Author's Note: This is my first time writing for the TMNT, and the first time I've experimented with this sort of genre in a oneshot. Donnie's head was really interesting to get inside of, especially in this kind of psychologically taxing setting. Thanks for reading, and I'm always open to feedback and critique!

Special thanks to my beta Zefyria Nuva for checking my grammar and being all-around helpful as I wrote and stressed.

"Another unidentified body has been discovered in Manhattan's Lower East Side today, just the latest in a string of such gruesome finds … police say that the condition it was found in is consistent with that of others found nearby in recent months … dubbed Manhattan's Butcher by many members of the public, this string of violent killings has the NYPD warning women to be on high alert over the holiday season season …"

"Happy holidays!" Raphael's voice cut through the drone of the newscaster, and he changed the channel just in time to see a hockey player get his teeth knocked out by a run-in with the boards. "It's so uplifting to know that New York's going to celebrate the new year with violent dismemberment, isn't it?"

I adjusted my headphones and glanced up. "Why do you never leave the news on? I was listening to that."

"If you didn't wear headphones while the TV was on I'd probably consider it. Maybe."

I heard Mikey snicker from somewhere else in the room. Leo didn't say anything, sitting cross-legged on the rug and reading one of his comic books. He would be there until 8 PM, waiting for when we'd have to clear out in favour of Captain Ryan and his noble crew of bad actors.

I'd forgotten that I had my headphones on. Hastily, I pulled them to around my neck. I hadn't even using them this time.

"Anyway, bonehead," I continued, closing my laptop, "you shouldn't talk like that about people dying. I hope they catch that guy."

Raph snorted. "You think I don't, Donnie? Damn, I'm not heartless – but it's not like it's going to get to us, so why worry? We're mutant freaks who live deep underground. We'll never deal with it."

Funny thing about statements like that. They tend to come back and bite you. I filed that away for future reference, in case it ever did. You never can tell, with what Raphael lets out of his mouth sometimes.

Leo was looking thoughtfully at us, comic book forgotten. On TV, a referee's whistle blew, and a guy came off the ice, glaring and clutching his wrist. I wished Raph would change it back – contact sports are such a waste of time.

"Maybe we should investigate, if we're all so interested," he said, leaning back to get a better look at us. "At least find out who it is doing it."

I sighed. This happens with just about every large crime that occurs in the city: We see it on the news, Leo wants us to be heroes and save New York from those nasty brigands, and he and Raph argue until Sensei puts a stop to it. Not that Sensei stepping in has ever really broken the tension, but I admire him for trying.

"I just said that I was interested in hearing more, not that we should go vigilante justice on someone dangerous." I stood up and tucked the laptop under my arm. Better to get out of here before anything erupts, if it's going to. "We deal in brain aliens and weird mutants, not stuff that's traditionally actually left to police. I'm not saying that I trust the NYPD to do a fine job solving mysteries and stopping crime, but this really isn't our jurisdiction. Sensei would agree with me," I added curtly.

"Oh, God," Raph groaned. "I don't need two Splinter Juniors in my life. Just stop right there, okay?"

I glanced at Leo, and he rolled his eyes at the same time as me. No matter who had started an argument or snapped first, it always came back around to Raphael in the end.

"Seriously, though," I said, looking pointedly at Leonardo. It had, after all, been him who brought up the idea. "Unless the guy is coming down on our heads – and he won't, for obvious reasons – we shouldn't bother with him. It'd be impossible to start, anyway. I'm an engineer. My forensics knowledge is shaky, at best. Do youwant to go corpse hunting, really?"

I was sure that Sensei would choose that moment to come down on our heads about speaking carelessly about the dead, but fortunately, he didn't. Leo gave a sigh.

"Alright, Donnie. I didn't really think we'd go for it anyway." He shrugged his shoulders, picking up his comic book again. "Not exactly our area of expertise."

As if anything was. I didn't reply as I headed towards the hallway where our rooms are. The volume of the hockey game went up significantly, and Leo started commenting on how it was getting awfully close to eight o'clock …

"I still think Donnie's just scared," I heard Raph say when I got to the hall. I muttered something I would prefer not to repeat, and slammed my door on them both.

New Year's Eve in Manhattan is always a good time, even if you can't go topside and join the world's biggest party. We talked about disguising ourselves this year and mingling with the crowd, but Sensei, of course, put his foot down: It was dangerous enough on a normal night, with all the cameras they have trained on Times Square, never mind the night when they drop the ball.

