Donnie wakes up without any memory of what happened between being eased up a fire escape and opening his eyes in one of their shelters. His wounds are clean and neatly bandaged — Mikey's work, he thinks fuzzily — and someone stuffed him full of his home-grown painkillers. The fingers on his right hand are splinted and bandaged too, and that's where most of the remaining pain is lodged, vicious little splinters digging in when he shifts and tries to sit up.

"Hey, hey, take it easy." Leo's face swims into view, then splits in two. "There's no rush, just take it slow."

"Where's —" Donnie chokes on the taste of ash, and gags until Leo pushes a water bottle into his hand. Rinsing out his mouth and then draining half the bottle in a swallow takes all his energy, and he flops back on his shell. Above him, the cracked ceiling of the maintenance shed lets in a few shreds of milky, end-of-day light. "Where are Mikey and Raph?"

Leo's shell bumps Donnie's cot as he sits down. "Recon," he says, in a thin, brittle voice. "They're tracking police patrol patterns. There are cops everywhere. The National Guard's been mobilized too — this was the closest shelter, but we'll need to move soon. We just need to know when."

Donnie shuts his eyes. "But they're okay?" he asks, catching himself just before he clenches his hands into fists.

"They're pretty beat up," Leo says, then clears his throat a few times as he apparently realizes that's not the most reassuring thing to say. "But they're fine. I think Raph took Mikey to get him to quit whining about the food in here. Not that Raph disagrees."

Donnie chokes again, this time on a bitter little laugh that tries to creep out of his chest. If it's not meat or pizza, Mikey and Raph won't think it's real food. "Right," he manages, once his throat's open again.

The shelter's so quiet Donnie hears Leo inhale, like he wants to say something else, but after a few moments of silence, Leo just settles back against the wall. Pathetically, Donnie's grateful — he's got nothing to give, no energy to tell the story of where he vanished to for three days, no more armor against the pitiless grief still gnawing at his heart. Sooner or later someone will ask, he's not naive enough to think he's escaped, but of all his brothers, Leo would be the one to push, to ask. He'd do it out of love, but Donnie hopes, just this once, Leo finds mercy in silence.

"Donnie," says Leo, just in time for Donnie's tiny hopes to shrivel into dust. "Thank you…for coming home. For everything." There's a quiet pause, and then Leo goes on, his voice soft with wonder. "You did it. You killed the Boar."

Leo gives him a small, grave smile. Donnie feels it like a punch straight through his ribcage. For a long, horrible moment, the dark makes it hard to know who he's looking at, which version of his brother is squeezing his good arm.

The memory of the Boar's hands on his face swallows him. It had begged him, at the end, to let it live.

Kill me, and what comes after will make all my hungers seem like blessings.

"Oh god," he whispers, and covers his face with his good hand. "I — it's not over, it's not —"

"It's dead," Leo's voice, one of the few undeniable forces in Donnie's life, anchors Donnie when nothing else could. "You did it."

"I did," Donnie says, barely making it a statement instead of a question. He did. He felt the spear pierce the Boar's heart. He tries to focus on that moment, the way skin and bone gave way to ancient metal, but it melts away before he can fix it in place, and the creeping edge of a grey fog blankets his brain. Whatever the fog touches goes numb and still, until even his aching hand barely registers.

When he lets his hand fall to his lap, he sees the spear propped in a corner, dull and useless and forgotten.

I killed the Boar, Donnie thinks, and feels nothing, not even Leo's careful, careful hug.

Scourging, as Casey Jones knows by intimate acquaintance, is even less fun than it sounds. If he had to choose between doing trig while having a root canal done without novocaine and also being kicked in the balls every ten seconds, or having to go through another scourging, he'd have to sit down and think about it.

He's got the feeling April's is going to be even worse. The priests stuck her into their version of quarantine as soon as they got her inside, and she chilled there — no food, no water, no one even talking to her — for the first twelve hours. Casey tried to go in, because no one, not even a grade-a badass like April, should have to handle that alone, but the priests kept chasing him off, and then finally assigned him to go help Angel and the novices bail out the gardens.

