  A shiver shakes my spine at his stance and for a minute I think he’s gonna scoff and slap away my help with bitter sarcasm, but he doesn’t.  

“I know….. thanks.  Just keep your mouth shut, Jones.”  And with that he drops soundlessly out of my window, vanishing like misery into the night.  

Chapter Text

Shivering from the cold air invading the nooks and crannies of my weathered coat, I walk briskly, listening to the series of groans and sighs from my daughter beside me.  

“For the one billionth time, Donnie and I are just friends.”  

"Your nonverbal communications say otherwise."   

“Oh my god…. Dad, it was just one little kiss…. it wasn't even on the lips!”  

“You've kissed him on the lips?” My brows skyrocket as I stop to stare at my daughter.  

“…Maybe?”  The deep cherry blush hasn’t receded from her face since we left the Hamato home. Raising a teenage girl is no easy feat, but raising a teenage girl who is infatuated with a humanoid turtle was definitely not in my Parenting 101 guide either.  “Can we not do this now?” she pleads with nothing short of teen-ridden exasperation.  

“Actually, I think now would be an ideal time to ‘do this' since you haven’t so much as breathed a word about this growing infatuation with Donatello.”   

"It’s not some high school crush!  Donatello understands me, we just have this connection… that’s all.” 
 
“Is this connection psychologically or anatomically speaking?” 

“DAD!”  Her cheeks puff out indignantly, but before she can further incriminate herself, I shush her with a parental raise of my index finger.  “I’m not disapproving this interpersonal…. connection… unless, of course, it is an anatomical connection….” I start off slowly, eying my daughter for a response.  

She sighs with half-lidded eyes.  “No, Dad, I am not having anatomical relations with Donatello.”   

Her deadpanned response is enough to quell fears of having a sexually active teen in my hands.  I do my best to tread carefully in the midst of everything that’s transpired today.  “I would just like to know a little more about the turtle who’s captured the eyes of my little apricot.”  

“Oh, Dad,” she sighs as a small smile sweeps across her lips.  My eyes relax knowing I’ve single-handedly defused a pending teen bomb from exploding in my face.  Being a psychologist has its advantages.  Not that April ever gives me much trouble, but when she’s passionate about something (or in this case someone), her fiery temper rivals her mother’s.   

“Donnie’s not like other guys… but not for the reasons you may think.  He's sweet, brilliant, and painfully awkward.”  She giggles to herself as if something comical is dancing behind her eyes.  “And he's charming without even trying, but he's too modest to see it.  And, Dad, he gets me.  He doesn’t care that I’m a science nerd or that I’d rather go to a museum than go shopping, or that I dip my french fries in my milkshake…. he likes me just for being…. me.”  The way her voice dreamily trails off into whatever fantasies are glittering in her head makes my chest ache.  “You'll be able to cure him, right, Dad?”  

Sighing, I watch my breath form wispy white puffs in the night’s freezing temperature.  I would almost prefer April to have a crush on that Casey kid she's always tutoring.  Donatello is a nice young man…. er… turtle, but I just don't see a long-lasting relationship between him and my daughter and I don't want her to be hurt when she finally comes to that realization.  The world is still struggling with accepting the idea of mutant existence; it'll be years before they wrap their minds around treating them as human beings, even longer to entertain the thought of mutant courtship.  Furthermore, Donatello's current mutation problem could complicate any relationship April wishes to have with him regardless of society's views.  Any further thoughts on my daughter’s love life are interrupted by the mimicking sound of a crisp rotary phone ringtone.  Pulling my phone from my belt clip, I flip it open.  

“I really wish you would upgrade your phone to this century…”  

“Hello?” I give April a pointed look as I answer my phone, even though a smile is evident in my tone. “…Oh Ms. Calloway! ...How are you this even—”  

“Kirby, is Simone with April?”  

“Uh, no… no, April is here with me.  We were just heading home from visiting some friends.  Simone didn’t come home tonight?”  This isn't the first time April's friend has pulled a stunt like this, scaring her poor mother.  

“Dad, what is it? ...Did something happen to Simone?”  April clings to my arm looking up at me expectantly as I try to listen to Ms. Calloway’s frantic voice.  

“She came home past her curfew again… we had another fight and she just up and left!  She’s always with your girl, so I thought…. I just don’t know where else she could be.   If Social Service comes again… ”  Her tearful voice wavers with fear and exasperation.  It’s not easy being a single parent, especially under Nora Calloway’s circumstances.   