So we planned to do what we usually do that night – which is to watch live coverage of what's going on above our heads, have some kind of video game tournament, and wait and see if Leo will fall asleep first like last year (we already know he will).

"Are you sure you don't want to stay for tomorrow?" I asked, spinning my chair around and giving April what I hoped was a decent enough pleading look. "We don't really get guests. Uh, obviously. So it'd be awesome if you stayed for the party! I could show you what I'm working on, we could hang out, all that good stuff."

April laughed. Her laugh is one of the nicest things about her, and I love it when I'm the one who gets her going. She gave my shoulder a light tap, and I felt that jolt in my stomach which I am nevergoing to get used to.

"My aunt says I can go out to Times Square myself, and I've never actually been before now – Dad didn't like crowds." April's eyes were apologetic, but I couldn't be . "So … you know I'd love to come, Donnie, but it's really something I don't want to miss. Besides, you show me what you're working on, like, every day! You were showing me right now, even."

I smiled at her, biting back disappointment – tomorrow was starting to look really boring without her to make it brighter. Since I had met her, a lot of things seemed a bit gray without April around, if I was honest with myself.

"Well, you're right. It's not like we don't see you all the time." I turned around and stared at the part I had been repairing, as if it were far more interesting than my true love standing in the room with me. "Just be careful, alright? The streets aren't safe."

April raised her eyebrows. "Uh, Donnie? You know I know that better than anyone."

Right. Oops.

"Well, alright – maybe we can make a game out of it," I said, grinning at her and hoping I'd get one back. "We'll keep an eye on those live cams and the coverage and stuff. If we see you, we drink."

Her eyes lit up again, and I nearly sighed with relief. "You guys don't drink. Splinter would bust a nut!"

"Well, yeah, I know," I said quickly. "Soda, though. The whole can in one go if we see you on the screen. Especially if you wave like a mad woman, or something good like that."

"Oh, God. It almost sounds like a challenge now. 'Can I keep all the cameras out of my face to ensure that Donatello isn't stalking me?' We just don't know."

I couldn't tell if she was making fun of me or not, but I didn't really care – after all, hadn't I just made her laugh again, and isn't that what I live for? That grin was flashing at me, and I shrugged helplessly.

"See you on the cams."

"Try to survive New Year's without me, Donnie."

I didn't end up spending much time with my brothers.

At some point I drifted back to my room with a half-empty pizza box, and curled up on the old beanbag chair in front of my screens. I like having a room on the hall's end. It makes it harder for people to bother me.

We were going to look for April, but some old monster movie was playing, and that caught Michelangelo's attention instead. I saw no reason to argue with him, when I could go to my own screens to find her instead. My brothers are used to me going off by myself, anyway. I always do.

I looked up at the loud knock on the door. "Yes?"

"It's the New Year's party! What's wrong?"

Leo's voice had that distinctly annoying quality that meant he was concerned about team unity. I sighed, sinking lower into my seat.

"Nothing, Leo. I'll be out before midnight to count down, alright?"

Silence for a moment. Leo is always the one most irritated when I'm alone tinkering or curled up on the laptop. I don't think he understands that not even New Year's can get you pumped for social contact some nights. (Especially when April is elsewhere, which played more of a part than I care to admit.)

"Fine. If you're not out by eleven, I'm dragging you, got it?"

"Whatever."

I waited until I heard his footsteps fade out before I sighed and stretched. Okay. Back to my challenge.

It was almost stupidly easy how fast I found the real security cameras – not just those ones the public can gawk at online – and I got a real look at Times Square. These were cams from the shops surrounding the scene, that normally only the police looked at.

I had to do some tweaking to get the sound just right, since the commotion was well above "dull roar," but eventually I could catch snippets of individual conversation from all sides. If April was chatting with anyone else, I would know just from punching in the right command.

My brothers would probably call this extremely creepy, and I would taunted about it and my infatuation all night. Hence why I had ended up doing this properly only in the safety of my tiny room. It had been a terrible idea to even consider trying to find her on the television outside.

It only took me about five minutes to find her, a few feet away from Planet Hollywood. She was as beautiful as ever, of course, her bangs falling into her eyes and one red curl loose from her bun …

Her head was bent over her phone and she was typing intently. I waited hopefully for my phone to buzz as a result. It didn't. I turned up the volume for her video instead.

Look at that, April! I won already.

I stopped paying attention to the shifting crowd surrounding her, because it was just too easy to pay attention to April herself. I'd memorized every feature of her face, every expression she wore, every catch in her voice. It was good enough just to guess which one would come next.

