#tmntwritefight

Mikey hums, taking a languid sip. His tired eyes catch a giant mug on the table, black as tar coffee peeking from the bottom, a pack of pink Starbursts with wrappers, and what looks like the crumbled remains of the pecan pie April’s mom had lovingly gifted them. If he was a little more awake, he’d be a lot more pissed about that, but for now he just sighs and stretches. 

“Did you at least try to sleep?” He asks, knowing the answer. 

“Yeah, of course.” Leo replies easily enough, turning away to flip another page. “But that’s the problem with insomnia, my friend, it kinda makes the ‘fall asleep’ thing not happen.”

Hm, not good enough. Mikey waddles over closer, physically pushing his brother’s head up so he can study him. Leo’s eyes are just barely bloodshot, cheeks hollower than he’d like to see on him.

“Can I help you?” He asks, bemused. 

“When was the last time you slept?” 

“Somewhere in the evening, I got a cat nap in. Don’t worry, Mikey, you’re exhausted, go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep.” He retorts around a yawn. He plops down in a chair next to him, picking up an uneaten Starburst and chomping on it. Leo tsks at that, but he ignores him, folding his arms and resting his head comfortably. 

“You just brushed your teeth and are supposed to be asleep, why are you still here?”

“Moral support.” 

“Moral support from what? I – okay,” Leo stands up, all big brother voice. “C’mon, up.”

Mikey whines, not having enough energy to fight as Leo physically picks him up and throws him over the shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Grk–?” He chokes out in surprise, when the hell did he get so strong?

“Nope, don’t wanna hear it. This is what happens when you don’t listen to me.”

Leo plants him on the bathroom floor, and pointedly stares at him as Mikey brushes, having to actually count each stroke on the rows of teeth under the scrutiny instead of a quick wash. As soon as he rinses his mouth, Leo picks him up again.

“You realize I have feet.” He said, flopping his limbs in defeat and letting himself be carried lifelessly.

“You think I don’t know you were planning on dragging more ass by suggesting a movie night or something? I’ve taught you all my tricks, I know how your brain works.”

Mikey tries to keep in his smile at how well his brother can read him, and gasps dramatically. “Language! I’ll tell on you to Raphie.”

“If you make it to morning asleep like a good turtle, I’ll tell Raphie, how about that?”

Mikey gets tossed on his bed, the springs creaking under his weight. His favorite quilt is thrown over him, and his stuffed crocodile is tucked in between his shoulder and neck, just how he likes it. The warmth immediately makes him even drowsier, but he blinks up at Leo and invitingly opens his arms.

“Sleep?” He suggests, making the motion of scooting over to make room for him.

A few seconds, but Leo eventually sighs, far too susceptible to the prospect of little brother cuddles. He sticks his freezing feet into the tangle of limbs, making him hiss, but settles in comfortably on his pillow. Arms wind around him and squeeze affectionately.

“Better?” Mikey asks. 

Leo hums on top of his head. “Yep, thanks Angelo. You can pass out now.”

It doesn’t take very long for him to do so. Unfortunately for him, when he does wake up to his 9 A.M. alarm, the side of the bed is cold and the corner of the pillow undented. Outside, he sees Leo casually do the crossword puzzle with Dad with a newly filled mug of coffee in his hand, looking like sleep never graced him at all. Mikey sighs, but sets to making breakfast.

–

The second time it happens, Donnie is pulled out of his whirlwind of thoughts by a single hand on his shoulder. 

Naturally, he jumps, not having expected that contact when he’s working in his lab alone, smack-dab in the middle of the night. He’s too scientific and logic-driven to ever assume the existence of ghosts (which are different from spirits, thank you very much Michael), but the sudden touch makes him doubt that fact for a second.

Leo backs up with his hands up apologetically, and Donnie realizes with some amount of mortification he actually hissed at him. The mortification lasts for all of two seconds before he scowls at his twin with all the irritation in the world as he turns off his loud music. 

“What the hell do you want?” He groans at Leo, rubbing his sore eyes. 

“Just checking in.” Leo says, sounding normal enough, though Donnie picks up a strange note in his voice. He peeks at him between his fingers and catches his eyes look up from his torso just in time.

Looking down, he sees his other hand gripped into a fist, sharp claws extended, held right to the middle of his chest. Shit, he was scratching at his plastron again, the dull ache finally registering in his brain. 

It’s a nasty habit he’s had since he was very young, all the complicated feelings of the big, bad world too much for him to handle. His family has been trying for years to help him work through his emotions instead of immediately resorting to this, but apparently all the effort goes to shit the second it gets to debugging, the devil’s favorite method of torture. Donnie turns away, embarrassed but not willing to admit it. 

Leo thankfully doesn’t make a big deal out of it, and flops onto the back of his chair, resting his head at the top. “What are you working on?”

“Setting up face identification in the scanners in the Hidden City.” Donnie replies tiredly. “The mystic orbs they use as cameras are advanced enough to pick up magical signatures, but somehow not enough to track facial features of their various species of mutants and Yōkai. So, I’m doing it for them.”

Leo snorts. “Wow, how altruistic of you.” He leans in further, presumably to try to read the strange symbols that make up their programming language, before Donnie swats at his face. 

“Stop, you’re ruining my concentration.” 

“Shut up.” He swats back. Annoying

Donnie’s eyes flick over to the corner of the monitor, looking at the time. Wonderful, it’s another night of no sleep for his insomniac twin brother. 

He sighs. “I’m assuming getting bored to death from Papa’s speech on the various opera singers of the 20th century somehow didn’t lure you to sleep?”

“What, are you telling me you don’t care about the 1950s Maria Callas and Renata Tebaldi drama about their different vocal techniques? It’s the hottest tea from that side of the century, Don-Don, I’m disappointed in you.” He dodges the swat from him this time.

Donnie turns up to look at him, noticing his brother’s heavy eyelids blinking over his sharp eyes, far too awake for someone who hasn’t slept in Gaga knows how long. He’s wearing his soft blue hoodie, the big one that he makes sure is always washed with the rose scent beads for the comforting smell. 

