EDIT-- After posting this I learned from Reinbeauchaser that there is another story with a very similar title-- "Jabbermikey" by Kellie Fay, which also uses the poem Jabberwocky. I emailed her at once, and we laughed over the similarities of the titles and the use of the poem. We laughed over the coincidental titles, and I offered to change mine, but she says she has no problem with mine staying the way it is. Our stories have nothing to do with each others! TMNT is owned by Mirage. Jabberwocky is the work of Lewis Carroll and is in the public domain.

And the mome raths outgrabe.

Don was still not sure how he'd ended up in this place. He remembered asking Sensei if he could go to the junk yard with him, and being given permission. He remembered being warned repeatedly to stick close and not stray out of Sensei's sight. He remembered the beautiful pile of interesting shiny stuff that had drawn him, despite the warnings of his father, closer and closer, tempting him with unknown delights, teasing his imagination with all possible sorts of inventions and improvements and such possibilities that he couldn't conceive of--

And then he was lost.

Lost in this jungle of strange mounds of unfamiliar things, lost in this place where heaps of old cars, old washers, old machines of every type were slowly being covered with grass; lost in this strangely shifting ever-changing place, where trees were suddenly sprouting from the piles of junk, sprouting as if they were being nourished by the slowly corrupting litter of metal and glass and rubber and plastic, sprouting and growing as if by magic--

He remembered his father warning him-- warning him about something--

"Donatello! Donatello! Beware-- beware--!"

The frumious Bandersnatch!"

Don heard a sound coming from the ever growing group of trees that had surrounded him and the piles of formerly friendly junk. He couldn't describe it; he couldn't run from it; he couldn't imagine what it was!

Frantically he looked around him, desperately searching for his father!

"Master Splinter! Master Splinter?" he called repeatedly, but no answer came to him except the slow, deep, indescribable snorting of something unseen, something unimaginable.

Something unfriendly to say the least!

And then he heard his father's voice:

"Donatello? Donatello? Where are you, my son? I cannot see you! Donatello?"

Then Don heard his father yell suddenly for help! He heard it coming right from where the slow, deep, indescribable snorting was coming from!

Master Splinter is in trouble!

"NO!" Don shouted, and fear was replaced with determination. He headed straight for the sound of the unfriendly thing-- and his father's voice.

And stood awhile in thought.

He didn't know where the sword came from-- then he remembered, Leo had lent it to him.

"You never know what you might run into in the woods, Don," Leo had said, handing Don a sword that both of them knew would one day be Leo's but for now was only a decoration on the wall of the dojo. "You'd better take it with you, it'll be more handy than the Bo."

He marched determinedly into the woods, hunting the sound of the unfriendly something, hunting the sound of his father's cry for help!

"I'll save you, Sensei! I'm coming! I swear it!" he repeated to himself over and over and over, as he walked through this strange junk yard wood.

But the end never seemed to come in sight. He kept following the sound, but though it was louder, it never was closer.

He paused for a moment, trying to think what to do. He was smart. He could figure this out! He would find his father with his brain. Sensei says that he can do anything he sets his mind to, even finding his father in a strange woods in the junkyard when something unfriendly is just before him.

And burbled as it came!

As he stood there, the ground began to shake under the heavy tread of something unfriendly! The trees began to give way to the powerful bulk of something unfriendly! His ears were filled with the metal-grinding sound of something unfriendly!

Don looked and fear swelled up in his throat, making it impossible for him to scream! A monster had emerged from the woods, large and dark and dragon-like, with flaming eyes, and teeth sharper than swords! Its skin was the texture of old, cracked leather car seats, and colored the same shade as the mud around the junkyard. Its head was larger than the largest junked car in the place, its eyes were burning with hatred and evil and pure blue fire!

Smoke issued from its nostrils, acrid smoke that sent Don into coughing fits so that he couldn't breathe for a time. Indeed, it seemed that this smoke was designed to smother him with coughing, designed to overpower him and keep him from fulfilling his quest!

"My son," he heard faintly through the coughing and smoke and fear and anger and pain and confusion. "My son!"

Don gripped his sword tightly at the sound of his father's pleading voice, and mastered with great determination his coughing.

"You'll not beat me!" he challenged the monster loudly, holding up the blade of his brother. "You'll not beat Donatello, Ninja!"