“We’re on our way home now, Nora.  We’ll keep a watch for her.”  I put my phone away before turning to April.  “Simone had another fight with her mother.”  She nods understandingly, not asking for any details.  

As we approach the front steps of our home, I can hear a distinct humming of an unknown yet familiar melody I’m sure I’ve heard on April’s iPod.  Turning the corner to the steps, I’m greeted by two afro puffs with a big pink bubble between them.  After the predictable ‘pop’, Simone’s face comes into view.  Her sly half-lidded eyes stare up at me from her cross-legged position on our steps.  Under the lighting of the streetlight I catch a glimpse of a small tremor coursing through her arms and legs.  She’s dressed in a hoodie, tights, a mini skirt, and combat boots.  A tinge of pity twists in my stomach as I wonder how long she’s been out here in the cold.  

“’Sup, Mr. O…. Mind if I crash here for tonight?”  A half grin disguises any trace of trouble from her face.   

April and I exchange a brief look before we both offer her a smile and April helps her up.  “Come on, Simone, its freezing out here.  I think we have some hot cocoa mix inside.”   

“Awesome!  You got any of those marshmallows that look like little Christmas trees?”  As the girls scurry out of the cold and into our apartment, I pull out my cell phone again.  

“…Nora? ....Simone was waiting on the steps when we got home.  She can spend the night here, just to give you two some space… is that alright?  I'll make sure the girls get to school on time in the morning.”  

“ Oh, thank God! ...Yes, yes that's fine, I’m just glad she’s okay.  Kirby, I’m so sorry…. seems like everyone and their momma deal with Simone better than I can.  Why can’t she be more like your April? ”  

With trepidation, I think of my baby girl and how she’s managed to entangle herself with some amazing yet uncanny individuals.  “Trust me, Nora.  Sometimes the grass only appears greener on the other side.”  

“So are you going to tell me what happened between you and your mom?” I prod my best friend as she presses a mountain of marshmallows into her hot cocoa.  We’re both sitting on my bed draped in blankets to ward off the chilliness until the heater kicks in.   

She sucks her teeth before rolling her eyes.  “She’s just trippin’ ‘cause I came in a little late.  She’ll be ‘ight.”  Frowning at the dismissive tone, I can’t help but be a little concerned.  I thought Simone and her mom were doing okay, or at least better.  My questioning lips are interrupted by Simone as she leans in toward me with this huge grin on her face.  “Giiiirl, that party was crunk!  Music was tight, the guys were hot.  It was straight bangin’….. until the po-po showed up... they were a total buzzkill, bustin' up everything, sayin’ we were too loud and crap…. and I was soooo close to making ‘Butterfinger’ Brandon my personal play toy ……”  She gives a comical exaggerated sigh.  “So then I heard some girls talkin' about another party that was poppin' and since it was way too early to go home I thought ‘what the heck?’ and crashed that party, too.  Found out later it was a hockey-jock party… ugh, and dog-breath Casey was there, but I still managed to enjoy myself.”  She concludes her tale with a smug smile before downing half her cocoa.  

I give her a knowing look, the same look I always give her when she makes questionable decisions. “You know, your mom was really worried about you, Simone.”  

“More like she was worried about her welfare check.”  

“Simone!”  

“Look, any other time I’d humor you and pretend to listen to your good-natured lectures, but right now I just want revel in the awesomeness of my party-crashing while my best friend tells me how her boyfriend is doing.”  

I blink at how quickly Simone just flipped the script on me, completely avoiding the topic of her mother while simultaneously putting the attention on me and…. Donatello.  So much has happened so fast, it's hard to retain it all….  Even harder to explain it without explaining it to my best friend.  I clear my throat as she looks at me expectantly.  

“He's really sick, Simone.”  

“What’s wrong with him?”  

My mind searches for an illness, any kind of disease to tell her.  “He has a rare form of… cancer.  He hid it from us for months and now it might be too late.”  With a mouthful of marshmallows, Simone stares at me with these unbelievably wide eyes.  My chest hurts not because of the lie I just told, but because of how close to the truth the lie actually is.  The mutagen poison that Donnie described is breaking down his cells, turning his own body against him just like cancer.  “He could die,” I whisper more to myself than Simone.  The reality of those words slam into me like a glass wall, shards of fear, anger, and hurt cutting me deeply.  Early, in the lair and even during the walk home with my dad, I simply allowed my mind to touch the surface of the situation, feeling the energy and emotions of those around me and reacting accordingly.  But now, speaking this truthful lie to my best friend it all feels too real.   