“Is there anything specific that is keeping you up?” He asks, worried. 

“Nah, not really. Unless you count my dumb brain as a whole, nope.”

“Don’t call yourself dumb.” Donnie says, practiced. He stands up and stretches, hearing some impressive cracks from his neck that Leo whistles at.

“Is there anything I can say that will make you try to sleep again?” 

“Probably not, if I’m being honest.”

“Okay, then.” He doesn’t argue. If there’s one thing he knows about his twin is that badgering him about his sleep intake, no matter how worrying, is the best way to get completely shut out by him. And as annoying as he finds Leo on a day-to-day basis, he’s rather fond of the time he gets to spend with him in the middle of the night when it's just the two of them, the disaster twins. “Do you wanna play some Mario Kart instead?”

Leo brightens up. “Snacks?”

“Of course we’ll have snacks. I may be crazy, but I’m not a heathen.”

“Oh yeah, sorry, you’re a civilized demon-possessed genius, right?”

“Exactly right, my dear brother.”

The twins grab enough popcorn and candy from the pantry to send a tiny child into a coma, but as soon as Leo’s hand moves to the coffee machine, Donnie whacks it with a box of Nerds. “Dude, ow?”

“No more caffeine.” He says sternly.

“Oho, that is rich coming from you—”

“Yeah, well, deal with it. Otherwise I’m switching the kitchen permanently to decaf and making myself a secret password protected machine with the good coffee, the extra dark-roasted one.” That shuts Leo up fast. 

They play and bicker loudly in the soundproof lab, up until the wee hours of the morning. Eventually, Donnie falls asleep with the controller in his hand, only to wake up in the afternoon and find himself resting on the cot with his favorite blanket, battle shell and mask off. His sleepless twin nowhere to be found. 

–

The third time it happens, Raph is having a nightmare about the Krang. 

It’s par for the course, really. In the morning, he happens to overhear one of Mikey’s favorite YouTubers talk about their grief over their late friend who was lost to the bubblegum aliens, so he spends the most of the day in a haze, keeping to himself in the dojo, training, and eating his dinner alone while reading news articles about the reconstruction in New York to repair the damage from their fight. 

One trigger after another. So it’s no surprise that his dreams are filled with sick pink flesh and yellow eyes, tentacles worming over his body, digging into his brain, sadistic voices of the hive mind overpowering his screams, the feel of a lithe figure in his clutch, nails scratching onto his hand as he tightens his grip on his victim, his brother—

The part that’s surprising, however, is the other presence in his room, comforting, safe. Soft words spoken over his whimpers, warm hands smoothing over his shell as he regains consciousness. “Deep breaths, big bro, you’re okay, you’re safe, I promise you. Try to breathe, please.”

He breathes, turning away from the damp pillow, lifting his head up by his elbows to blink the sleep away. Blood pools back into his body, bones creaking in protest. All four limbs, whole, green, normal. 

Raph takes in one deep breath, and lets it out with meditative precision. His vision finally clears. Leo is sitting on the corner of his bed, hands anxiously rubbing together but giving him space to get up on his own. Worried eyes ticking over his face before latching onto his, relieved. 

“Hiya, Raphie.” He says with remarkable poise. “Okay?”

Raph slowly scoots up to sit properly, picking up one of his stuffed bears and hugging him. Embarrassment keeps him from meeting Leo’s eyes, burying his face in the soft fake fur. “Mhm.”

A hand gently strokes his leg, a comforting, involuntary motion. “Long day?”

“...You could say that.” He agrees. He clears his throat. “What time is it?”

“Just after 2.” Leo squeezes his knee. “Do you want me to wake Dad?”

Raph scoffs. “What is Dad going to do in the middle of the night? Let him sleep.” 

“Okay, how about the other guys? We could turtle pile.”

He shakes his head before Leo finishes. “No, no, it’s not important, Leo. Let them all sleep.”

“It is important.” He replies sharply, and Raph blinks up at him. Leo’s sporting his own version of a Raph Chasm, eye-ridges pulled together in a gut-wrenching frown, lips turned down. “You are important.”

A lump rises in his throat, but he swallows it down. He’s had enough of Leo stubbornly insisting that he stop dismissing his own emotions over the years, so he says nothing, instead lifting up an arm. Leo immediately snuggles in next to him, shell fitting perfectly under his arm. 

The tension falls off his frame as his little brother wiggles to get comfortable. Raph sighs, the dregs of his nightmare-fueled dread seeping away with Leo right next to him, the scent of roses in his nose. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He offers. 

“Pizza Supreme, no.” Raph snorts, making Leo huff. 

“Okay.” He agrees easily. Then, “Oh, I almost forgot!”

From the pocket of his hoodie he pulls out his phone, tapping at it for a couple of seconds before holding out the camera. “Snap streak.”

Raph snorts again but obliges his younger brother, putting on some version of a smile as he takes the picture, adding a bunch of unicorn emojis in the corner before showing it to him for approval. 

He takes the phone, but immediately frowns, zooming in to study Leo’s face. Even though he’s grinning, the exhaustion is practically radiating off him. The red stripes under his eyes are marred with purple bags, eyes squinting with the effort of staying up. He looks like he’s about to pass out almost any second.

Raph sends off the streak, and starts arranging the pillows and stuffed animals around him to make space for two sleeping turtles. He pulls his blanket over Leo’s head, which he, of course, shoves back. “What are you doing?”

“Tucking you in.” He informs him, dragging him down. “We’re going to sleep for a very long time.”

“Sure, Raphie, whatever you say.” Leo says too easily, and he immediately calls bullshit. 

“No, we’re really going to sleep. No more pretending.” He glares at him with one eye open. “Promise?”

Leo hesitates, but then forcibly relaxes himself, nuzzling closer. “I’ll try, promise.”

As good as he’s going to get, Raph thinks. He squeezes his brother tight enough for him to wheeze and laugh, wishing him goodnight and eventually falling asleep, nightmares far away. When he wakes up, Leo is on the floor next to the bed, face illuminated by the glow of his phone screen, playing a game of chess. The eye bags seem heavier than ever. 