He went galumphing back.

Don attacked as he'd been taught-- strike, move, dodge, roll, strike again, keep to the shadows, strike again, dodge, leap, shout, spin, strike again, strike again--

Leo would be proud of me, he thought as his blade repeatedly sliced this monster like a hot knife through butter. He was quick, quiet, deadly! He was Donatello, Ninja! He leaped through the air, jumping over the monster as if it were one of his brothers during practice. He struck again and again, ignoring the screams of agony from the beast, the hideous shrieking teakettle whistling screams of this monster that held his father prisoner-- for he could see Splinter now, see him standing just beyond the monster, unable to come to his aid-- all that stood between him and his father was this creature that could kill him with one bite!

He attacked again and again, and the creature fell in many pieces before him, many more pieces than he could remember. With a final slice of the sword, the head of the creature fell before him, and the body finally collapsed, still and stiffening even as the blood poured from it, even as the last of the body heat escaped into the atmosphere, leaving the cold and empty carcass behind.

Don bent down and picked up with great difficulty, the head which was larger than the largest wrecked car in the junkyard. It was surprisingly light, but rather bulky; nevertheless, he was able to pick it up by one ear and carry it with him towards his father.

He chortled in his joy.

Splinter stood before him, slightly bending down, arms outstretched in proud welcome.

Don, tears welling up in his eyes, dropped the sword and the head of the creature, and ran as fast as his little legs would carry him, ran as if his life depended upon reaching those outstretched arms, ran as if they would vanish if he didn't hurry. With a mighty leap he launched himself into that warm and safe fatherly embrace, he held on for dear life, he buried his face into that familiar robe, memorizing every sensation of that texture with his soul.

"Oh, father! Oh, father!" he kept whispering, voice choked with joy beyond understanding.

"My son! My son!" he heard his father whispering back in the same choked way, holding him as if the world would not be able to pull him away again.

"I killed it, I killed it on my own!" he said sleepily. "I did it without Raph or Leo or even Mikey."

"Yes, you did it even without me."

"No, father! Never without you! I can never do anything without you! Never, never, never, never, never..."

He grew sleepier and sleepier with each "never". He could feel himself being rocked slowly back and forth, back and forth, as if Splinter were holding him while seated in the old rocking chair. He briefly wondered how the old rocking chair found its way to this woods, then he decided not to worry about it, as he was rocked back and forth and back and forth.

And the mome raths outgrabe.

Don opened his eyes at the sound of the book closing. He was warm and snuggled well into the blanket that Sensei had wrapped him in as he rocked him in the old rocking chair. The teakettle was whistling on the little hot plate near Sensei's elbow, ready at hand to steep the medicines that helped to soothe his racking cough. Steam rose in friendly clouds from the cup of tea and medicine that Sensei carefully held to his lips, warning him to blow on it first for it was hot. The candlelight was bright and peaceful to his fevered mind, and the soothing voice of his father was better than the best medicine.

"Can I hear it again?" he asked softly after drinking the bitter mixture that seemed to taste so good. "Can I hear the poem again?" he smiled hopefully, looking into the smiling eyes of his father.

Splinter shook his head kindly.

"Not tonight, my son, you need to rest. Your fever is finally lower, and the coughing has slowed. Can you breathe easier now?"

"Yes," Don said, a trace of regret in his voice. He didn't feel as hot or as restless as he had earlier, when the fever from this flu had risen enough to drive him to distraction, making him cranky and unable to sleep without nightmares. The coughing fits that threatened to take his very breath from him had finally eased up, and the tightness in his chest was gone, making it more comfortable to sigh in regret at having to go to bed. "Yes, I feel a bit better now. But can I hear it again?"

Splinter chuckled a denial as he rose from the chair and carried his son back to bed, carefully placing him down and just as carefully tucking him in. He placed a comforting hand on his son's forehead, and smiled again.

"Tell me, Donatello," he said softly, as Don's eyes struggled to stay open in his battle with healing sleep. "Why do you like to hear that poem over and over?"

Don thought of the adventures he'd experienced each time Sensei had read it to him. He thought of the fear, and the joy, and the bravery, and the skill, and the sheer excitement of defeating this creature and rescuing his beloved father.

"I just like the nonsense words," he mumbled, and went to sleep.