So that's where he is, muddy and sore and getting really pissed off that no one's letting him talk to April. Angel took one look at him and stationed herself on the other side of the garden, which is fine by Casey. If he's going to bite someone's head off, it's better if they're kinda attached to the ones in charge.

"What's the deal with this storm anyways?" Casey asks, glaring up at the sky. It's heading up on a full day since April got dropped into this universe, and it was still coming down in buckets, with a lightning and thunder show to match. "You guys get these often? Is it like — okay, this is probably dumb, but you know, is it like monsoon season or somethin'?"

The novices gave each other the poor outlander look that Casey is really, truly starting to hate, then Junko — short, maybe twenty, kinda cute for a fox-girl — drops her last sandbag into place.

"These storms are rare," she shouts over the thunder. "The gods — have you heard, in your world, that the gods move by water?"

Casey, in fact, has most definitely not, but hey, gods traveling through water with the side effect of major thunderstorms does not even crack his top fifty weirdest things ever. This lands somewhere above being slammed into a plate of spaghetti by the Shredder in front of a mafia boss, and somewhere below that time Donnie got a cloning machine working. "No," he says, strangling his impatience and the vicious bite of homesickness that comes when he thinks about Donnie, and by extension, Raph. "I haven't." He's tempted to yell to Angel to see if she has, but the kid's just starting to lose her what the hell has my life turned into look, and Casey's just gonna leave her out of this.

"It's not just travel," says Ichi, because Ichi's a snide little turd who has to have the last word. "It's about change. Whenever something major changes with the gods, if you're in range, you're touched by the storm." He sniffs, and wrings out his robe.

"Wait," Casey drops his armful of sandbags with a splash into a puddle. Junko squawks, but Casey waves her away, and tries to focus on Ichi through the streaming water. "You mean somethin' changed? Like, could the Boar —"

"Don't speak its name!" Ichi snarls, glaring hard enough to make Casey shut his mouth. "Honestly, you fool — and no, the storm doesn't mean that the — that it is dead. Your friend traveled the gods' way to get here. The storm is for her."

Snotty reply delivered, Ichi turns back to the drowned garden. Junko gives Casey a worried, sympathetic look, then goes back to work herself.

Casey debates stomping into the temple, where he can be dry and warm while he's pissed off, but there's still work to be done, so he squelches his way back to the pile of sandbags and grabs a fresh armload. He's halfway down the steps when the screaming starts.

One fun — and by fun Casey means really terrible — aspect of hanging out with a bunch of crazy mutant vigilantes is that Casey knows exactly what everyone sounds like when they're in pain. He reacts on instinct now, and gets all the way to April's room before he manages to put two and two together: the scourging's starting.

Any other time, he'd break the damn door down so Red wouldn't have to deal with this alone. Clearly that's what the guard stationed outside the door expects him to do, just bust on in and wreck all the cute little rituals they've got going on inside, but Casey skids to a stop a couple feet away, and rubs at the sore patch on his ribs.

"They started?" he says, which is pretty much the dumbest question ever. April lets out a choked yell on the other side of the door, and even though half of Casey wants to beat the shit out of whoever's making her sound like that, the other half's reassured: when Red sounds that pissed off, it's everyone in the blast radius Casey needs to worry about, not her.

The guard nods. He looks a little green under all the fur, which Casey gets, really. It's the opposite of awesome to go through a scourging, but it's no party to have to listen to them, either. "The priest has barred the door until the rituals are complete," he says, eyes skittering away as April shrieks, and the priests' voices rise, tense as trapeze wires. "He said she came very far, and needs —"

"Yeah, I'm better without the details," Casey says, to save the guy the trouble of breaking it down when he already looks like he wants to puke. Which is a great thought and all, but that doesn't really leave him with a good reason to keep hanging around in the hallway, rain pounding on the roof and April yelling herself hoarse ten feet away. He's not great with awkward silences when he's not trapped in the Great Furry Convention Dimension, and he's seriously considering if going back to work in the garden means he's a terrible friend — he's not doing April any favors trying to figure out small talk with the security guard here — but with one long grumble, the rain peters out, and Angel whoops triumphantly from the garden.

