And almost a decade later this little practice of catharsis is finally complete, and I feel like I've finally been able to settle with the fact that things aren't the same in my real life either.

I want to thank each and every person who has helped or supported this story over the years. It has meant a whole lot to me – I never set out with this story as a means to really mean anything to anyone else, but just as a way to help myself cope with a very serious situation I experienced. And to see that something about that experience could resonate or be meaningful to others has been truly inspiring and gratifying. So thank you all.

And an extra special thanks to theeffar who encouraged me to pick this story up after such a long passage of time. You mean the world to me

Special thanks to Ikara and Katstories for the feedback and support on ffnet, AO3 and tumblr!

TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, and LeatherHead © Mirage Studios
story © Turtlefreak121

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Chapter Sixteen: Found

His head throbbed something awful.

Really, it was one of the worst pains he had ever experienced. As far as he was aware, at least.

The skin around his head was tight, compressed tight to his skull. His mouth was heavy and throat swollen, throat seemingly only good for swallowing wisps of air and eliciting a low moan from time to time.

It hurt. It all hurt. Even his eyes, when he attempted to flutter them open, felt thick and bruised.

He drifted between the numbing pain and the blankness of rest – in and out.

Time was fairly meaningless throughout the exchange between the two states.

Then, in a dull thrum, he made out a word.

"Don."

Focused on the sound, on its repetition, he came to the realization that his eyes were open and staring down the trail of blinding light.

That seemed disheartening at first, though he couldn't remember why it was so disheartening.

But, to his surprise, the light moved away from his vision and left him staring instead at dark but natural looking figures behind it.

"Pupils are better," the voice muttered.

"Don," another said, also drawing Don's attention. "There we go."

"Do you remember your name?"

Slowly, he thought through the question. He really gave it consideration before nodding his head lightly. The motion alone shook him so much he felt his eyes roll back into their sockets before he righted himself again.

Not that he righted himself entirely on his own – soft, gentle hands guided his shoulders.

"Daahun," he answered finally.

At that, his hand received a squeeze, which led Don to realizing for the first time that his hand was in someone else's hand.

"Do you know who I am?" the first voice asked softly.

The words came slightly faster. "Aaaperl."

His hand was squeezed more excitedly that time, and a warmth came over his body.

"Don," the second voice continued, seriously. "Do you remember what happened last night? Where we went?"

The question took him by surprised. He stared dully, unsure what to do with it, what it was even wanting from him.

When the pause lapsed for a moment too long, Don realized his hand was not being squeezed. He felt the warmth drain slightly – weren't they happy with him?

"How many fingers am I holding up, Donny?" A new voice asked, shoving a hand into his vision.

He stared dully at the appendage, his head throbbing.

Slowly, he closed his eyes.

There was an unhappy noise around him and his hand wasn't squeezed.

As much as he hated disappointing them, he was just so tired…

He didn't know how much time had lapsed since the general fog of pain and confusion had lifted, or how long he had been drowning in it before that. It felt both like it had been no time at all and like he had spent ages being cared for in his bed.

Don, at the very least, recognized who he was. And who was sitting on the end of his bed playing Go Fish.

His brothers and father were the constants in his fog. There no matter if April and LeatherHead were or were not, whether Casey was bombastically yelling or not, whether his surroundings were some strange plastic dome or his own bedroom.

They were always there. And Don always felt like he was grounded by their presence.

Sitting, propped up on pillows in his bed, Don watched fondly as his three brothers guessed each other's cards on the end of his bed. As his father readied tea for him.

His mouth was still dry and head settled on a neutral thrum as opposed to the outright throbbing he had been plagued by not so long ago.

And despite thoughts presenting themselves through the murky forefront of his mind, Don had not found much to actually say since the fog had peeled back.

"Hey, guys," April's voice called from the door.

Slowly, Don adjusted his gaze from his family to his friend. He felt a complicated mess of emotions upon seeing her.