Doing those simple, stupid things helps me forget that this is completely futile and pathetic on my part. But I digress.

I didn't notice the man tapping her shoulder until she shut off her phone and looked up, my eyes tracing the path of her face. I had to give myself a little shake, actually. A cardinal rule of ninjutsu is to pay attention to all activity – not just your one true love. This is unfortunate, when your true love is looking so pretty, and is hopelessly distracting.

The man who got her attention struck me as a bit odd, considering he was a pasty colour, had stringy, receding red hair (nothing like April's, whose hair is thick and beautiful) … and was pushing a rickety, empty wheelchair in front of him.

"Excuse me, Miss?" I had to adjust the volume again to catch what he was saying. "Can you please step to one side? This needs a good view."

I frowned. Definitely crazy. And April could see it too, from the way she straightened up and eyed the man. But she smiled at him anyway. April has a good heart, even if she pretends to be rough around the edges.

"Alright," she said, playing along, "But why does the chair need such a perfect view of the ball drop?"

The man smiled amiably at her. "My daughter loved Times Square, but when she got sick, we couldn't take her out so often." He gave the wheelchair what I assumed must be a loving pat. "I'm afraid she's passed on. But I decided to take her spirit out for New Year's, you know? She'd like that."

Oh, God, it was like something out of a cheesy holiday special. Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings! I rolled my eyes spectacularly. I hate that stuff.

April's eyes softened, and she stepped to one side, so the man could wheel his ghost-daughter into a more prime location. Father-daughter relationships must be a soft spot.

I started to tune out a little bit then, partly because I was watching the man for any sort of risk he might pose, and partly because, well, it wasn't a very interesting conversation. What his daughter had been like, what a great night it was for something like this, things that didn't concern me beyond the usual spark of jealousy whenever someone else talked to April.

She talked to other people every day topside, after all. It wasn't as if this old dude was a threat to me. I'm a fast-talking, intelligent and highly trained ninja, after all.

Besides, her pretty face was still on the screen, and for once it was completely happy, even bitten red from the cold and chatting up a crazy stranger. Maybe it was her kindness that made her seem even lovelier than usual. He gave her his name, and reached to out to shake her hand.

That was when his arm shot out and hit her across the neck.

The guy's hand struck like a flash, just so – in the back of my mind I could hear Sensei explaining where the pressure points as he gave our shoulders a gentle tap – and April dropped like a rock. A couple of people behind them turned to stare, but they hadn't seen his hand snap out. Ninja reflexes had their benefits.

(Some benefit, Raphael would say. All this training and sharp observance, and had it been on hand to keep April safe?)

The man saw the eyes on them and he was all concern, kneeling down next to her and hoisting her up, nodding appreciatively to the people who had finally noticed and rushed to help. Their eyes had been on the party before, not the two chatting strangers. They hadn't seen. The man and some others set April into the old wheelchair, her head lolling to one side.

I couldn't breathe.

People stood aside to let them pass, one of the man's big, calloused hands holding up her head. They really hadn't seen. How could nobody but me have seen?

"It's my daughter," I heard crackle from the speakers. The voice was getting fainter, he was pushing her into the crowd. Into the crowd, away from the camera, away from me. "Thank you so much. She just needs her medication. Thank you."

Sensei taught us not to clench our fists when we're upset or angry. He says our self-control can be compromised by our gestures. Tonight my fingers dug into my palms like stakes as I watched, my mouth dry and a terror-stricken rage boiling in into my chest.

A memory buzzed in the back of my head. Last week's news report. The Manhattan Butcher. Women should be on high alert. Unidentified, mutilated bodies.

I shook my head. The unlikelihood of that statistic and its application to April was almost staggering. And anyway, why would a serial killer be making up sob stories and prowling such a public place? That kind of thing was for bad movies and crime shows.

But April was gone and unconscious. Statistically improbable, impossible, because how could anyone hurt April again, but it had happened.

My first thought should have been to tell my brothers, to show them my footage and figure out where to go from here. It didn't matter now if they accused me of stalking, because if the camera searches were going to save her life, then how could I be faulted?

But it was like I had blinders on the world outside of her. I played back the video, memorizing every sound in his name (was it even his real name?) and then pulled up a search. My panic must have been what was making my hands shake, but some analytical, frozen part of me kept doing the work. Funny how love can mess with your head.

His name and face were in the police files.