Casey holds his breath. The guard shifts from foot to foot, trying not to look like he's glancing at the door and totally failing, but Casey can't blame the guy. He wouldn't be able to look anywhere else, if his mind wasn't already racing.

The storm's stopped. Does that mean Donnie actually pulled it off?

Casey exhales slowly, and drags his hands through his hair. If anyone could, it'd be Donnie — the nerd doesn't know how to quit, never knows when he's beat, which some people or weird animal-gods or whatever might think means he's a champion loser, but Casey's always kinda liked that about the guy. Punch him, trip him, mock him, shove him, doesn't matter what you do, Donnie'll just haul himself up, dust himself off, and keep going.

If anyone could win this thing, it's Donnie — and with Red helping? It's a done deal. The Boar's bacon. Right?

His stomach knots into a queasy lump.

April's yell cuts off midway. There's a couple beats of silence, while the echo of the rain fades out of Casey's ears, and then a new soft swell of sound hits him. She's crying now, low and hopeless, and there's no way Casey's leaving any time soon. He's going to be there when they open the door.

Casey props his back against the wall, rubbing at his side, then jerks his chin at the door. "Mind if I wait here?" he asks the guard, ready to say tough shit if the guy says no.

But the guard's no idiot, so he gives Casey a quick nod and goes back to staring straight ahead, all lantern-jawed and unblinking. Casey lets himself slowly sink to the ground across from the door, and waits.

Come on, Red, just a little longer.

Donnie washes in and out of sleep like the changing of the tide. Once or twice he wakes to see his brothers hunched around the electric lantern, whispering over their mugs of tea, but more often they're asleep too, rolled tight into their blankets. Whenever that happens, he makes himself stay awake long enough to make sure he can hear each of them breathing.

This time, he wakes up in almost total darkness. The air in the shelter is too still and cold, too familiar, and Donnie jolts out of his bedroll, clawing his blankets away from his chest. He can't get enough air, the stars have gone out and he's alone and it's silent and there's no air left —

"Whoa, hey, D, it's okay!" Something moves in the dark, and the little light of the lantern fills the shelter again. Now Donnie sees Mikey, his face plastered over with bandages and his eyes too wide. The tightness in his chest loosens a fraction, enough for him to suck in a rough breath, but the cold lingers, scratching at his skin. "Sorry," Mikey adds, scooting closer. "I thought the light would wake you up so I tried to block it, I'm sorry, dude."

Donnie struggles not to hyperventilate. I'm home, he tells himself. I came home, and the Boar's dead. It's fine.

The words pass through his head, barely making a dent in the heavy grey fog wrapped around his brain. He knows, but he doesn't feel. Especially not anything like triumph, or comfort.

"Is there…" Mikey shifts, one finger picking at the edge of Donnie's blanket. "You want me to get you anythin'? I think we got some peaches left, and there's lots of tea and stuff, I can make you tea —"

"Where are Raph and Leo?" Donnie manages. He's having trouble focusing on Mikey's face; under the fog, his mind keeps wanting to substitute Mike's, that last bleak flash of dull blue eyes. If he can't see Mikey, really see him, when his brother's right in front of him, how can he be sure of Raph and Leo? Anything can happen to them if they're not here. "Mikey, where are they? Are they okay?"

"They're fine, I promise, I just got a text from Leo like five minutes ago, they're gonna be home soon." Mikey's talking too fast; he's trying to pull his t-phone out of his belt and squeeze Donnie's shoulder and grab a water bottle all at once. "Hey, just breathe, dude, okay? They're good, they're totally good. They're bringin' more food, probably just more beans and junk, but we'll —" His voice cuts off as he finally gets his t-phone out, and he frowns down at the screen before thumbing in his security code.

A jagged note of alarm breaks through the fog, sour and thick enough to make Donnie gag. He reaches out for Mikey's wrist. "What is it?" he asks, as his throat closes tight. "What's happening? Mikey? Mikey."

"It's nothing, it's all good." Mikey drops his t-phone with a thud — somewhere deep in the fog, the wide-awake part of Donnie's brain screeches that he's not going to fix another cracked screen — and gives Donnie a toothy, too-wide smile. "Just got some good news, bro, that's all. Looks like you're not gonna have to deal with beans again." He holds up his hand for a high-three, but Donnie just boggles at him.