–

The fourth time it happens, April is trying to catch up on physics homework. 

It’s actually ridiculous how she, a journalism major, has to study physics at all, even as a gen-ed. She’s a sophomore now, for god’s sake, she’s supposed to be interning at CNN and MSNBC, or at least spearheading some kind of journaling initiative with a bunch of her classmates. But no, Eastlaird is forcing her to calculate angular momentum and torque for a homework that is apparently not due on Monday, but in the morning on Friday, which is tomorrow. Or more accurately, today, she thinks, warily eyeing the clock on the table that reads 3:35 A.M.

She has maybe one more problem left before she can finally get some sleep, and hopefully get to stay over at the lair for the weekend. She hasn’t seen her boys and her Pops in over a month, and the joy of destroying Donnie in the Just Dance competition of their lives is the only motivation getting her through this. 

April sighs and stretches, cracking her back, before she hears a notification from her phone. Picking it up she sees, ‘nardo💙 sent an Instagram reel.’

She sits up in surprise. Why the hell is this idiot awake? And why is he sending her Instagram reels of all things?

‘awake???’ she texts back, worried. ‘why??’

Seen immediately, typing. ‘YOU awake why??’

‘homework’

‘yuck get away from me’

April picks at her bottom lip, watching the clock on her desk tick. If Leo’s awake at four in the morning, he hasn’t slept all night. She considers texting one of her other brothers to force him to sleep, but hopefully they would all be in bed by now, Donnie included. 

‘how much coffee did you have in the evening’

‘...’

‘Leo.’

‘okok four cups’

‘nardo you gotta be kidding me’. April rubs at her face, sighing. Leo knows better than to lie to his big sister, so he’s definitely telling her the truth, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Four whole cups of coffee?

‘did you try melatonin? helps me sleep a lot better nowadays’

‘apes do u even know me, obv melatonin doesn’t work on us’

‘damn’ 

‘ur taking it tho?? don’t take too much, not good for u’

‘yeah dum-dum, no sleep is not good for YOU have you thought about that?’

No response. Two minutes later, a funny reel. 

She huffs frustratedly, thinking, before finally deciding to call him on FaceTime, setting the phone against a textbook.

The face that greets her is so fucking worrying that April gapes, not responding to Leo’s raspy greeting. His eyes are completely bloodshot, face gaunt, red stripes practically completely purple now. 

“You look like shit.” She says, uncharacteristically blunt. Maybe the lack of sleep and physics is getting to her. How the hell does Donnie do this all the time?

Leo scowls, putting the phone down so all she sees is the dark ceiling of the kitchen. “If you just called me to insult me, I’m hanging up.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She raises a hand in surrender, pulling her notebook closer and picking up her pencil. “Science is turning my brain to soup, I lost my speaking filter. You’re still very pretty.”

A second, and Leo’s face comes back into view. “Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” She nods, smiling as Leo grins, as brightly as he can with fatigue coming off him in waves. “What are you up to?”

“This guy on YouTube is reviewing the older JJ movies, it’s a four hour long video. And I have Sour Patch Kids, so I’m happy.”

April bites back the hundreds of worried comments she comes up with, deciding to think a little more tactically. She doesn’t want to piss him off again, so telling him to sleep or pointing out his eye-bags is off the table. 

“You wanna hear about my homework? It’s so difficult and horrible, I hate it.”

“I respect your degree, I do, Apes, but how hard can journalism homework even be?”

“It’s physics, man, that’s the thing. I’m going to jump out of my window.” She groans, equations swimming behind her eyelids. “I’m like ninety percent sure if I tried explaining this to you I could bore you to sleep.”

Leo chuckles, but there’s something tired and morose in it. “I wouldn’t take that bet.”

She blinks at the bitter tone of his voice, but doesn’t call him out on it. There’s a lost look in his eyes as he stares off to the side, chewing slowly on his candy. Her big sister instinct rears its head immediately at that.

“Don’t worry about it, baby.” April assures him, deciding fuck it, opening up Chegg to find the answer to this last question so she can finish this as fast as possible. “I’ll be done in fifteen minutes. Why don’t you tell me what this random guy has to say about Pluto Vacation IV, and I’ll tell you how valid that is.”

By the time the sun rises, and Leo hangs up to go help Mikey make breakfast, April has turned in not only physics, but has finished all of the rest of her homework. She starts to pack, a plan ready in her mind.

–

They don’t let it happen a fifth time. 

Leo sighs, letting his head fall onto his bed, hiding his eyes from the fairy lights in his room. Normally, they look so pretty and aesthetic, but ever since this new bout of insomnia hit him, a lot of things have been bothering him more than usual. And he’s currently too exhausted to get up and turn it off on his own. 

He groans, reaching for his phone, because what else is he going to do? His brain is too tired for anything other than mindless scrolling, and if Raph asks him to train today he might just burst into tears. The time reads 12 P.M., a very productive time of day for the majority of planet Earth. The minority includes him apparently, as he pulls up one of his old blankets over his head, and settles in for an afternoon of TikTok.

The door to his train car opens quietly. Leo blinks, emerging from his nest to look up. 

Mikey stands at the doorway, sunshine smile on display. He sees his eyes scan his face, and the sunshine dims a bit, but he still says excitedly, “Hi, Lee! April just got back, we’re doing a sleepover!”

“Oh – oh yay!” His delayed response throws his act off a little. Don’t get him wrong, he is so happy his sister is back, it’s just he’d really rather not do a sleepover tonight where he has to spend another eight hours pretending to be asleep next to his peacefully resting siblings. “That’s great, I’ll be right there.”

Mikey nods but doesn’t leave, so Leo has to go through the excruciating process of forcing himself up and out of the room with a performative smile painted on his face. Mikey hooks his elbow with his, walking in step with him to the living room. 

He finds Raph and April talking, a bag carelessly dropped next to her feet. She catches sight of him and grins immediately, raising her arms. Leo can see the conscious effort it takes for her to not linger on his eye bags, he’s been needing a lot of that too lately.