She puts her empty mug on my nightstand as her hand covers mine.  I sniff back tears before they threaten to cloud my sight.  She gives my hand a gentle squeeze.  “Uh-uh.  None of that crying.  He needs your strength, not your tears.”  Simone's a tough girl, tougher than me, and she’s right.  I felt first-hand the pain and turmoil in Donnie's mind and crying about it won’t make it better.  

“You're right.  I’m going to be there for him.”  I take a deep breath, pulling myself together in the process.  “My dad’s going to talk to some… specialists and see if they can help with treatment.”  As confident as I try to sound, I know most of the ‘specialist’ work will simply be my dad’s personal research and under the table networking with some colleagues.  God, I hope he can come up with something…. anything .  

“With Mr. O doing his thing and you by his side, it sounds like Donnie's got a winning team.”  

I return her smile with one of my own.  I really hope she’s right.  

Rolling over toward my nightstand with a sigh, I squint at my alarm clock’s blurry numbers . I widen my eyes to bring things into focus.  3 o’clock in the morning.  Closing my eyes, I roll over again, turning my back toward the offending red numbers.  My eyes blink open again to the calming silhouettes of my room.  Even in this tranquility, my mind cannot find rest.  I sluggishly turn over with a groan, facing the ceiling.  My body reminds me we have training in three hours, but my mind refuses to obey my need for sleep.  A fluttering numbness radiates from my center to my limbs.  The tingling lingers in my fingertips before gradually fading.  Mikey calls the sensation ‘the brodar,’ a kind of sixth sense when it comes to my brothers.  I often scoff at my youngest brother’s silly theories.  He says I always know when something’s wrong, when one of my brothers needs me.  If it’s true…. if I do have some kind of internal brother S.O.S. radar, then I think it’s broken.  Thinking back over the past two months, I sigh with regret.  The signs leading up to Donnie’s current dilemma were all there.  I saw them.   

Initially, I tried to reach out to him, but after a handful of his boorish remarks, I left him alone.  I just didn’t bother anymore.  The prickly sensation in my limbs returns as my guilt settles into my core.  It was enough dealing with Raph’s constant challenge of my leadership and Mikey’s blink-of-an-eye attention span.  Donnie’s sudden demeanor change was the proverbial last straw.  I was fed up with his new attitude.  Out of my three brothers, it was easier to just ignore Donnie’s behavior while I dealt with my other two brothers.  Donnie’s issues were the least verbalized, but it didn’t mean they were insignificant…. I see that now.    

At times, I resent this mantle of responsibility.  My brothers and I always look out for one another, but at the end of the day I’m held accountable for their shortcomings and mistakes.  Sometimes, I just want to be accountable for me.  That selfish thought nearly cost Donatello his life.  I won’t make that mistake again.  

Heeding to the call of my inner ‘brodar,’ I swing my legs over the edge of my bed, rising effortlessly as I step out of my room.  I don’t bother to check on my baby brother because I can hear Mikey snoring from the hallway.  The dojo light is on and accompanied by a steady cadence of grunts and dull thuds against the punching bag…. Raph.   

Mikey called and texted my hot-headed brother for two hours before he finally decided to ‘show up.’ I thought Master Splinter was going to give him Hashi and from the look on Raph’s face, so did he.  To his surprise and mine, Sensei simply sighed and reiterated his order to stay in the lair.  My brother was smart and didn’t push his luck.  Unseen, I stand outside the dojo a few moments listening to the punches against the sandbag.   

Usually, Raph’s punches and kicks sound erratic and wild when he's upset, but now they sound steady and focused.  Maybe he's finally getting a hold of his anger.  Not wanting to disturb whatever peace he's found in the punching bag, I soundlessly head for Donnie’s room.  As I approach the cracked door, my stomach flutters with anxiety.  He's been asleep for hours, since Master Splinter left his room.  I'm sure he's fine, probably still asleep.   

I start back toward my room, but pause as an unfamiliar sound wisps past my ear slits.  Soft light illuminates a small area outside Donnie’s door.  Peering inside, my eyes search for the source of the whispers until they find Donnie.  He's sitting lotus style on the floor in a crumpled mess of his bedsheets.  At first I have no idea what he's muttering to himself, but after listening a few more minutes I realize it’s the healing mantra Master Splinter taught him.  The door creaks when I open it more to slide into the room, but Donnie doesn’t seem to notice.  He’s completely absorbed in reciting those therapeutic words.  

