A/N: Okay, so this is the last chapter. Thank you all for your support. =D

His stiff muscles loosening in the pleasant warmth indoors, Donatello stretched out his back after gently laying Mikey on the floor. Assuming a protective stance, he hovered by his brother, glancing about fleetingly for any sign of danger. From personal experience, he knew better than to blindly trust any human.

The room was odd—unlike any Don had expected to find in a home. It was a large, open space, littered with various couches and armchairs along the white-washed walls. There were several coffee tables scattered at the feet of the seating arrangements, and a large set of wooden double doors stood proudly at either end of the living space. The room branched into several dark hallways. To Don, the place resembled a lobby or congregational hall more so than anything else.

The man straightened and followed Don's wary gaze, chuckling when the turtle looked at him questioningly. "I frequently entertain guests," he stated simply, all the while smiling as if he had just delivered the punch line to a clever joke.

Don frowned, but didn't press any further. Deeming the room clear and his host a negligible threat, he knelt beside Mikey, carefully probing the gash in his brother's side with his fingers. "Impossible," he whispered, his eyes widening as he scrutinized the wound, which was no longer bleeding. "How could it have jus—"

A small groan interrupted Donny's musings.

"Mikey!" Don tentatively took Mike's slightly-warmer hand in his own and leaned closer, murmuring urgently. "Mikey? Can you hear me?"

Mikey groaned again, his head lolling to the side, and then he was still, his chest rising and falling evenly.

The man glanced sideways at Donatello's haunted expression, and cleared his throat to draw the turtle's attention. "We should clean and bandage that wound before it becomes infected. I'll get a first-aid kit." He strode briskly to the other end of the room and retrieved a medical bag hanging from inside a small closet, returning to Don's side and passing over the parcel.

"Thanks." Don hastily unzipped the case and rifled through its contents, drawing out a bottle of antiseptic wash, butterfly enclosures, gauze pads, and a roll of linen.

As Don flushed out the wound with the wash, the man noticed a peculiar expression cross the turtle's face, casting a dark shadow over his features. "Something's troubling you, Son."

Donatello laughed humorlessly. "My, aren't you perceptive?" He carefully pressed the edges of the laceration together, securing it with the butterfly enclosures for the time-being until he could properly stitch it back at the Lair. That done, he forcefully tore into the package of a gauze pad.

As Don lay the pad over the wound, a soft, but firm hand was placed over his own, and he flinched at the contact.

"You blame yourself for his condition, don't you?"

Don pulled his hand away from the touch, avoiding the searching eyes that he could feel upon him. "And why shouldn't I?" he whispered. Mikey was wrong. It was—is my fault. I should have done something, but I was helpless. Worthless, I should say. Some genius I turned out to be. "I couldn't even help my own little brother, damn it!" He slammed his fist on his thigh, feeling the tears he thought he had lost prick at the corners of his eyes, taunting him with their impromptu timing.

There was a pause, and Don had to strain to hear the response when it came.

"I understand."

Don turned, regarding the man silently. Did I just say that out loud?

"My son…I had to watch him die."

Don's fingers froze as he wrapped his brother's side, and he looked upon the man before him with sympathy, as if seeing him for the first time. I know how that feels, he thought, his eyes wandering over Mikey's still face.

The man continued. "He died saving the lives of some very dear friends of mine…friends that had made some poor choices, and endangered themselves as a result. My son, he knew how much I cared for these people—they were friends of his as well—and he willingly sacrificed his own life to save them. He was mercilessly killed, and all I could do was wait at home for his return…There was no other way; otherwise, those unfortunate victims would have been lost."

The stranger placed a warm hand on Don's shoulder, and this time, Don didn't flinch away.

"Son, there will always be certain things beyond your control, but that doesn't mean you should bear the burden of every consequence and forget to live in the process. All you can do is accept what you can't change, work to improve what you can, and go through life with your head held high."

"I find it difficult to hold my head high in anything these days…" Don trailed off.

"How so?"

Don continued wrapping Mikey's side, avoiding eye contact. He bit his lip at what he was about to say, but at the same time, he secretly longed for a confidant, and since there wasn't a Leo handy at the moment, this was the next best thing. Shell, why not? The odds of ever seeing Mr. Friendly again were slim.

"If something were to go… wrong, I would assume the role of leadership in my family. I… I can't afford mistakes like this." Don hesitated, and then mechanically intoned "I must be strong for my brothers when they are weak." Don paused in his work, studying his bloody hands. "Tell me, how can this," he held up both hands, "be considered strength? I've failed. The one time I get to play leader, and it blows up in my face. Sensei was right to be disappointed; I'm not ready to lead." I'll never be ready. I'm no Leo.