The world slips its moorings, and Donnie's back at the low table, rice and beans in front of him, ash falling forever outside the window. Raphael's leather jacket creaks nearby.

"Beans are all you guys have, though," Donnie says. "They're fine, it's fine, I'm sorry —"

He's breathing too fast. Not enough oxygen's making it to his brain, and now Mike's staring at him, mouth all pinched up with worry, but Donnie needs to him to understand. He meant it when he promised he'd save them. He hadn't known the spear wasn't real.

"I should have known," he says, between gasps. The fog breaks open, and the courtyard spreads wide in front of him. Mike isn't looking at him anymore, he's not looking at anything, he's just staring up at a black sky.

A cool hand covers his forehead. The solid weight's so unexpected Donnie stops, mid-gasp, and opens his eyes. Mikey — Mikey, not Mike, burned but whole and smiling — lifts his hand, then lets it settle on Donnie's shoulder.

"You need a hug, D," he says, utterly serious despite the smile, and Donnie just nods. No point in denying it, especially when the world's still shifting around him, and the only real things are him and Mikey.

Somewhere, buried inside six feet and change of muscle and misdirection, fifteen-year-old Mikey is still alive and well and ready to cling to anyone who will let him. Donnie braces for impact as Mikey swoops down and wraps both arms around Donnie's neck. Their cheeks smash together, almost hard enough to bruise, but Mikey somehow manages to avoid hitting Donnie's bad arm, or the wound on his leg. The hug's still this side of too tight, the way all Mikey's best hugs are, and a little of Donnie's heartsick vertigo breaks apart. This is real, this is his brother. He came home.

He killed the Boar.

Something leaps in the back of his head, a flash and gone. It might be happiness. It might be anything. Donnie closes his eyes again. He wants to hug Mikey back, but something stops him. It takes a few seconds for Donnie to realize it's guilt, and grief, in equal, bitter measure.

He hears the wind, for just a heartbeat, and then the fog shrouds him again.

"Soon as Raph and Leo get back," Mikey says into the side of Donnie's head, "we're blowin' this popsicle stand. The grannies are awake."

The spring Usagi so abruptly left behind has barely begun its abundance. Each night is blessed with gentle rain, each morning dawns limpid and full of grace, and all about him are green fields and the smell of wildflowers.

It makes him cringe to remember his words to Leonardo and his brothers: Your city smells like filth. No more than the truth, but surely he could have held his tongue, or said it to Leonardo alone. How Raphael held back from striking him, Usagi does not know. He is, however, grateful — it is enough for one lifetime that he fought Splinter, and won. Leonardo will not look so kindly on Usagi fighting one of his brothers.

The thought of Leonardo — Leo, as Usagi has finally begun to call his friend, in his heart — sends a pang through Usagi's chest. He did no more than Leonardo — Leo — asked. He carried Leo's family to the safest place he knew, and swore silently that they would remain that while he still had breath in his lungs and a sword in his hand — but he cannot ignore the words circling through his mind: Craven. Coward. Faithless. Your friend needed you, though he said he did not, and you left.

If Leo and his brothers have died — if their world has fallen —

Usagi keeps his eyes on the road. These thoughts help no one and nothing, whether they remain speculation or become fact. He must focus on what can be done, and his promised duty. The needed supplies have been gathered, and now he may focus upon his friends, without distraction, until the time comes for them to return home.

Other than a few trees fallen across his path, the rest of his journey to the temple is without delay or disaster. The paths circling the temple are thick mud in places, and he fears for the state of the garden, but the temple itself endured the storm without any damage Usagi can see. The temple doors open as he approaches, and the head priest steps out, with Splinter following behind. The rat gives him a lofty, distant nod, and stays near the doors. The priest, however, comes to Usagi with all speed, his face serious.

"How do they fare?" Usagi asks as he dismounts, pitching his voice too low for Splinter's ears. A petty maneuver, but he is not above such small satisfactions. "Once again, I must thank you for your —"

"She is here," the priest interrupts. "The one you told us of, the red-haired girl with the gifts, she is here —"

"What?" April, alive! Usagi's heart gives a fierce, joyous clench — the universe may thrive on caprice, but it has its turns of generosity too — before confusion descends. "How did she come to be here? Tell me!"