He was no murderer here, of course, having been taken in for some petty crime and released with a hefty fine and community service. I vaguely recalled reading about how psychopaths often committed small offenses before moving on to what gave them their names.

As long as you're not making a name for yourself with my April.

It took me a few minutes to crack the NYPD's private files, which was way too long and far too agonizing for my tastes. But I did find him – the same pasty, balding face, same name … with an address that was within running distance from our lair.

I glanced at the clock. It was getting close to ten. I would have to be incredibly careful to prevent being spotted so early on New Year's Eve. It was better not to put the whole family in danger, I reasoned. I could do this. I'd saved her before.

The doors of our bedrooms are on the other side of the lair, nearest to the entrance. Sensei put us there when we were kids, in case of some accident inside where he'd need us out quick. Flood, gas leak, one true love kidnapped by a psychopath. You know, your average sewer risks.

I grabbed my staff, and a pouch of throwing stars from under the desk. You never know when you're going to need something long-range.

Outside, the television was blaring. Sensei's back was turned to me as he shouted something at Michelangelo, whose face was almost touching the television screen and blocking their view of Beyonce's New Year's performance. When I saw the footage of Times Square again, a shudder rippled through me.

I couldn't afford to be thrown off.

Nobody saw me as I made a break from my room to the exit, and climbed into the sewers to reach the city above.

I imagined that I looked the part of a hero, my face set in a grim mask of determination as I jumped alleyways and side roads to reach my destination.

The fact that I kept stumbling where I never would have on a regular night, or running too close to the main roads, wasn't really registering with me. Leo would have killed me if he'd seen how many streetlights I has just run under.

The house just skirted one of the worse neighbourhoods – the kind with more bad graffiti than clean brickwork. A neon sign with one of its letters shorted out dimly proclaimed that this was "Ed's Fine Meats," and that they were closed for the weekend.

Manhattan's Butcher. It was so stereotypical. Straight out of one of Mikey's horror flicks. It was also absolutely terrifying. No wonder it was such an effective cliché. Nonetheless, I crept around to the back alley to check for open windows, and it was only when I almost tripped over something thrown back there that I realized.

That old, rickety wheelchair had been thrown into the alleyway, lying quietly on its side.

I wanted to break down right there on the concrete and scream. Destroy it with my bare hands. I clenched my teeth instead, forcing my gaze off of it and back onto the house. There was work to be done, and quickly, or I wouldn't be going home with April.

The fire escape was rickety too; it creaked loudly and sagged in the middle to complete the effect of horror house entrance. But the guy had left a window wide open on his second floor. Good for him, because I would have had to take drastic measures otherwise. Stealthily avoiding property damage wasn't exactly among my strong suits tonight. I lifted the window a little more and slid inside.

The first thing that hit me was the smell. Bile rose in my throat and I had to choke it back with a cough. And don't forget – I grew up in the sewer. Nothing prepares you for the thick stench of dead flesh. It filled my mouth and nose, and I squeezed my eyes shut, picking my way across the floor.

But of course that's not April, I thought blearily. Decomposition of flesh only reaches this stage after several days of time in the open air. April is fine. We'll be fine.

Who, exactly, hadn't been so lucky? I tried not to think about it, just like I was trying to block out the stink of these dank, empty rooms. There was only one lonely chair, on its side in a corner, and a small chest of drawers on the other side. I couldn't make myself investigate its contents.

The smell seemed to leach through my skin as I stepped into the hall and onto the stairs. There were marks on the bannister, like someone had clawed it going down, and a myriad of stains on the walls. It made a macabre painting, and I was again reminded of my brother's scary movies.

I gave myself another second to shut my eyes.

When I opened them, I didn't look around again. Instead I ran, down the steps and turned a corner sharply into a long hallway.

And was met with rows upon rows of meat on hooks. My stomach did a backflip. I slowed, to step carefully between the carcasses and the dark pools on the floor. It was all pigs and poultry. At least, I think it was all pigs and poultry. The smell was overpowering here, and it stung my eyes. I thought that the rot must be mixed with something chemical. A preservative, maybe. That explained why the place wasn't buzzing with flies.

Everything but the blazing part of me that was here to find April felt like it had shut down. I couldn't even explain to myself why, with all the time I've spent in my life explaining everything. The place itself was a nightmare world, and generic to the point of absurdity … but at least there weren't body parts strewn about, or shrunken heads, or coats made from skin.

But everything else about this godforsaken place certainly implied it, and it wasn't as if I had been looking very hard. The desperate urge to find her clawed inside me.