“Hi, Apes.” He mumbles into her shoulder as she tightly squeezes him.

“Hi, Leo.” She replies warmly. “Missed you so much.”

A large hand rests on his shell, and he looks up to see Raph smile down at him. “Wanna join in on the hug fest, Raphie?”

“Ha, don’t worry, there’s gonna be plenty to go around in the sleepover soon.” He chuckles. 

“Soon?” Leo asks, and Raph points a thumb to the entrance. Leo turns around to see Donnie and Mikey walk in with a bunch of blankets and pillows in their arms. One of the spider limbs in Donnie’s battle shell is holding Raph’s largest teddy bear, the other holding his blue hoodie he couldn’t find in the morning. 

“We’re doing a sleepover now? It’s literally noon.”

“We’ve hit critical condition.” Donnie informs him primly, dropping the blankets in the middle of the floor. “You’ve been awake for too long.”

His mood sours immediately. He knows, okay? He’s aware that not sleeping for days at a time isn’t healthy, and he knows he looks like shit, but people don’t have to keep commenting on it. 

“Don’t pout.” Mikey wheedles into his side, giving him another squeeze. “We’re gonna help, I promise.”

“Right.” Leo says, disbelief clear in his voice, before something rose-scented smacks him in the face. “Hey!”

“You’re welcome.” Donnie responds, starting to move the furniture to make enough room for the blanket fort. “Your favorite hoodie, freshly washed with softener and your scent beads.”

Leo pulls it over his head, the familiar comforting smell easing some of his tension, the soft texture making him feel like he’s being swallowed whole. “Thanks.” He says quietly, hoping they can’t hear the croak in his voice. 

Donnie pauses in his ministrations for a millisecond before getting back to work with more gusto, him and Mikey setting up an impressive fort that could withstand five siblings. While Leo watches them, Raph taps him on his shoulder, and he’s offered a cup of freshly made chamomile and lavender tea, steam curling on top. The thoughtfulness almost makes him cry as he gives him a wobbly smile in return, taking a sip. It’s the perfect temperature, splash of milk and sweetened with honey, just how he likes it. 

He feels April at his back, gently untying the knot of his mask, carefully folding it and walking to his room to put it away. She comes back with his fuzzy Christmas socks.

“You guys.” Leo tries, feeling emotionally wrung out and sore. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Shut up.” Three turtles reply in unison, breaking out into chuckles. Raph guides him to the center of the fort, making him sit down and rest on the biggest pillow. He finishes his tea as Mikey puts the teddy bear under his other arm and April puts the socks on him, brain too fuzzy to protest. 

He jolts out of his fog when he feels something pressing down on him. He looks up to see Donnie tuck him in under his purple weighted blanket, the one he uses on his bad days. He’s awash with the clean scent of roses, as tears fill up in Leo’s eyes unbidden. He tries to blink them back. “Don…”

“Hush.” Donnie replies, quietly, and Leo sees the lights in the room have been dimmed, his other siblings wearing their pajamas and getting ready to pile. “Stop using your brain. It’s sleeping time now.”

“Wow, I never thought there’d be a day when Hamato Donatello would actually tell me to ‘stop using my brain’.” He croaks out.

Leo prepares for the obligatory joke about him not having a brain in the first place, but Donnie just gives him an amused look in return, speaking softly but matter-of-factly, “Your brain is hurting my twin. So stop using it.”

A ball of emotion lodges in his throat that keeps him from speaking out loud, so he just nods. He gets a head pat for his troubles that he’s too emotional to block away.

Eventually, Donnie lies down next to him, their arms pressed together. Mikey nestles into a ball on his other side, snuggling close. Raph settles behind their heads, turning to his side and curling around them all protectively. April throws her feet over their legs, playfully kicking him in the shin. 

Leo chokes on a laugh, tears soundlessly rolling onto the pillow. This has been one of the longest weeks of his life, hours in the middle of the night spent staring mindlessly at the ceiling, into the middle distance, into the New York skyline. The darkness seeping into his body, harsh, cold. A high pitched hum in his ears, heaviness in his eyes.

Right now though, he feels warm and loved and exhausted beyond belief. But not alone. Never alone. 

“Thanks, guys.” He finally whispers. 

Donnie gently bonks his head with his own, affection clear in the action. Mikey presses a loud kiss onto his bicep. “You’re welcome, big bro.”

Raph strokes his head. “Sleep, Leo.”

“We love you, Nardo.” April says, nudging his foot. “We got you.”

These dreams weren’t unusual. He’d been having them off and on for months. They’d started a few weeks after he’d gotten the cure for his second mutation. Don theorized that it was because his body had finally healed to the point that it could begin to process the trauma that he’d gone through. They’d fade out after some time, but then would resurface, usually with accompanying aches, pains, and exhaustions as his body recovered.

He had started to have these dreams again during their training with the Ninja Tribunal, something he attributed to the stress of the environment. The Ancient One had theorized that they were an avenue of mystical attack, with some connection to the situation, and led Don through some meditations to try to deal with them. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been much time to focus on that, and the dreams had continued. They grew more frequent, the memories more broken up, and left him with echoed feelings of anxiety, terror, dread, and guilt that he couldn’t shake.

Every so often, though, a more intact memory would come through. It was usually a few minutes of something he’d observed or done when he’d been mutated. Some of them were downright terrifying. Others were just painful. Most of them, though, were enlightening no matter the other emotions accompanying them, and he usually remembered those memories when he woke. Tonight, amidst the fragments that ran throughout Don’s head, an intact memory made its way to the forefront.

He was in pain. He was in so much pain. He hurt. He was terrified. Safe. He needed to get where it was safe. He didn’t know where that was, but he needed it. He’d been trying to get out of this trap for hours, beating, beating, beating on it. But it wouldn’t let him escape.

He was in pain. He was scared. He was tired.

He slumped to the floor of the cage, energy spent for the moment. His captors were just beyond it, talking, although he didn’t understand them.

“There has to be another way, Leo!”

The one addressed shook his head. “There isn’t one, Raph.”