The man calmly regarded Don's hands, his eyes eventually reaching the turtle's face. "This sensei of yours…you're close to him, aren't you?"

His mind racing, Don felt his mouth go dry. Wait, did I really just tell this guy about Master Splinter? Stupid ignoramus! Donatello, you may be book smart, but you have absolutely no common sense. You need to get a grip! Don snapped his mouth shut and returned his attention to Mikey.

Donny's host nodded sagely. "I'm sorry; I won't pry further, but I will say this: I believe you've misunderstood your sensei. If he cares about you as much as you appear to care for him, then he's not disappointed—only concerned. As a father speaking from experience, I'll even venture as far to say that he's proud of you, but is inclined to pressure you to succeed so that you, in turn, will demand the best of yourself."

Fingers deftly applying the wrap, Don refused to look up. He's right, you know, a small voice niggled in the back of his mind. Donny shook his head slightly, trying to silence the thought. He doesn't know anything about my family. The knowing voice quickly retorted back. Does he have to?

Ignorant of the turtle's internal debate, the man continued. "But you demand too much of yourself, Son. No man is a mountain."

"Well, that's good," Don chuckled bitterly, "because I'm not a man, now, am I?"

The stranger didn't smile. "Just what do you hope to attain from placing such a burden on yourself?"

Against his better judgment, Don decided to favor the man with a response. "Burden? It's my responsibility." I had to protect Mikey, but I couldn't. "The guilt was mine to bear. What if I had lost him? My "burden" as you call it." If I must lead my family someday, then I have to be ready. Donatello squeezed his eyes shut and let out a slow breath, still trying to collect himself as the fresh memory of the alleyway assaulted him.

"Has it occurred to you that if your brother," the man nodded at Mikey's prone form, "could see the anguish that you have placed upon yourself for his suffering, he would feel even greater guilt?"

Don's eyes snapped to the man's face angrily. "What are you talking about?"

The stranger steadily met the wary turtle's gaze. "Sounds selfish, don't you think? Causing your brother to blame himself for the turmoil that his condition has placed upon your heart…"

Without warning, Don thought back to Mikey's words.

I-It's ok-k-kay, D-Don. I-I-It's not your f-fault.

Now that Donny thought about it, Mikey's eyes had held something more than pain and fear as he said those words…Mikey's eyes had been silently pleading with him, begging Don to release his pain and fear, to free Mikey from his own guilt for causing his older brother such doubt and remorse.

And I ignored his pleas Don thought with a sudden jolt. He was dying, and I couldn't even give up my assumed culpability for his sake. He wouldn't have died in peace—all because of my stubborn resolve to find blame in myself.

Don mentally cursed himself for missing the telltale signs of his brother's assertion. How could he have done that to Mikey? How could he have missed the desperate look in those pained eyes?

As the stranger spoke once more, Don was drawn out of his brooding thoughts.

"Besides, if you and your brother here had switched roles, would you want him to assume the responsibility for your suffering?"

Don thought of Mikey's jubilant gusto for life being replaced by a melancholy cynicism, and he instinctively gripped his brother's hand, squeezing it protectively and willing Mikey to never lose his smile or cheer. "Of course not! I would never…"

"Then let go of your own inner turmoil and seek peace, friend."

Thoughtfully stroking Mikey's hand with his thumb, Don contemplated these words as he looked lovingly upon his little brother's face. "I…"

Suddenly, Don's words were cut short as Mikey stirred, gradually cracking his eyes open and squinting up at Don's face.

"Mikey!" Don quickly leaned over his brother, helping him sit up. "How do you feel?"

Mikey allowed Donny to support him, grunting in pain as he shifted and looked about blearily. "Where are we, Don?" Mikey asked hoarsely.

"We're in…someone's…house."

"Who?" Mikey looked about curiously, his gaze still somewhat unfocused.

Don paused for a moment, his brow puckering in thought. "Come to think of it, I never did ask your name. Why don't you introduce—" Don looked over his shoulder, only to find the man had gone.

"Uh, Donny? Who're ya talking to?" Mikey's head swiveled about, searching the room, and he finally turned to his brother in confusion.

Donatello looked about the room as well, and for the first time, he realized that he and Mikey were sitting in the dark. Where had the light suddenly gone? He shivered at the cold that stung his bare skin. And the warmth?

"There was…a man… He helped me bring you in here, gave me these medical supplies." Don gestured at the bag by his side, nodding at Mikey's dressed wound.