I halted at a cold rush of air next to me, from a heavy door sitting ajar. Voices wafted in through the crack. My heart jumped, and with my staff I pushed it open all the way.

Of course it's a meat locker. You can hang all your pigs in the hallway but it just has to go down in here, doesn't it?

It was so clean. That was the worst part. Scrubbed clean and sterile, with concrete walls lined with butcher's tools boxing in the man from Times Square.

And April.

April sat against a wall with her head bent low and her red hair around her face, the ponytail undone. But alive. When she looked up at the sound of my footsteps, I met her eyes, wide and wild with fear. She mouthed my name, and I could only nod.

I couldn't remember his name for the blood pounding in my ears, and I had used it to find him here to begin with. Why couldn't I remember his name?

It didn't matter. I lunged.

He shouldn't have been able to get any kind of drop on me, because I was trained to do this, trained to overtake any enemy. But anger is an inhibitor – and now I was so furious that it made me afraid, and fear kept me from thinking. Save April was all I could articulate, and all that mattered.

He turned, and I saw the meat cleaver in his hand just in time for it to slam into my staff. And, in what should surprise absolutely no force in the universe, it split in two.

Stupid, worthless staff. You couldn't hold up when I really needed you? The cleaver hit the ground the same time as my bo, their clatter echoing in the room.

I stumbled into the back wall, and a sharp gasp filtered into my ears. I turned; April's wide eyes were on me, and her hand reached for my wrist and squeezed it hard.

"How?" she whispered. I shook my head, trying to ignore how her face and neck were bruised, how her jacket had begun to be cut away at the collar. My eyes narrowed.

"I didn't realize what sort of freaks live in my city," the man said. I whipped around to look at him. The friendliness that had been in his eyes in Times Square was gone, replaced with an icy wildness that would have brought Chris Bradford to tears. I swallowed hard.

"I could say the same about you," I replied, more flatly than I had intended. "Your house is disgusting."

He grinned, and I felt April shiver. My anger smouldered.

"Did you check any of my drawers?" he asked. "I'm very proud of some of my collection, y'know. Real nice stuff."

"You're disgusting too," I spat. "And you're going to regret messing with my April. My April and all those other poor girls." It's too bad I sounded more like a frightened kid than a proud, heroic ninja warrior. That might have sounded passable on Space Heroes.

I stood up and launched myself forward, the half of my staff that I'd held on to aimed for his skull. It made contact, I even heard the crack of it against bone – but when I landed behind him, he was still on his feet. Listing to one side and wobbling as he turned towards me, but still standing.

His grin was lopsided and so normal again, but his eyes were blank and cold. I hadn't been able to look closely at his eyes, not when he was on the camera.

"I started with animals," I heard him say. His voice sounded faraway, echoing in my head like our weapons on the floor. "Frogs, birds. Turtles. You're just like old times."

I read once, maybe when I was seven or eight, that serial killers often started with harming pets or small animals. Sensei had taken away that book when I'd declared those particular facts to him on afternoon. Now it drummed in my head over and over, in time with my steps as I circled him.

What was I going to do, exactly?

I could bolt, of course, with April in tow, let her talk to the police and hope they caught him before the butcher could catch on. Someone else could deal with him and I could forget our nightmare world. But that wouldn't avenge everyone else who had preceded us into this place. I had been trying not to think about that, but the hovering thought flashed precisely then. How convenient of it.

The first rule of ninjutsu is to do no harm. Unless you mean to do harm. Then do lots of it.

"Donnie!"

April's voice cut through my thoughts. I realized he had rushed towards the opposite wall and was pointing a pistol in our direction.

Luckily the shot hit behind us, precious inches from April. I could see that she had stood up, pressed tight against the concrete. Unluckily it ricocheted, once, twice, and I cried out as a sharp pain bloomed in my shoulder. He laughed, I staggered aside, and April screamed something that I couldn't hear.

It can only have grazed you, I told myself through gritted teeth. Your arm is not shot through and useless. You will not bleed out. Focus.

That didn't mean that it didn't burn with pain, or that blood wasn't dripping down my arm, but I could deal with that. I could deal with anything for April.

"It's too bad you showed up," he said, and I could swear that he sounded wistful."I was going to make it an even twenty with her, you know. Now it has to be twenty-one, and you're neither female nor human. Awfully rude."

My head was spinning, and now I knew what Raphael meant after one of his tantrums, when he told Sensei he was seeing red on his peripherals. When I launched myself at him again, he ducked towards the windows and laughed again, loud and wild. It was a clumsy attack, which meant it was pathetic, because that was the worst possible word you can use on a ninja.