“What about the Utroms?” the third asked. “Or the Triceritons? Couldn’t we ask them for help?”

The big creature shook his head. “It is not an option, Michelangelo. While they could help, by the time a message got to them, it would already be too late for Donatello. His cells would have completely broken down.”

Something in the third one’s expression stirred something inside him, but he didn’t understand it, and just continued to watch.

“Then is this the only option?” the furry one asked.

The big one let out a breath and walked to the wall of lights and noises that he was often at. “As much as I hate to admit it, I am afraid that it is, Master Splinter.”

“There ain’t nothing else?” the first one said. “Nothing we can steal or get for you? Yer a smart guy, LH! Or—or what about the Justice Force? They’ve got all kinds of things, right?”

“I asked,” the third one said. “But… there’s no one there that understands all of, well, this,” he said, gesturing to the group.

The first one looked back at the second one. “So, this is it? We just take Donnie to that mad man that caused this problem in the first place, and let him have him?”

“No.” The second one’s voice was strong. “No, we don’t just hand him over. This is Don. He’s our brother. Someone will be with him all the time.”

“Ain’t gonna do us a lot of good if Bishop decides to just keep us all,” the first one said.

“I know,” the second one said. “But… there’s no other options. I’ve been over this in my head a million ways, Raph. This is the only thing we can do. There is no other way.”

All eyes traveled over to him. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way they were looking at him. There was something there and he didn’t understand it. It made him mad, made him angry, and that gave him a surge of energy. He rose to his feet and roared, pounding on the cage that kept him again and again.

Maybe if he did it enough, if he escaped from this, the pain would finally stop.

The scene slipped back again, although not forgotten, fragments overtaking it, trying to cover it up. Yet no matter how much the fragments tried to cover it up, the scene stayed, pushing its way through them, insisting on staying in Don’s awareness.

Rage at Stockman, who seemed as little more than twigs walking. “There has to be another way!” Pain from things being jabbed in his side from Bishop’s men. “There isn’t one.” Fear as a gas filled the new cage he was in. “Then this is the only option?” Loneliness, loss, as he searched for safety, for his family for safety, not knowing when they found him, that they were who he was looking for. “I’m afraid that it is.” The overwhelming desire to runbreakhidefight all at once. “There’s no other options.”

Pain. Pain, pain, pain, pain, pain painpainpainpainpainpain—

“There’s no other way.”

Don woke up with a start. He immediately sat up, ignoring the ache that shot through him, tense, ready to roll out of bed and fight. There were no immediate threats, though, and everyone else seemed to be sleeping. The apartment was quiet, the monitoring systems weren’t going off, and Don couldn’t hear any threats from outside.

“There has to be another way!”

“There’s no other way.”

A shudder ran through Don, and he let the battle-readiness fade away, simply sitting there instead as the ache started to settle into his bones. He tried to calm his breathing, focusing instead on those two phrases. Why did they seem so familiar? What had happened around those words? His brow furrowed as he tried to think it through. What had he been dreaming about?

“There has to be another way, Leo!”

“There isn’t one, Raph.”

“What about the Utroms? Or the Triceritons? Couldn’t we ask them for help?”

“It is not an option, Michelangelo. While they could help, by the time a message got to them, it would already be too late for Donatello. His cells would have completely broken down.”

“Then is this the only option?”

Right. Right, it had been not a dream but another memory. This time one of his family talking. Talking about him and options. Or, more precisely, what they felt like was their only option. The only way they had to cure him.

“So, this is it? We just take Donnie to that mad man that caused this problem in the first place, and let him have him?”

“No. No, we don’t just hand him over. This is Don. He’s our brother. Someone will be with him all the time.”

“Ain’t gonna do us a lot of good if Bishop decides to just keep us all.”

“I know. But… there’s no other options. I’ve been over this in my head a million ways, Raph. This is the only thing we can do. There is no other way.”

Don drew in a big breath, held it, and let it out. The memory was coming back to him, now. He’d seen fragments of it before, but they were all connecting, snapping into place. He’d known his brothers had taken him to Bishop. He’d known they’d negotiated with him for a cure. He’d know that they’d had to go and get something from Karai for Bishop, although he’d had to press hard to get that information out of anyone.

And he knew it was something called The Heart of Tengu. And he knew that it had given Karai control over the Foot Mystics. The same entities that now called themselves the Heralds of the Shredder and had worked to bring about the return of the Tengu Shredder.

Not that any of them had known that until recently.

After she had woken up, and after Chaplin had come to get her, and after they had both decided to stay for at least the night, everyone had settled down to share information. Or, well, that had been the idea. Neither side trusted the other, obviously. Broad strokes were shared, until one, fairly explosive moment when Karai had accused the turtles of bringing the whole disaster about. She’d told them about the Heart of Tengu, then, and how it had kept the Foot Mystics under control. She blamed them for what was happening.

Don had been stunned. He knew that his brothers had stolen something from her for Bishop, to ensure the cure for him. But he hadn’t realized what it was—or just how it had caused this apocalyptic nightmare they were now in.

“This is all your fault!” Karai snapped. “You stole the Heart of Tengu from me! You were the ones that set the Mystics free!”

“We may have stolen it from you, Karai,” Leo said, “but we had nothing to do with setting the Mystics free.”

Karai scoffed. “Then why did you steal it, Leonardo? To control the Mystics? To try to use them against me, only to find them too difficult for you to control?”

Raph growled. “Yer barking up the wrong tree, sister,” he said, and Don could see how he was trying very hard not to grip the handles of his sai, trying not to escalate things.

“It was payment,” Leo said, interrupting anything else that might be said. “We had a need. That was the payment required to ensure the deal.”

Karai spread her hand towards the windows. “And look what that ‘payment’ has cost everyone,” Karai mocked. “Was it worth dooming the world for?” she demanded.

Something sure seemed to settle in each of Don’s brothers and his father, even as Leo spoke again. “Yes. It was, Karai. And I’d do it again. We all would.”