He only realizes he has taken the priest's arm in his hand when the priest pulls back, but his attempted apology is waved away.

"The storm brought her," the priest says. "The gods opened the ways between worlds, and through water she traveled. But she has been scourged, for she traveled a long way, and did not come to us…whole."

Oh, April, Usagi thinks. "May I see her?" he asks.

Before the priest can answer, Casey Jones appears.

"Usagi!" The human barrels down the steps to crush Usagi in a hug. "Man, let me tell you, it is awesome to see you. You good? You okay? Oh, you totally are."

"Casey," Usagi says, aware of all eyes on him while he untangles himself from Casey's hug — a difficult proposition, since Casey seems to have sprouted several extra limbs. "How is April? I have just heard she —"

"Oh, she's back." Casey backs away, still beaming. "She's alive, Usagi."

Casey's joy is infectious when he celebrates something as simple as a victory in a recreational competition; it is all-illuminating wants to burst out laughing.

"Is she ready to speak?" Usagi knows little about what a scourging entails, though the name itself has him convinced he never wants to experience one. "I do not wish to disturb her."

Casey steers them up the stairs, past the head priest, past Splinter — who does not even earn a backwards glance from Casey, Usagi notes. "You won't be," Casey says, all airy confidence. "She's not really up to a lot of movin' around — not that anyone really wants to say so, because…I mean, you've met April, so you know."

"I do," Usagi replies, with feeling. One does not know April O'Neil for almost ten years without being the target of her temper at least once. More than once.

"But she's talkin' and stuff, and the priests — these guys are pretty badass for a bunch of religious dudes, they remind me of Father Mackey back home, do not cross that guy — say she'll be all right. Just —" Casey's cheer falters, as they stop in front of a closed door. "Just…she's still in rough shape. So don't be surprised if she — if she looks — she's —" Words seem to fail him, and he sighs.

Instead of finishing his sentence, Casey pushes open the door.

Angel looks up when they enter, her hair falling in a heavy cataract past her shoulders. He has interrupted her rest, judging by the sleepy guilt that crosses her face. "Hey," she says, and smiles, though he is little more than a stranger to her, and she is far from home. Barely out of childhood, as well — but brave, and steady.

Usagi smiles back, nodding to the girl, and then turns to the figure in the low bed near the window.

April stares out the window, her face dappled by the sunlight tumbling through the leaves outside, and does not turn around as Casey closes the door behind them. A swell of rage and pity rises in Usagi's chest; it is an injustice, to see April bundled into bed like a frail old woman.

Her eyes are open, but Usagi doubts she sees anything in front of her. It is a look he has seen before, on fellow warriors, when the horrors in their heads outnumbered any goodness within or without, and a final retreat was sounded. Some returned to fight once more. More did not. If Usagi gambled, he would place every coin he had on April being the former — but some of that faith is shaken, seeing her grey-skinned, dull, and shivering under a blanket in a bare room.

Then she blinks, and lifts her head from her pillow. Usagi watches focus flow back into her gaze, and stands a little straighter before her.

"Usagi," she says, in a wretched voice. "Good to see you." She smiles, then winces, and lifts a hand to her bandaged cheek. "Sorry for not getting up."

"There is no need to apologize," he says, kneeling beside her bed. Casey crouches next to him, his hand close to April's and even Angel inches forward, until she joins the little circle. "I am glad to see you too, April."

That she is injured does not startle him, but Usagi feels real shock when he sees April's hair is clipped short, and that she, always on the thin side of slender, is passing gaunt. And her eyes, the blue irises razor-keen, are red-rimmed and swollen.

"Yeah, I look like shit," she says, turning her face back to the window. "Guess that's the price you pay when you take a god on alone. But you should see the other guy."

No reply seems sufficient. Usagi does not attempt one.

"So what now?" Angel asks, around a mouthful of sweater cuff. When all turn to look at her, she spits it out and shrugs shyly. "What are we doing? Are we…stuck here?"