On the one hand, there was loving joy – the friend he felt an overwhelming thankfulness toward for saving his life, even if the details had been blurred and lost in his thoughts, but also the doctor who had forced him through brain exercises and the continuously met defeat of not having advanced enough.

Not enough to being Donatello again. At least not in the eyes of those around him.

"Just need to ask you a few questions again, sorry, I know," April said, walking on into the room with a stack of large cards in her hands.

Without even having to be asked, Don's brothers moved from the end of the bed and allowed April to take their spot.

A little weakly, Don glanced toward Master Splinter and found the rat was withdrawing the freshly made tea momentarily. But his father still met his gaze, offered a gentle smile, and patted Don's shoulder gingerly.

By the time he looked back to April, she had already set up close to him, holding up the large cards with cartoonish images on each.

"House, car, plane, turtle," April said slowly, pointing to each corresponding card.

Don studied them and nodded.

April stacked the cards and showed them to Don, one by one, in order.

"House," Don muttered. He steeled his voice to really make a point of his knowledge with the next three. "Car, plane, turtle."

The smile that immediately came to April's face nearly filled Don's chest with joy. He felt Master Splinter's hand squeeze his shoulder proudly and watched in the periphery how his brothers all looked genuinely pleased with the minor successes.

After mixing the cards a few times, April continued their routine until Don's tired, numb tongue felt like it was working even without his concentration. "Car, house, plane, turtle. Turtle, car, plane, house. Plane, house, turtle, car."

The thrumming of his skull picked up to a minor throb but Don was almost too pleased with his own success to pay it all that much mind. After all, he had done so well, and what's more was that he knew it.

The world almost felt aligned.

"Okay, good job, Donny," April said. "I just need to ask you some questions."

Almost immediately, Don's throat tightened up and he grew stiff and uncomfortable. These were always the hardest parts. And even his supportive family shifted somewhat uncomfortably with his impending failure obviously right before them.

He ducked his head slightly, trying to remain rational, and felt Master Splinter squeeze his shoulder once again.

"All shall be well, my son," Splinter said confidently. "There is no failure here."

But Don could not believe those words. Not fully.

"Okay," April said, reshuffling the cards and setting them aside. "Tell us your full name."

"Donatello," Don replied readily, the throb picking up in pace.

"And my name," April pressed.

"April," he answered.

She smiled. "And my last name?"

The throbbing worsened.

Don felt his throat grow tight and he squinted at her. He knew the answer. It was even a question he had answered correctly on occasion. But try as he might, his brain only throbbed and his eyes grew heavy.

"I…" he muttered, sinking back into his pillows and feeling his father's grip tighten.

"Try just a bit harder, Don, I know you can do it," April pushed in that way that Don had come to hate, even if a part of him deep down still knew how rational her request really was.

"I am," he moaned, bringing his hands fumblingly up to the sides of his head.

"It's okay, Don," Leo said, stepping up.

"Yeah, you've almost got it," Raphael added, not quite catching on to the silent hysteria deep in his brother's chest at the moment.

"You can do it, Donny!" Mike cheered.

His head hurt so badly he was left no recourse but to collapse against his pillows, disappointed more in himself than any of his support system could ever fully be.

Master Splinter's grip tightened all the more. "It is fine, my son," Splinter assured him. "We are most proud of your successes already."

The words were meant for comfort, but as Don grabbed at his head he could only produce stomach sinking tears as he shook his head. "H-how?" he demanded. "How am I supposed to be Don if I can't think? It's what I do."

"Don't be like that, Don," Raph said, stepping up even closer that Leo. "Do you have any idea how happy we all are that you're alive right now? For crying out loud, we thought for a bit there that we were going to lose you."

Don shook his throbbing head. "Maybe… you still did."

"No way," Mike piped up. "You're too hard on yourself to not be our Donny. You can't fool us!"