Don took a breath, bringing himself back from that memory, even as the guilt he felt settled into him once more. His hand went to the scar on his leg, all that was left from that infected wound he’d had all those months, and pressed down on it, trying to massage away the shooting pain he was feeling from it. That wound had introduced the outbreak virus into his system, and that wound should have been something he paid more attention to.

The scar was a raised, bumpy thing, about an inch and a half wide, and roughly circular. It made sense, seeing it came from a puncture wound. The initial puncture hadn’t been as big as the scar, but there had been some necrosis around it that had worried Don a little. Fortunately, that, as well as the wound itself, had seemed to heal up with the advent of the cure.

It was a reminder, though. A reminder of what his own inattention and lack of care had cost them. A reminder of the guilt he carried with him. If the pains it sent out into his body from time to time were his only penance, then he had gotten off lightly.

Lightning flashed outside, and Don turned to look out the windows. Everything was so wrong out there. The sky wasn’t right, the trees and the buildings were twisted, warped. Everything outside felt like a mockery of what it should be. The people were terrified. Even the criminals had backed off, everyone hunkering down, waiting for the next thing to happen.

And Don knew it was all because of him.

Don couldn’t stay there anymore. He needed to get up, to move, to go somewhere else. His scar ached, and he felt the pain from it creeping into his bones, aches settling into the stretch marks left on his skin from the transformations. It felt like there was a pressure on his shell that was waiting to snap, and he winced as he got up. As much as he tried to hide it and deny it, he was still recovering from his second mutation. His muscles often had a persistent ache to them, something he felt in his very bones, and he still didn’t have all of his endurance back. Training with the Tribunal hadn’t helped that, and he had often found himself utterly exhausted at the end of a training day.

Honestly, it worried him, and some primal part of himself wanted to give into emotions and panic. Don kept that part in check, trying to remember that it was a traumatic thing that his body was recovering from. He knew that there was still a chance that the aches and pains would fade and eventually he’d be back to normal. However, he also knew that there was a good chance that he’d be living with this the rest of his life. Again, it was a small penance to pay for being the indirect cause of the apocalypse.

Don shook his head. The dreams, the worries of a full recovery, he sat them to the side for a moment and very quietly got up, using the nearby desk for leverage as his body protested the movement. He grabbed his bo—both to have it just in case, and for the extra support it gave him--and on silent feet he made his way towards the spiral staircase that led down into the shop.

Sneaking past Raphael wasn’t an easy thing to do, especially when Don felt as bad as he did at the moment, but it was possible, and Don knew the tricks. He managed not to disturb his brother and landed quietly in the shop with only the barest of a stumble, using his bo for balance. He could see more of the outside through the shop windows, and it turned his stomach, making the guilt settle on him even harder. The pain he was feeling flared up in response, and with a grimace, Don quietly made his way through the shop and to the door that led to the hallway, using his bo as a walking staff.

The staircase was there, and Don could hear Casey snoring on the second-floor landing. Every so quietly, Don made his way to the stairs, going down them instead of going up. He headed into the basement, and down to a room that he was told he ran into when he was mutating.

Don paused in the doorway, leaning on his bo and looking around. He wasn’t sure how Kirby’s room had survived the fire and explosion of April’s building, but somehow it had. Kirby’s bed and drawing table were still in there and Don listlessly made his way around the room, his bo quietly tapping on the floor. He looked at the little trinkets and such that had belonged to the man. He’d apparently had no family to come collect the things, and April, not knowing what to do with them, had put them back. She’d intended to clean the room out and rent it again, but with all of them in her life, she never had. Don was kind of glad for that now.

He heavily sat down on the bed, not feeling like staying standing any longer, and reached over to pick up a half-geode that was sitting on the nightstand. He could see where the fire had scorched the outside of the rock, but the crystals inside were undamaged. He gently ran his finger over them, wishing that he knew the significance of this to Kirby. He’d never gotten the chance to know Kirby that well. It had been a meeting, an adventure, and a tragedy.

Something else he was responsible for.

“Don?” Don looked up to see Leo standing in the doorway to the room. He was looking at Don with a mix of curiosity and concern, clearly assessing him. He frowned when he saw Don’s bo propped against the bed in easy reach. “Are you okay?”

Don shrugged and turned the geode over in his hand.

“Just thinking,” he said. “I’m aching a little, too.”

Leo frowned sympathetically, and moved further into the room, coming to sit beside Don. “I can understand that. Anything I can do?”

Don let out a small, half-amused noise. “Not unless you can rewind time and keep me from getting the wound to begin with.”

Leo’s mouth twitched up in a smile. “If I could do that, I would have done that to begin with.

“There has to be another way!”

“There’s no other way.”

Don frowned as the memory resurfaced, complimenting Leo’s words.

Leo, of course, took notice, and his smile faded away, too. “What is it?” he asked.

Don looked down at the rough outer surface of the geode, running his thumb on it. “…Was it really the only way?” he asked quietly.

He felt Leo stiffen a little at his side. “Don, what do you—”

“The amulet,” Don said. “I—I had another dream tonight. Another memory. I was inside the cage LH and I built. You were all outside it, and Raph was saying that there had to be another way other than taking me to Bishop to get the cure. But you and LH didn’t seem to think that there was.”

Leo was still. “I remember that conversation,” he said, his voice muted, but firm.

Don swallowed, feeling emotions welling up in him. He rotated the geode in his hand, keeping the rough side up, letting his fingers scrape along it. “Was it the only way, Leo?” he asked. “Was it truly? I understand why you did it. I’m not saying that. But look what it cost us. The Tribunal. Our friends, the other acolytes. Parts of New York City. It could cost us not just the city, but so much more. Getting that amulet to save me might have doomed the world.” He was staring firmly at the rock now. “I’m not worth the world, Leo. I’m not worth all of those peopl—”

Suddenly Leo’s hands were on his shoulders, and his brother was roughly forcing Don to face him. Startled, Don dropped the geode and looked up. Leo’s face was set, grim, and yet full of barely contained emotion.

“Donatello, I never want to hear you say that again,” he said firmly, fiercely. “You are worth it.”