She is only nineteen, Usagi reminds himself. Her life is collateral damage. It makes him ache for her, so he reaches out with his other hand, ready to stop if she recoils, but April moves far quicker. She sits up, like every movement pains her, and squeezes Angel's shoulder.

"We won't be here forever," April says, not breaking eye contact. "We won't, Angel. You'll see your gran again."

The girl gives April a wavering smile, then huddles back into her sweater.

"Red," says Casey, carefully. "Why do you —"

April groans, eyes rolling. "I'm not just staring out the window, dumbass," she says, in the most affectionate and insulting tone Usagi thinks he has ever heard. "I'm trying to find a way home. I'm trying to find Donnie." She taps her temple, hard enough for Usagi to hear each tiny thud. "So if you ever want to see Raph again, shut up and let me work."

"Wow, sorry," Casey mutters, but he slides an arm around April's shoulders, and she leans into him. "What can I do?" he says, asking the question echoing through Usagi's mind, and no doubt Angel's.

"Just…stay." April's eyes close. She is so weary, so thin even her voice is threadbare, but she burns, and Usagi sees, with perfect clarity, why Donatello has loved her so, all these many years. "Don't leave me."

Casey kisses her temple. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

"Me neither," says Angel. She moves to the other side of April's bed, and grabs her free hand.

Usagi takes a deep breath. Hope is such a fragile thing, and never has it been more fragile than in this room. Leo could be dead, Donatello defeated, and the Boar triumphant — but their watch is not over.

And Usagi promised Leo.

"We will not leave you," he says, cradling April's hand in both of his.

If Donnie had a dollar for every time he'd ever heard Mikey say It's gonna be fine!, he'd be able to give up fleecing conservative super-PACs permanently. Usually those four words lead to very bad places — the fourth, fifth, and sixth trips to Dimension X; the Battle Nexus; that time Raph got turned into a fairy princess — so Donnie's prepared for disaster.

What he is not prepared for is being bundled into an octogenarian's station wagon, driven past five National Guard security checkpoints, and then smuggled into the Apartment That Time Forgot. If he could feel anything, he'd be holding back a laugh at the fact that all the furniture in sight is wrapped in plastic, and every flat surface is covered by Precious Moments figurines.

Apart from the secrecy of getting through the checkpoints, the three days Donnie and his brothers spend with the grannies are slow and peaceful. Donnie sleeps, wakes up to eat, falls asleep again, and only breaks the routine to spend hours soaking in Anna's whirlpool tub. He makes a note, in one of the moments when the fog lifts, to make sure she never pays another heating or water bill in her life.

The fog rolls back, inch by inch, and it takes all the willpower Donnie's got left not to cling to it, and sink away from the world. He's pretty sure no one would blame him, if they knew what he'd seen — but no one knows, no matter how delicately Leo hints and how much Mikey pouts. They want to help, but he's not sure he deserves it. Why should anyone else have to see what's inside his head?

He can barely stand for his brothers to be out of sight, but he can barely stand to look at them. As long as he can hear them, though, the fog holds back the panic, and his sleep stays dreamless.

So he eats, and sleeps, and floats in warm water, and grieves, alone. And on the third day, they go home. Donnie carries the spear on his back, and tries not to think about it.

The lair is no better and no worse than he expects. Most of the loose rubble's been cleared away, but dark stains cover the common room floor, and the hole in the wall still gapes wide. None of it keeps him from breathing a sigh of relief as soon as he walks through the turnstiles; he even smiles, just a little, when he smells the cool, dank scents of home.

"Home sweet home," Mikey says, throwing out his arms and spinning in a circle. "I love the grannies, but man it is good to be back, bros."

"Yeah, till you see the fridge," Raph says, stomping down the stairs. "You can clean that out, by the way."

"We're all going to help clean up," Leo interrupts, before Mikey's yelp of betrayal can go any farther. "There's plenty to do. But Mikey?"

"Yeah?"

"You're cleaning the fridge."

Donnie snorts a laugh, then freezes — the sound's so unfamiliar, and echoes so much in the half-empty space, that he just wants to crawl inside his shell and hide there until the sound disappears, and his brothers stop staring at him, wide-eyed.