“R-r-rin… Pyo, T-t-toh, Shhh-ha, Retsu…”  In the glow of the lampshade, I can see Donnie’s pained expression as he stumbles erroneously through the Healing Hands.  His mismatched hands follow his words, but the motions are clumsy as he tries to make his deformed left hand match the movements of his right.  I waste no time joining him on the floor.  Closing my eyes, I speak the mantra silently within my spirit until a warm presence covers my anxiety like a medicine, coating me with its healing properties.  It’s a small sphere of white light, smaller than an orange.  This mantra is still new to me, so it’s all that I can muster.  When I’m confident the ball of light won’t flicker out of existence, I let it guide me to Donnie.  As I clasp Donnie’s hands between my own, the white light of healing flows to him, taking a bit of my energy with it.  I open my eyes as his shaking diminishes to tremors before completely disappearing all together.  I smile to myself, thankful I’m finally doing something right for my br—  

Donnie’s eyes sudden snap open; his pupils are pinpoints with something akin to horror on his face.  He snatches his hands away from me, taking a harsh breath as his shell bumps the nightstand behind him.  I steady the small lamp on his nightstand before it can topple over from the impact.  

“No, no… it’s okay, Donnie.  It’s just me, Leo.”  That declaration only succeeds in making him gasp for more air.  Wheezing, he grips the front of his plastron.  “Are you hurt?”  He shakes his head side to side sharply, but I still push his hand aside to investigate the area of his upper plastron.  There’s nothing there, not even a scratch.   

“Donnie what’s wrong? ...Is it the mutation?”    

Another harsh head shake.  “No… f-fine,” he wheezes.  His eyes squeeze shut.  He is not fine. He’s gulping in air too quickly and his breathing is too shallow.  Is he hearing that voice again? ….did he have a nightmare?   

Doing the first instinctual thing that comes to mind, I tug him firmly to my plastron hoping the gesture will calm him down.  “Come on, Donnie…. Deep breaths.”  He shakes his head roughly against me, trying his hardest to pull away.  I continue to say encouraging things to him, keeping my voice mellow and my breathing controlled, hoping he will follow suit.  Unfortunately, what I want to be a soothing gesture only causes him further agitation as he shoves against me.  When his breathing speeds up and he chokes trying to take his breath, I swallow my pride and reluctantly let him go.  

He stumbles away from me like my touch is poisonous.  Gasping harshly again, he grips the top of his plastron.  His chest staggers outward as he tries to take a deep breath.  Trying again, this time, he taps his thumb against his plastron and manages to take a more meaningful breath.  He breathes out, still tapping his plastron.  As his breathing slows, I realize each thumping tap is a count…. seven taps for every inhale and eleven for the exhales.  I don’t know what just happened or how he knew what to do, but he does.  Even under unknown distress, Donatello doesn’t need the help of his big brother.   

Watching his self-soothing actions slowly take effect, I feel like I've been stabbed in the chest with my own katana.  He shouldn’t have to struggle through this alone.  I'm right here, ready and willing to take on my brother's demons, but he won't let me.  Instead of trust, there's an gleam of fear in his eyes.   

No thanks to me, he’s not wheezing anymore.  I don't say anything right away, allowing the sound of my brother’s soft breathing in through his nostrils and out through his mouth to fill the room.   

“Donnie, talk to me.  What just happened?” I ask, keeping my voice soft and low as I swallow my guilt of ignorance.   

“A sudden episode of intense fear triggering a severe physical reaction when in fact there’s no real danger.  Symptoms include feelings of losing control, heart palpations, chest pain, choking sensation, hyperventilation…”  His eyes are focused on the space between us.  As he continues his monotone list of medical descriptions, he still doesn’t look at me.  I’m starting to realize just how upset my little brother is.    

My eyes narrow in concentration as I try my best to follow his evasive explanation.  “Are you saying you had some kind of panic attack?” I question, interrupting him to try and simplify his diagnosis before it gets too lengthy.   

“…More like an anxiety attack.  They're typically short-lived and not as severe as a full-fledged panic attack.  I'm fine now.”  He tries to dismiss my concern but I'm not so easily swayed.   