He remained unconvinced when Leonardo dropped to his knees right by Don's side and leaned in by Don. Leo's hand squeezing his own. "You are our brother. No matter what changes, no matter what you think you can or can't do from this point on. We're so happy to have you alive and improving each and every day. That's the most important part for us. Don't ever think otherwise."

"Yeah, we've got your back," Mike assured him.

With some reservation, Don glanced toward Raphael for further assurance.

He got it in the form of a sad smile and a tight nod.

"Th-thank you," Don said, melting into the hug his family was in sync in giving him. "Thank you, everyone. For everything."

"Don't worry, Don," Leo whispered close to him. "I remembered to let everyone know.

Don hugged them all back contently, feeling the throbs of his head regress back to a gentle thrum.

He just needed some sign – some sign that he was just at the start of his recovery and not reaching a new ceiling to his successes.

He just didn't know what the sign could be.

Time passed, and things were slow.

They kept telling him that things would be slow, but even his family at times fell to the frustrations of things not being the same as they had been before.

Weeks after the procedure that very well may have saved his life and his mind, a sick feeling overtook Don. The kind that felt as though he may never quite be the turtle he once was.

He took time relearning certain things, and at times he was surprised how easily old habits crept back into his day-to-day once he was cleared for venturing around the house unguided more.

At one point, he fixed the toaster without a second thought and earned Michelangelo's complete devotion.

But for every quote remembered or theory recited, Don found himself set back by things he would have never imagined before holding him back.

Sitting at a computer screen or even watching television for too long blurred his vision and brought upon intense migraines. He had trouble staying on task in conversations he wasn't interested in. And more than once, over a phone, he found it near impossible to associate a disembodied voice with a person.

Things were still changed, maybe still changing.

But his memory – those months of lost confusion that seemed to be the cause of his pain – was nearly irreplaceable.

He couldn't make sense of it, but the best anyone could assume was that during those worst moments, his brain had just decided to no longer record. Part of his life simply did not exist for himself.

And while he was certain that there probably shouldn't have been too much worry there – that his missing moments were probably things he wouldn't have wanted to remember out of hand either way – it bothered him.

It left him feeling incomplete.

He spent hours with the lights off, sitting in his lab with his sights on the bookshelves, trying to push his memory recall as far as it could without threat of hurtful stimuli like light and sound.

Months after it all started, weeks after his life was saved, Don was doing just that, staring at the bookshelf.

"Hey," Leo called from the door. "Just checking up on you. You've been quiet all day."

"Yeah, I'm just… thinking," Don replied listlessly.

Leonardo hovered by the door for a bit before coming further into the lab. "We're going to spar this evening, and Master Splinter wants you to work out with him while we do. Gotta work up your muscle tone again." He smiled softly. "Body and spirit and mind all being fed into one another and whatnot, after all."

"Yeah, I'll be there," Don said, rubbing at his face. "Just… still feeling like all three of those pieces aren't quite there yet."

"You're way too hard on yourself, Don, come on," Leo said, putting a firm hand on Don's shoulder. "It'll all come in time."

For a moment, Don simply wanted to sit there. But, slowly, he rose to his feet. "Yeah, yeah… I just wish I got the feeling myself, you know? Just something telling me that I…"

He trailed off, staring intently forward at the book shelf.

After the silence carried on for a few beats, Leo tilted his head. "Don? What? What is it–"

Without explanation, Don reached forward and pulled a book out from the shelf. He almost felt he was on autopilot, flipping the pages of his book until he came to the right page and–

"Oh my god," Leo whispered. "Did you just…?"

Slowly, Don nodded his head, then looked in amazement toward his brother. "Leo," he whispered. "I did. I just.." he grabbed the object and held it up. "I remembered where my key was. It wasn't luck. It wasn't deduction. I knew!"

Not waiting a second longer, Leo threw his arms around Don's neck and pulled him into a tight hug. Don returned it, clutching his long lost key as tightly as he could.

Things were slow, things probably weren't going to ever be the same.

But Don ultimately didn't lose anything.

Only gained.

They all did.