But Mikey's grinning, a shaky grin but still a grin, and Leo's smiling too, with even Raph fighting to keep a straight face behind him.

Donnie wonders how the last few days have looked, from the outside. While he was nestled in his great numbing fog, his brothers had to watch him sleep and eat and barely talk, no doubt wondering whether or not he was drifting away forever. Again.

He's had his time to be selfish. Sooner or later, someone is going to need his family again, and they have to be ready. They have to be together.

But how can we be together, when April and Casey are —

The fog rolls in, calm and blank. He tries to shrug it off, push it away, but that means coming right up against everything the fog is hiding: the broken, ragged family, the wind, the teeth marks in —

He sinks.

His brothers' smiles fade. Already Mikey's turning toward the kitchen, with Leo just a few steps behind. Raph lingers the longest, but in the end he turns around too, his shell coming up like a wall between them.

"You know, I thought you'd have gotten this fixed by now. I mean, you want to find April, right?"

Donnie doesn't sigh, because even that feels like it would take far more energy than he's got, but he does close his eyes. "Do you need something, Raph?"

"Nah. It's not like Casey, and Angel, and Sensei're waiting to come home, or anything. I'm good. I'm real good." The sound of Raph dropping into one of the spare lab chairs fills the room.

"Then why are you here?" Donnie opens his eyes. At the edge of his vision, he sees Raph's feet blur past as Raph spins in his chair. "Don't you have a wall to rebuild?"

"Leo and Mikey are doing just fine with that." Raph keeps spinning in silence. Donnie's fine with letting him. Sooner or later, Raph will get bored and punch him and wander off, and then he can go back to trying to rebuild the portal capacitors.

April's alive. The other him promised. If he can just get the portal working, he can bring everyone home, and then he can find her, wherever she is.

If she wants you after all this, comes the thin, sneering voice in the back of his head. After she knows everything.

Donnie swallows with a hard click in the back of his throat. He could be helping with the wall too, but half the time he looks at his brothers, he isn't seeing them, and his lab may be a mess but at least there's enough busy work here to keep him distracted for the next few weeks.

And then what? asks April. Donnie cringes a little at the sound of her voice, and a little fresh guilt bursts through the fog. Raph stops spinning. What'll you do when the lab's cleaned up? You can't hide forever, Donnie. What if you don't find us?

"This is getting old," says Raph, out of nowhere. His voice is far gentler than Donnie expects. "You keep doing — this, hiding out and not asking for help, and I'm tired of it. I don't want to keep chasing you down, Donnie."

"So why bother?" There's no force in his voice. Everything Donnie's got is going into holding the fog in place. Into his retreat. And he won't break this time, not till he's ready. He's lived through Raph being gentle, and he knows what to expect. "Come on, Raph. Just…leave me alone."

"What are you working on?"

"The p— the portal. Seriously, Raph, just —" Donnie's heart picks up, a sick throb in the back of his throat. "Just go. I'm fine. I just want —"

"Where does this go?" Raph asks, picking up a soldering iron and a handful of copper wires. "Do I just plug it into this thingie here? Yeah, that sounds right."

Donnie rips the motherboard out of Raph's hands a second before the soldering iron turns on, and glares at his smirking brother. Annoyance, vicious and hot, burns off the edge of the fog. "Get out," he snarls, knowing he's playing right into Raph's hands, unable to stop himself, and furious became of it. "Put it down, and get out."

"Oh, nice, a nail gun."

"Raph!"

"We've done this dance, Donnie." Raph's hand closes around his wrist, and squeezes until the bones in Donnie's arm ache. "And I don't know why I have to keep telling the smartest guy I know that we don't work unless we're a team."

"So what do you want?" Donnie tries to pull his arm away. After a few tugs, Raph lets go. "You want a big confession? You want to know what happened while I…" He shakes his head till his vision blurs. The world tries to slip away, to turn grey and cold again, and Donnie shuts his eyes. "Get out."

"I want you to talk to us, Donnie. You killing the Boar — it's not gonna mean anything if you just beat yourself up for the rest of your life."