"Don…There's no one here but you and me." Mikey studied his brother with concerned eyes.

"I'm telling you, he was right—" Donatello didn't finish that thought as the shell cell clipped to his belt buzzed against his thigh. He picked up the device and flipped it open after reading the caller ID. "Leo?"

Leo's worried voice faintly crackled through the silence. "Donny? Donny! Where are you, bro? Raph and I are standing in the alley. We see the fallen Foot ninja, but we can't find you and Mikey anywhere."

"Don't worry, Leo. Mikey and I are safe. Meet us on the sidewalk. We're coming out."

"'Out'? What do you mean 'out'?" Leo's tone adopted a new level of concern.

Don cringed. He knew he'd be in for a lecture back at the Lair. "I'll explain later."

"Okay, Don. We'll meet you both out front. The Battle Shell is pulled up to the curb." The line promptly ended.

Surprised at the sight of his own breath fogging before his eyes, Don shook himself and snapped his phone shut, placing it back on his belt. He laid his arm across the back of Mikey's shell, tucking it around his brother's side, and delicately hoisted Mike to his feet, using his free hand to secure Mikey's arm across his shoulders. "Do you think you can walk out to the Battle Shell?"

Mikey sucked in a pained gasp and nodded resolutely. "Yeah, with a little help."

Don smiled. "Of course."

The two started their long, steady trek across the room, Donny all but carrying Mike to the double doors at the far end.

"Soooo…" Mikey prompted.

"I'm sorry, Mikey."

Michelangelo rolled his eyes. "Dude, not this again! I told you: it's not your fau—"

"No, not that." Don smirked at Mikey's bewildered expression. "I'm sorry for blaming myself earlier. I thought I was bearing the guilt, when really I was only forcing it upon you. Now I realize that…some things will always be beyond my control." He smiled secretively to himself, grunting as he hiked Mikey's arm further across his shoulder, adjusting his grip so he could bear more of his brother's weight.

Mikey grinned. "And you figured all of that out on your own, too? What a big boy!"

Don laughed lightly. "Let's say I had some help."

Mikey cast Don an odd look, but shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. "Whatever you say, Donny."

The rusted hinges on the oaken door creaked in protest as Don forced it open with his shoulder. As they slowly hobbled outside, he and Mikey were nearly bowled over by Leo and Raph.

Leo was the first to reach them, his eyes running over both critically in search of injuries, eventually resting on Mikey's bandaged side. "Are you two alright? I'd feared the worst by the sound of your voice over the phone, Donny. I—"

Raph charged over, abruptly cutting Leo off. "What da Shell happened? How bad are ya hurt, Mikey? Do ya—"

Don cut Raph off, holding up a hand for silence. "We can talk on the way home, guys. Right now, I need to get Mikey back to the Lair so I can thoroughly clean and stitch this, okay?"

Though Leo and Raph burned with more questions, they nodded, reaching over and helping Donny carry Mikey to the Battle Shell. As they made their way to the idling vehicle, snowflakes began to lightly flit down to earth, settling on the pavement and the boy's shells.

Mikey's eyes lit up as he weakly pointed to the sky. "Check it out, Dudes! White Christmas, anyone?"

Leo snorted as he backed across the road, holding up Mikey's legs. "Don't even think about it, Mikey. You aren't going outside with that injury any time soon."

Raph snickered as he carried Mikey under the arms, bending his head and mock-whispering, "Don't worry, chucklehead. I'll sneak ya out under Fearless' nose."

"Awesome, Dude!" Mikey threw a weary thumbs-up.

Donny, propping up Mikey's midsection, exchanged a look with Leo. The two frowned but said nothing, choosing to ignore the 'secret' conversation.

After safely guiding Mikey into the back of the van, Leo took his place behind the wheel, and Raph took shotgun. Albeit begrudgingly—given the current road conditions with the snow—Donny remained in the back with Mikey should the orange-clad turtle require further medical attention.

As the vehicle roared and began to rumble up the road, picking up speed, Don glanced out the rear window, stealing one last glimpse of the building he and Mikey had stumbled out of. Even in the dark night—punctuated by the swiftly-falling snow—Don could just make out a steeple at the top of the building, and a humble cross perched at its peak.

A/N: The end! ^^ Just wanted to give a quick shout-out to Smile-I'mTheEndOfAllThatYouSee. You were oh-so-close to guessing the man's identity. I guess you kind of did guess correctly, in a way, if we take the divine trinity into account. ;) Well done.

I wish you all a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year!

"And there's a hand my trusty friend!
And give us a hand o' thine!
And we'll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne."

~ Robert Burns