Don’s own mouth settled into a grim line, the startlement fading. “Am I?” he said. “To you, to our family, yes, I am. But if you compare my life to the lives of everyone else, then no, I’m not.” He gently but firmly moved himself out of Leo’s grasp on his shoulders and leaned down to pick up the geode, wincing as he did. “In the grand scheme of things, my life isn’t worth any more than anyone else’s.” He turned the geode up, looking at the crystals. “There had to be another way to get me back.”

“There wasn’t.” Leo’s voice was firm, sure.

“There would have been, in time,” Don said. He grabbed his bo and used it to help him stand up, moving across the room to put the geode down on a shelf.

Leo stayed where he was and shook his head. “There was no other option,” he repeated, his voice rising a little bit.

“The options weren’t fully explored. I’ve seen the notes and I—” Don started.

Leo suddenly leapt to his feet, fire in his eyes. “You don’t know! You weren’t there!” he said forcefully, his voice raising even more.

Don turned to look at him, and Leo backtracked, reigning himself back in.

“I mean, of course you were there,” he said, his voice a little quieter. He ran a hand across his head, frustration in the movement. “But you weren’t—you weren’t you,” he said. “It was like I said to Raph and Mikey once. I kept looking to you to ask what we were going to do but… you weren’t there.” He looked at Don, with pleading eyes. “You’ve got to understand, Don. We explored everything as best we could. There was no other way.”

Don took a breath in, turning to stare at the geode for a moment. Its crystals caught the little light in the room and reflected it. “Then it’s my fault,” Don said quietly.

Leo stared at him a moment, confused. “What?”

“Then it’s my fault,” Don said turning back around. He leaned on his bo. “You’re right. I wasn’t there. I was… I was a raging, mindless beast who didn’t understand anything that was happening.” His jaw tightened a little. “I didn’t know anyone or anything. I didn’t even understand when I was safe. All I knew was pain and rage. I wasn’t there.”

“Don, I—” Leo started, but Don shook his head and cut his brother off.

“I wasn’t there before that, though.” He looked Leo in the eye. “I saw Leatherhead’s notes. He noted the point in my own notes when I became unreliable. I was too sick, too far gone with the virus to accurately interpret the data anymore. I wasn’t ever going to be able to find a cure, because I was already ‘not there.’ By the time we got back from the past, my reasoning was too far gone.”

Leo was silent, the analysis evidently taking him by surprise. Don forged ahead, reaching to run his fingers over the geode again.

“I never was going to find a cure,” he said firmly. “And it was my fault for not taking the wound seriously to begin with.” Don’s voice began to pitch up a little. “And I only got the wound because I froze up and Raph had to push me out of the way. If I had just moved, or if I had taken the wound more seriously, then I wouldn’t have double mutated,” the words spilled out of his mouth, falling quicker and quicker, his grip on his bo tightening. “If I hadn’t double mutated, then all of you wouldn’t have gone to Bishop for a cure. He wouldn’t have instructed you steal the Heart of Tengu. The Foot Mystics would have never gotten free. They wouldn’t have been able to kill the Tribunal and our friends. The Demon Shredder wouldn’t have been revived. And the fate of the world wouldn’t be hanging in the balance!”

Don whirled back to face Leo, who had been silent, watching as Don laid out his reasoning, grasping his bo with both hands now. “So, you see, Leo, this is all my fault! The world could end, we could all die, and it’s all my fault because I didn’t move out of the way of an enemy in time!”

For a moment, there was silence. Then Leo looked at Don and frowned. “Alright,” he said, crossing his arms. “It is all your fault.”

Don wavered where he stood. “What?”

“It is your fault,” Leo said. “You’re right. If you hadn’t gotten that wound, then none of this would have happened.”

Don hadn’t been expecting Leo to say that, and he stared at his brother, his mouth hanging slightly open. The words stung. They hurt, even though Don knew they were true, and he tightened his grip on his bo again.

Leo wasn’t finished though. “But I’ll say it again. You don’t know. You weren’t there.” Leo took a step towards Don. “Your notes may not have been reliable towards the end, but they were better and more extensive than anything Bishop or Stockman had.”

“But… they made the cure…” Don said, confused.

“Yeah, they did,” Leo said. “From your notes.” Leo sighed and put his hands on Don’s shoulders, both comforting and supporting Don. “They lied to us, Don. They said they had a cure when they didn’t. Master Splinter and Leatherhead told us about it later, but it was too late by that point. You were closer to a cure than they were. They just had better resources and equipment to finish what you started.”

“They—what?” Don stared at his brother, trying to process this new information.

Leo nodded. “Leatherhead said that the only reason your notes were as well-researched and extensive was because you were testing yourself. Don’t you see, Don?” Leo asked.

Don stared at his brother, waiting for Leo to explain.

“Because you got that sting, you started your studies and research long before Bishop or Stockman even knew there was a problem. You had the most complete and accurate information available. Because you double mutated, your research went to Bishop and Stockman, and they were able to make a cure. Without you, without your research, without that sting, the city would still be suffering from mutated creatures.”

Leo gave Don’s shoulders a squeeze. “Yes, we stole the Heart of Tengu as payment, but it was because Bishop lied to us about what he could do. Not to mention, Bishop started the whole mess to begin with, with his fake invasion.” He gave Don a tight smile. “You didn’t bring about the danger we’re in now. Bishop did, by trying to build a fake danger, and then by lying to us.”

Don stared at Leo, blinking as his brain processed the information. “…Oh.” He could feel himself trembling just slightly. He shook his head. “But—still. You stole the Heart of Tengu to save me.” He glanced at the doorway, as if he could see outside through it. “I still feel responsible.”

Leo shook his head again, and adjusted his grip, leading Don back to the bed and sitting them both down. He shifted again, sliding an arm along Don’s shoulders to pull him in. “You’re not. Besides…” Leo hesitated. “I don’t know how to explain it, but… it feels like this was always supposed to be us? I think… I think that even if it hadn’t been to save you, then something would have happened to the Heart of Tengu anyway, and we’d be in a similar position.”