His foot shot out and I tripped, my bad shoulder scraping against the floor and making me snarl in pain. His other boot ended up on my chest, and he was heavy; I struggled, but my arm throbbed and clouded my head of all thought. My plastron was pressed down and it was hard to breathe.

I remembered my pouch of throwing stars with a jolt, but of course when I reached for them on my belt, they were gone.

His other foot crunched down on my wrist and I actually screamed – in pain and fear, because now my arm was definitely useless, and that made the rest of me about the same.

This is the only moment in my entire life where I have to give the Foot Clan credit. At least against the Shredder, I hadn't been alone. I had suffered alongside my brothers and made it home with them all by my side. This? This was a whole other animal, one who would see to it that April ended alone and afraid, after I went the same way.

The barrel of the gun was pointed at my face, and my head pounded with the sharp insistence of broken bones and bleeding. This was it, then. The unlikely, one-of-a-kind mutant genius would be taken down by a psychopath with no martial arts training, because he had been a hot-headed fool for once in his life.

The Manhattan Butcher was no longer laughing. His eyes were hard. I heard the gun click, and closed my eyes.

Nothing happened.

After several seconds, I opened my eyes to slits. Our attacker stood completely still, his eyes unseeing. His pupils had shrunk to pinpricks, and he blinked once at me, blearily.

"I was gonna have an even twenty," he whispered. Then he sagged, and I barely had time to roll out of the way before he crashed face-down to the floor. Only then did I see the glint of something in the back of his head. I sat straight up when I recognized it. The pain made me hiss, but it didn't change the sight of one of my shurikens sticking out from the back his skull.

In all our time on the surface, we've never killed anyone with the many dangerous things we have in our employ. We rarely fight things that can be conventionally killed, and even if we did, as a rule, we avoid it. I turned – and there was April, holding the bag of shuriken stars and breathing hard, her eyes locked on us both.

"April ..." My voice was soft and unfamiliar. Without even looking in his direction again, I reached over and plucked the shuriken from his head, tucking it into my belt and pretending that the soft noise it made didn't bring on a wave of nausea.

I stood up, the faint sound of police sirens mixing in with the buzzing in my head. The pieces of my staff were still strewn around the floor. I would have to get those before they got us.

As soon as I looked up, April launched herself at me. I was so tired that she almost knocked me off my feet again. Not that this was the first time she'd run to me in a time of trouble, right? Just not this sickening, violent level of trouble, exactly. My good hand stroked her hair, and I tried hard not to lean against her.

"Donnie, I have no idea how he got me here, I don't remember, I don't, we were only talking and then we were in this room full of guns and knives and holy shit, how did you find me?!"

She looked like a scared wild animal – some kind of wounded, frightened cat. But she was alive. He must not have had the time to hurt her. I hoped.

"April," I said quietly, "take a knife down from that shelf and get it bloodied from the floor – see there, from his head? - and when the police come tell them it was self-defense. They're going to see the state of this house and believe you in a second." I shocked myself with my own coldness, after the biting anger and paralyzing fear from minutes earlier. Where the hell had that been when I had needed it against him?

She looked up at me, and my heart broke at the look on her face. I had done that. "But— Donnie—"

I pulled away to look her in the eyes. Wide, afraid and confused, just like my own.

"April, please just do as I say. Tell them everything you can, but I can't be here when the police come. It's gonna be okay, April, I promise you, but just listen to me, and I'll see you when I can."

Her small hands gripped my wrists. For the first time I saw the blood on her coat, but I clenched my jaw shut and didn't say anything.

"It's going to be okay," I repeated, as I pried her fingers away and ran for my staff. I got into the hallway and out a broken window, just as I heard the kicking in of a front door and the shouting of the NYPD. I had never felt less like a heroic rescuer in my entire life.

I barely got twenty feet before I ran headlong into Raphael.

I knew things were not going to get better quickly when I saw the look on his face – but this is still Raph we're talking about, and I saw him give his head a tiny shake and harden his expression. It was only when his hands were on my shoulders and I could see Leo and Mikey close behind him that I sagged, squeezing my eyes shut and ducking my head.

"Donnie! Donnie, look at me! Are you alright?"

"Dudes! He's bleeding! … Donnie, bro, you look like hell frozen over …"

"Idiot, you mind telling us when you plan on doing something crazy? You should've just toldus!"