“These attacks have triggers, right?”  He looks a little shocked at my educated questioning.  I may not be a genius like my brother, but basic sense doesn't elude me.  “Did you have a nightmare?”  

“It’s not important… anxiety is nothing more than increased levels of adrenaline and cortisol in the body…. I'm okay now.”  His persistent persuasion only rings warning bells in my mind.   

“This is important, Donnie.  If nightmares are causing these anxiety attacks, then—”  

“The nightmare didn’t give me anxiety.”  His words rush pass his lips as his skin briefly blushes red in his obvious embarrassment, before returning to its new neutral brown color.  I tilt my head curiously at him.  If the nightmare didn’t give him anxiety then what caused it?   

Donnie was calming down after I did the Healing Hands, but as soon as he opened his eyes, as soon as he saw me, that's when he started freaking out and…  My mouth opens and closes as a sudden understanding clicks in my mind.  

“So me being here is giving you anxiety?”  I try not to sound as wounded as I feel, but it's hard.  I'm his brother.  I'm supposed to bring him comfort, not panic attacks.  His silence is all the answer I need.  As much as I want to be here for him, if my presence is hurting him, I won't stay.  

"I'm sorry."  

I stop, half way between sitting and standing.  His apology catches me off guard, because he has nothing to apologize for.  He hugs his knees to his chest.  

Closing his eyes with a sigh, his voice is low.  “I didn't want you to see me like this."  

"Like what?" I ask, slowly sitting down beside him.  

"Like... Like this."  He tosses his arms in the air motioning to himself before wiping his eyes with the back of his arm.  Shame is etched deep into his features; shame that has no place on my brother's face.  

“You don't have to be fine, Donnie, and I'm sorry I made you feel like you needed to be.”  

As he blinks at me through glossy eyes, I can see his guard is still up, afraid for me to see this vulnerability that he's managed to hide from me for months.  This is my chance to make this right.  Closing my eyes for a moment, I bring Sensei’s words to my remembrance:  

You know their strengths and weaknesses; what breaks them and what pushes them forward.  You know what makes each of them react.  

“Donnie, how did you know you were having an anxiety attack?” I ask innocently.   

“Well, after the whole Fungus Humongous encounter, I wanted to be prepared in case there were residual side effects of the fungus fumes…. anxiety attacks, for example.  I researched self-treatments and practiced a few techniques on myself, to ensure they could be executed quickly and effectively.  I guess the information came in handy even if it wasn't used for its intended purpose.”  

As he talks, I watch the tension in his drawn shoulders slowly unwind.  Asking about facts and information always makes Donatello ‘react’ so to speak, putting him at ease.  However, I realize his mini-lecture on mushrooms and hallucinations is also a cozy place for my logic-bound brother to hide from what's really bothering him.   

For a while, it's quiet again, but I can easily hear the wheels turning in my brother’s head.  “How did you know how to do—”  

“The Healing Hands?”  He nods as I complete his sentence.  “When we returned from your spiritual plane, while you were.… resting, I asked Master Splinter to show me.  I know mediation is challenging for you, so I wanted to learn it in case you needed some help.”  I offer him a smile, showing what I hope is a step toward dependability on my part.  

“I’m sorry.”  As much as I want to tell him to stop apologizing, I hold my peace and wait.  After a few moments of prodding a loose scale on his arm, my patience is rewarded as he continues.  “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.  The radiation properties were practically staring me in the face…. if I would have put the pieces together sooner, I’m sure I could have fixed this and you guys wouldn’t be in this predicament.”  I frown as Donnie refers to himself as a ‘predicament’, as if he is a problem or inconvenience to us.  “You have enough on your plate without having this to worry about.  When Mr. O’Neil comes back, I’ll see what alternatives he recommends and I’ll do everything in my power to fix this.”  

He looks at me with a subtle stubbornness, still refusing to share his burden.  Donnie's always been pretty self-reliant, never relying on anyone for help because… well, he always has everything figured out.  

My heart drops with guilt at that lie.  Deep down, I know Donnie wasn't always so autonomous.    

If anything, I encouraged this independent nature to a detrimental fault.  A cluster of memories come to mind when Donnie sought comfort and trusted me to make things better.  Somewhere along the way he started trusting more in his own reasoning than the intangible reassurances of his older brother.  I need to change that.  