Don eyed Leo skeptically for a moment, but then relented. Leo had always had a sense about these things, even more so since he returned from the Ancient One. It had seemed to sharpen, somehow, during their training with the Tribunal.

“If you’re sure, Leo,” Don said, slumping a bit against his brother, tired and aching.

“If Leo’s sure about what?”

Mikey’s sleepy voice interrupted, and Mikey poked his head around the door. Raph was right there with him, moving to stand in the doorway, eyes moving over the pair, clearly assessing the situation.

“If I’m sure that Don’s not responsible for everything that’s happened,” Leo said.

“He ain’t,” Raph said bluntly.

“Ohhh,” Mikey said. “This is because of the Heart of Tengu thing, isn’t it?”

Don shot a Mikey a startled look. “How did you—”

“How did I know?” Mikey said, coming into the room and plopping himself down on the other side of Don. “You mean, how did I know that one of the two turtles with a huge guilt complex was totally and absolutely going to take what happened and blame himself?” Mikey grinned. “Come on, Donnie, gimme a little credit.”

“I don’t say this often, but Mikey’s right,” Raph said. He strode forward and poked Don in the forehead, before taking his bo from him and setting it to the side. “You’ve been overthinkin’ everythin’ durin’ your recovery. Wasn’t hard to figure you’d take what Little Miss Shredder said to heart.”

Don frowned and looked down at his leg again. His hand traced over his scar, wincing a little as he did. “I guess. It’s just—”

“Nope, no ‘it’s just’,” Mikey said. “Whatever Leo said, he was right.”

“It ain’t your fault, Don,” Raph said, his voice quiet. “It never was.”

Don sighed, his hands rubbing at the stretch marks on his thighs. “It still feels like it is.”

“Well, no matter if it feels like it or not, it isn’t,” Leo said.

Don looked up at his brothers, giving them a weak smile. “It’ll take some time for me to internalize that,” he said.

Raph made a shooing motion, obviously trying to encourage Don to lie down. “Yeah, well, while you’re working on that, we can work on you,” he said. “Yer hurting right now, aren’t you?”

Don grimaced. “It’s… never really left,” he admitted. “It’s just worse tonight.”

Raph let out a huff of frustration. “Don. You’re suppose to tell us these things.” He looked over at Mikey and Leo. “You two know what to do.”

“Right-o!” Mikey said, and practically tacked Don to the bed.

“Hey—what--!” Don protested.

“Nuh-uh,” Mikey said, draping himself over Don’s shell like some sort of starfish. He put his head right on top of Don’s. “You said that heat makes your shell feel better, so I’m about to be your own personal heater!”

“You’re too heavy to be a heater,” Don grumbled, trying to get comfortable under Mikey’s weight.

“I’ve got his legs, you get his arms?” Raph said to Leo.

“Sounds good to me,” Leo said.

“Guys, you don’t have to do this,” Don protested. “It’ll fade back to a tolerable level eventually.”

“Hm, I dunno, bro. Eventually sounds like it’ll take to long, especially when we can do something about it now,” Mikey said. He booped the back of Don’s head with his snout. “Come on, Don. Let us help you.”

Don sighed and relented. He was well and firmly trapped, as his brothers started to massage his limbs, trying to help with the pain he was feeling. Mikey’s heat on his shell helped, too, although he wasn’t about to admit it out loud. Slowly, Don started to relax as the massages and heat started to help the bone-deep aches he was feeling.

“You’re still recovering,” Leo said to him, softly, as he worked. “Physically, mentally, and emotionally. Let us take care of you. Because while you might not think you’re worth the world, to us you are.”

Somewhere above Don, Mikey snorted. “That was one of the cheesiest things you’ve ever said, Leo,” he cackled.

Don heard the thwap of Mikey being hit. “Shut it, chucklehead,” Raph said. “It might be cheesy, but it’s true.”

“Never said it wasn’t,” Mikey protested. “Just that it was cheesy.”

Don chuckled quietly at the interactions and decided to stop protesting his brothers’ actions. He let them do for him, and then, when they all somehow curled and squished and fit on the bed, the bedframe miraculously holding under their weight, he didn’t protest, but instead let himself be cocooned within his brothers’ warmth and love. They talked, softly, about stupid things, silly things, and wishes and dreams, until one by one, they all fell asleep with each other, feeling safe and secure in a way that none of them had in far too long.

Don wasn’t sure he’d ever completely recover from his second mutation. He had a feeling that the aches and pains would come and go, becoming something he would deal with the rest of his life. He still felt guilty for what was happening, too, feeling indirectly responsible for the current state of the city. But right now, at this moment? He let himself trust in his brothers’ words, and refocused his mind on them, instead of his guilt.

And this time as Don slept, not a single dream or memory disturbed him.

It was hours later when two figures silently crept to the doorway of the room, looking in on the sleeping pile of turtles that was on the bed. Arms and legs were intertwined together, making it hard to tell who was sleeping on who and where one turtle began and another ended.

“You see?” the Ancient One said, very softly. “I told you—they needed this night. Their bond is strengthened. Donatello’s spirit is a peace, cutting off that avenue of attack. This bonding will only serve them well in the coming battle.”

Splinter looked over his sons, too many emotions running through him for him to properly express any of them. “It will,” he agreed instead. “I can only hope that it will keep them safe.”

For a moment, Splinter hesitated, and then he stole out of the room, returning moments later with a couple of large blankets. The Ancient One blinked at him.

“How are you going to cover them up? They are all tangled,” he asked, although he moved forward to help Splinter unfold the blankets.

“As I did when they were mere babies. I will cover the whole pile,” Splinter explained. “Creating a ‘shell’ for them to seek comfort in.”

“Ah.” The Ancient One nodded, and helped Splinter cover the sleeping pile of turtles, smiling to himself when he saw how Splinter took the time to adjust a limb here and there, and press his nose to each of his sons’ heads.

The two slowly left the room then, leaving the turtles alone to finish sleeping throughout the night. In the morning, battle would come, the Ancient One was sure, and for that, the four would need to be bonded strongly. But tonight, their bonds had been strengthened. He just hoped that it would be enough.