Their voices grated on my brain and made me dizzy, but they were familiar and concerned. I didn't have the energy to tell them to shut up.

I looked up, and the worry in their eyes burned into me. I gave a shaky sigh and pulled my broken wrist close against my plastron. "How'd you know where I was …?"

It was Leo who answered, and he looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

"We went to get you because it was getting late, but you and your weapons was gone. You had all these windows up of Times Square and some criminal in the database … so Sensei sent us up to this address."

He didn't sound angry, and that somehow that made me feel even worse. I deserved to pay hell for this.

"Where's April?" he asked me, in that gentle big-brother voice I hadn't heard since we were kids. I winced. The video had been on replay. I'd run off without taking it down.

"She's fine," I managed. "Safe. I had to go, the police are there … and I'll tell you later, can we please just go?"

My voice was soft and pathetic. My brothers didn't comment on it. Raph slung one of my arms over his shoulders, and our brothers melted into the shadows, covering our escape.

"Hey, Don?"

I was almost surprised at how serious he sounded. Serious and quiet; not adjectives often applied to Raphael. "Yeah?"

"I was wrong. You're definitely not scared of this shit."

I barely even remembered our conversation about the news report. It felt like years ago, covered in a fog. "Thanks. I think."

"What happened to the guy?" he asked me a few minutes later, as we turned a corner into another alley.

"He's dead."

There wasn't any talking after that.

Most of the run home is hazy to me, as if I had had a fever the whole way back. It's more likely to have been me going into shock from my injuries, but it felt a lot like the times I'd gotten very sick when I was little. The sensations were similar: my head swimming, familiar voices saying things I couldn't understand, and dark, dreamless sleep.

I woke up in my own bed. I could have sworn that my head hurt even worse than it had last night, but the pain in my shoulder and wrist had come down to a dull throb. Great – an arm screwed over in two places. I'd be even more behind in training than usual.

"Donnie?"

I opened my eyes and looked over. Mikey's voice was sharp with worry, in a way I had never heard it, not even the night before. He was sitting next to my bed, hands folded tightly in his lap. I tried to grin at him, but my tired face twisted it into something more like a grimace. My little brother sagged in relief.

"Dude!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up. "You slept for like, the whole day! Raph got you inside and you just kinda collapsed, and he and Leo had to get you into bed. I kept trying to talk to you, but they told me to leave you alone. Then Sensei showed up and he shooed me off, too."

Good old Mikey. He'd never change. I gently lifted my arm off the bed – not gentle enough to keep myself from wincing – and examined the bandages. "Where's April, Mikey?"

I almost regretted asking, because his face fell again and he shifted uncomfortably. "She's either at home or with the police still," he replied. "It's all over the news. They're not gonna charge April, 'cause she did it to save herself, is what they're saying …"

Mikey's eyes were narrowed in thought. "Donnie, they found … stuff in his house. Like, body parts and heads in jars kind of stuff. You didn't … seeany of it. Right?"

I poked him in the arm. "Nope," I said quietly. "Didn't see it, I promise. I was busy looking for April." His house had been so empty. Where had he been putting them?

"Alright. That's good." Mikey was looking at his feet. "You should've come out and told us. We would've helped you in a second."

I sighed. "Yeah. I know."

I had wished for them to be there once I was in the thick of that house, but now that I was home and in my own bed … well, it was reassuring to know nobody else had had to see it. Especially not Michelangelo, who was worrying enough when he was worrying over me.

He gave me a long look. "Just leave it to Raph and me to be hot-headed, okay? And don't forget we're a team and stuff. We'd—"

"Michelangelo."

We looked up. Sensei was standing in my doorway, and it only took a glance at Mikey to know that he'd been doing something he shouldn't have. Sensei's eyebrows were raised delicately at him, his hands folded over the head of his cane.

"I believe I told you not to disturb your brother," he said evenly. Dread dropped into my stomach like a rock, when I realized that now I had to face Sensei for my actions. It had been inevitable, but it was still going to hurt. Mikey, meanwhile, only shrugged.

"He was asleep, he woke up by himself! I just thought he could use the company."

"Even so, I told you to leave him be." Master Splinter looked at me, and I wondered if it was possible to melt into my mattress. "I must speak to Donatello, if he is awake."

Mikey gave a dramatic sigh. "Hai, Sensei." He jumped off the box he'd been sitting on and waved over his shoulder. "Oh! And Happy New Year, Donnie!"

Sensei waited for his footsteps to recede before he spoke up again. I closed my eyes, in the futile hope that I could fall asleep again before he started talking.