“I want this to be over with just as badly as you do, but not because you’re a problem—because you’re my brother.”  He breaks eye contact with me at the mention of the word ‘brother’, but I ignore his avoidance as I scoot closer to him until our shells clank softly at the side-to-side contact.   “I’m sorry, Donatello.”  My apology perks his attention as he chances a glance at me, resting his head on his drawn knees.  “You haven't been yourself for months, and I didn’t notice there was something really wrong until things were too far out of hand.”  

He offers me a twitch of a smile.  “Well, I didn't exactly make it easy for you guys to figure it out.  I mean, how could you have possibly known I was mutating? ….I didn't even know I was mutating.”  

“I still should have realized something was wrong.  I let you down in a major way and I'm so sorry for that.”  I don’t try to hide the guilt from my voice.  Right, now he has every right to rip into me for the ways I’ve ignored and neglected him as my brother and I’ll sit here and take every venomous word that’s pressed in his heart to scream at me.  

I dare to look up and find him staring at me with anything but anger in his eyes.  “You didn't let me down, Leo.  I wasn't really looking for you to hold me up.”  The sincerity in which he says those innocent words grips something deep within me, because he shouldn’t think this way.  He should always look for me to hold him up.  Always.  

“And that's where I've let you down.”  There’s a slight look of confusion on his face, so I press on.   “Donnie, you've always been levelheaded.  I could just leave you on autopilot and not have to worry because I knew I could rely on your sensibility.  Chores, training, missions, whatever—you’re my backbone and confidant when being leader gets a little… stressful.”  He remains silent throughout my admission and I can only hope he understands how important he is to my sanity at times.  “I’m trying to get a handle on this leadership thing, and I've made a lot of mistakes along the way.”  

I suck in my bottom lip, rolling it out with a sigh.  “These past few months, I only saw how you weren't there to fix this and solve that….  I put responsibilities on you that weren't yours to carry alone.  That wasn’t fair…. it wasn’t right and I’m sorry.”  I look up to see him staring at me as if studying the validity of my words.  “After the factory mission went south, I knew you were trying to tell me what was really going on with you, but I was being stupid.  I shut you down and blamed you instead.”  His lips tighten into a sorrowful grimace as I speak and I wonder just how deeply my hurtful words and actions have wounded my brother.  I swallow back my emotions.  “I know I don’t deserve it, but if you could somehow forgive me and give me a second chance to be the brother I should have been, I promise I won't let you down again.”  

I hold my breath, waiting for his response….. any response to my remorseful apology.   

“Leo, do you remember when we were twelve and I drank those protein shakes?”  

I sit up a little straighter at the random question.  However,  I remind myself I am not talking to Mikey, the king of randomness.  Donnie thrives on bridging the connections from one logical thought processes to another, so I know there is a reason for this seemingly arbitrary question.  “Um, yeah, I think so,” I answer as I squint at the faded memory surfacing in my mind.  “Or at least I remember how horrible they looked and smelled.”  

He chuckles a humorless laugh at the memory.  “Yes, they were a colorful concoction of peanut butter, raw eggs, acorns, bread, broccoli, and milk.”  

My face scrunches into a grimace at the nauseating combination of those foods into a drink.  No wonder he was sick all week.  “Why on earth did you drink something so awful?  That sounds worse than Mikey's 'P-shake.'”  

“It seemed practical at the time, but in retrospect it was just downright ridiculous.”  With an amused smile and raised brows, I wait for my brainy brother to continue his trip down memory lane.  “At the time, we were all in various stages of puberty and I was studying our anatomy development.  Even at twelve, it was pretty obvious Raph was going to be the muscle and I was going to be.... awkwardly svelte.”  He dwells on his wording for a moment before releasing his breath.  “So after some thorough research, I concocted the homemade shakes to include as many protein-enhancing elements as possible in hopes of 'bulking up'.  Unfortunately, after a week of drinking the horrible brew, my digestive system just couldn't stomach it anymore—no pun intended.”   

I wince in sympathy as the memory comes into full view.  “I remember that.  You got sick in the dojo.”   

He nods his confirmation.  “Vomiting while performing Sakugawa no Kon is definitely not one of my fondest memories.”  He shakes his head with a sigh.  “It was a foolish notion.  Some things are strictly genetics and can't be changed no matter how many disgusting protein shakes you drink.”  

“So you did all that to build your muscle?”  I think he would have had better results simply putting more effort into training, but I keep my unwarranted opinion to myself.  

“Technically it was to build my mass, but in short, yes.”   

“So…. you wanted to be like Raph?” I take a stab, trying to connect the dots within this memory.  

“Not in particular.  At the time, you always fraternized with Raph.  In comparison, Raph was a better fighter than me, stronger than me in general.  Not so much due to his skill but because of his larger body mass and how he used it to pummel into pretty much everything.  I concluded you deemed his bulkier anatomy more socially acceptable…  I assumed it was why you always chose him instead of me when you went on your tunnel explorations.”   

“Donnie,  I never knew you felt that way.  You were always with Mikey, so I just assumed…”   

“Leo, it was four years ago.  It doesn't matter now.”  His tone is accepting as he cuts me off.  He drops his head into hands, shaking it slightly side to side.  “Honestly, I don’t even know why I just told you that.  I think all this radiation and spiritual realm stuff is finally catching up with me,” he jokes, but there’s no humor in his weary voice.  

There was a time in our preteen years when Raph and I were inseparable, reveling in our new stench of perceived manhood, leaving our younger brothers behind as we sought out dangerous tunnels Master Splinter warned us to stay away from.   

My mind snaps back to a memory we saw in Donnie’s aura:  

Jeez, you're such a sissy.  You can't hang out with us until you grow a pair….  

Even though it was a younger Raph who said those cruel words, I can only assume Donnie thought I felt the same way as he wiped tears from his dejected face.  

Did I feel the same way?   

Was I so eager to embrace my teenage years, to look cool and mature, that I rejected my two younger brothers?  Raph has always been the one to challenge me.  He often challenged me to stupid and dangerous things when we were younger and to keep his adoration I always obliged to his dares… dares I would never have accepted had my levelheaded brother, Donnie, been there to appeal to my common sense, or my ‘I wanna do it, too’ copycat brother, Mikey, had been there idolizing me.  

Thinking back, Mikey never seemed truly bothered by me hanging out with Raph back then.  Mikey was just happy to be in the company of any brother who entertained his attention and often flip-flopped between whoever tolerated his presence the longest, which was usually Donnie.  Donatello was different.  It was very rare that Donnie openly sought attention.  And when he did, he would argue the validity of his view with facts and reason.  When we waved off his intellect, he often disappeared to his lab until dinner.   

Somewhere along the way, Donnie lost faith in me as his older brother, and I can't help but think that protein shakes are just the tip of the iceberg.   

“Forget I said anything, Leo.  It’s not important,” he mumbles as his hands rub slowly down his face.  

I look at my tired and stressed brother, regretting all the times I didn’t try harder to pull these feelings out of him.  As I mull over Donnie’s memories of protein shakes and excluded tunnel adventures, I know how difficult this is for him to share with me.  Information and facts are easy to connect and make sense of for my ingenious brother, but matters of the heart are another story.   Even now, his conjured memories seem unrelated to my apology and only makes me feel like the worst big brother in the history of big brothers.  However, I force myself to look past my own feelings to see the invisible lines that connect the past to the present and everything in-between.   

Me triggering his anxiety attack, his continuous apologies, his memories of rejection… by me.  It's all connected to me….. or rather his lack of connection to me.  Then the realization pricks me like static shock.  

He wants my attention.  The brother I deemed as self-reliant, has been longing for my dependability; the one I used to think was the most emotionally stable is the one terrified and embarrassed by the thought of appearing anything less than functional in my eyes.  

As simple and childlike as it sounds, the warmth of intuition just below my chest confirms my thoughts.  My inner ‘bro-dar’ is working just fine tonight.  My little brother needs me.  Donnie doesn’t know how to express this disconnect, but I’ve seen it in his solitariness .  As he struggles to find conception in this radiation chaos, I see the innate need to reach out to me even if he doesn’t really understand it himself.  Maybe he didn’t have my attention when we were twelve, but he has it now.   

“Anything that’s important to you is important to me.”  I drape my arm across his shell and pull him into a half-hug.  “I can’t change past wounds, but I can promise you never have to drink gross protein shakes to get my attention, because you’ve already got it.… it’s like an unwritten older brother code.”  The old childhood catchphrase elicits an emotional chuckle from him and I smile at the first real sign of mirth from my younger brother.  Our smiles fade into silence once more.   

“Donnie, you don’t have to shoulder this alone…. I won’t let you.”  He’s so much taller than me that he has to slouch further on the floor so his head leans against my shoulder.  

“I know…..  Thanks, Leo.”   

I smile against the top of his head.  "You should try and go back to sleep."