"You are very noble, Donatello." My eyes snapped open. "Possibly more of a fool than I had ever guessed, for all your intelligence, but noble nonetheless. It was right of you not to leave her."

I lifted my head slightly, giving him an incredulous look. "Sensei, what else could I do?"

His eyes narrowed at me. "You could have informed me first of your intentions, and brought your brothers along. You could have ensured that you were in your right mind and not addled by panic. You could have heard a warning from me about the horrors you might encounter in chasing such a man."

Sensei's lectures always ring with truth, but this one stabbed with it. I sat up fully in bed.

"I … I know," I said quietly, looking at my hands instead of at him. "I knew as soon as I walked in there that I shouldn't have done it alone. Probably before that, even. I just … I didn't want to waste a minute. This was even worse than when we first met her."

"Yes, my son. Significantly worse." His voice was soft and serious. "Men like him are monsters. They have lost the part of them that feels empathy, or they never had it at all. He has played with your mind, and even more so with Ms. O'Neil's. It will take you both much time to heal."

"Hai, Sensei." That was something I was trying not to think about.

His hand reached out and rested on the top of my head. "I will be back later to look at your wounds," he said. "You were very lucky, Donatello. This was not the sort of enemy I have trained you to fight."

I didn't reply. I didn't need to. Sensei said nothing more, pulling his hand away. He turned and left just as quickly as he had come.

I laid awake for a long time, listening to my brothers talking outside. My computers hummed, and I noticed for the first time that someone must have closed all my windows from last night. I finally fell asleep to the familiar noises of my room.

April didn't come and see us until a week later, after we'd sat through countless news reports about New Year's Eve where she declined to be interviewed, and where a reporter would mention "unusual DNA traces" found at the scene – which would get everyone to look at me, and me to look everywhere in the room but at my brothers.

I was on my computer again, to nobody's surprise. My brothers were training, but this week Sensei had been merciful and let me hide out on my own. I had just been thinking about how tomorrow he'd probably stop being so lenient when she walked into my room.

"Hey, Donnie." Her voice was soft and flat, but it still almost made me fall off my beanbag in surprise. "How're you feeling?"

When I looked up she was smiling slightly, and besides the yellowing bruises on her cheek and a neatly stitched cut on her collarbone … she looked like April to me.

I stood up quickly – and winced, forgetting about the arm splinted against my chest. "Uh … hey! Hi, April. I'm fine, I'm doing fine. My arm's healing up."

"Okay. That's good."

She glanced at my wrist, her eyes trailing up to the bandage on my shoulder. "I was really worried because of the shot." She shifted uncomfortably, and my stomach clenched. April was always fierce and fiery, but today she sounded downright meek. It was so wrong, it hurt.

I smiled faintly, trying to put the both of us at ease. "Oh, that? It just grazed me, it was nothing. And Sensei splinted my wrist." My smile dropped then, despite my best efforts. "Are you alright?"

April only shrugged. "I'm never going to New Year's Eve events again, I'm telling you that. Next time we'll stick around here."

Maybe I should have been more insistent. Maybe I should have demanded she stay, because if she'd been with us she wouldn't have been anywhere near him …

"April, I'm sorry," I said suddenly. She looked up in surprise. "I should've been faster, I should've brought my brothers, I shouldn't have fought so badly and we could have been out even faster …"

Then one of her hands was on my shoulders. The other held a finger to my lips. I shut up.

"Donnie. It's okay. You still came, and I don't even know how you knew, but you made it. You saved my life."

Her eyes were pained, and they looked away from me and at the floor. I sighed, pulling back. All I wanted to do was hold her, really, but I couldn't just swoop in on her after everyone around her must have tried that already.

"Remember our game? I was gonna find you on the Times Square cams. And I did find you."

She didn't look up. "I guess it's lucky you did," she said quietly. "I … thank you, Donnie. I know it must not be a big deal to you, since you've already saved my life before this, but …"

"No," I said quickly. "It's a huge deal. It is. Sensei says he was a different kind of monster."

I wanted to punch myself when I saw how April tensed, how her eyes widened. But she nodded. April had always caught on fast like that, and there was a reason Sensei had offered to train her too.

"True enough," she said finally. "I'm going to go to counselling soon, for it. They said it's not my fault."

"It's not."

"I guess so."

Then she hugged me, rushing forward and gripping around my shell. I squeezed my eyes shut and rested my head next to hers.

We'd be okay. Especially her. We would just have to work at it a little.