"It doesn't mean anything now!" Donnie shouts, eyes burning. "A hundred and seventeen people died, Raph, because I didn't come back fast enough, and before that, I couldn't — I promised, and I couldn't save them." He swallows, and finally meets Raph's eyes.

Raph stares back, waiting. "Who?" he says, finally. But he's not dumb, oh, no, not at all, and somewhere, deep down, Donnie knows Raph already understands.

For an instant, Raphael meets Donnie's eyes, old and tired and calm, and then Raph is back, so many years younger and real and alive.

He could slip into the fog forever, and keep those three grey days a secret till he dies — but what kind of epitaph is that for the ones who kept fighting, while everything fell apart? How does that honor all they sacrificed, and everything the other him endured? They have a right to this victory, too.

He'll always carry this poisonous little voice in the back of his head, telling him unless he can fix everything, and make it whole and clean again, he won't be welcome. What good are you, it'll say, when you couldn't catch April? When you couldn't save the other family? Who will want you unless you can win?

Nothing is ever pure. The heroes never win without sacrifice. The knight kills the dragon but he bleeds from his bitten hand forever. He will always carry this guilt, he will always have failed that broken family, and he will always wonder if he could have saved those New Yorkers, if he'd just moved a little faster.

But the Boar is dead. He kept that one, fundamental promise. Whatever comes next, he ended it, and now his world, and all the others that come after, are safe.

It's not perfect. But it's enough.

Raph is still staring at him, eyes glittering with badly-hidden impatience, and Donnie has to force down a smile. How does Raph keep managing to surprise him, and be the one to pull Donnie back?

Some mysteries are never meant to be solved, Donnie tells himself, as Raph sighs and arches his brows. The message is crystal-clear; he's not going anywhere till Donnie answers his question.

"It was…you," he says, when he finally finds his voice. He chokes on his next words; the fog won't survive if he keeps talking, but Raph is — god, for the second time in a row — Raph is right. The story has to be told, and he doesn't have to carry it alone.

They don't work if they're not working together. Donnie thinks of the spear, locked away in the trunk under his desk, and then looks up at Raph.

"Can you get Leo and Mikey?" Donnie asks. "I'd…prefer to tell this just once."

Raph grins, wide and toothy, and punches Donnie in the shoulder on his way out. When the lab is empty again, Donnie takes a deep breath, eyes still burning, and picks up the soldering iron. He can keep working while he talks, he tells himself. He's always happier when he has something to do with his hands.

In the back of his mind, the fog begins to burn away, and a golden light shines through it.

The tale is told. There are no few tears, no few embraces. How precious these brothers are, how brief. Donatello tries to spare them the worst of it — of course he would, of course he will — but it pours out of him, the story of his three days in the dying world, and while the burden is no lighter, it no longer strangles him so.

The Bull almost smiles. It is weary, and must tread quietly now that the Boar's heavier steps do not disguise its own, but it can feel joy for these few seconds, while its Champion lays down his head, and weeps.

It will come to both its Champions soon, and reckon its debt.

For now, it listens to Donatello's story, and knows that the telling alone is a fundamental shift in this world's path. The time of increments is over.

Now the Bull does not feel joy, but satisfaction. In its black and iron-veined heart, it pities the Boar, who never did.

Watching a storm roll in over the New York skyline is one of April's favorite things. The heavy grey thunderheads, the jagged bursts of lightning, and the fresh, wide-awake smell in the air — she doesn't care if she gets soaked once the storm hits, it's worth every second of running for shelter just to feel that force bearing down on the city, and promising to wash it clean.

She never thought about what it would be like to watch a storm sweep over the mountains, with nothing but fields in front of her and the forest at her back, with the temple and its grounds the one lonely sentinel standing before the storm.

Careful, April, you're getting all pretentious out here by yourself.

But she doesn't go in, not even when the air turns from fresh to chilly, and the first spatters of rain hit her face. She pulls the collar of her robe a little tighter at her neck, and closes her eyes as the first rumble of thunder sounds over the fields.

When she woke up that morning, she knew the storm was coming. Something in the air, a faint hint of electricity over the smell of sweet grass and tilled soil, or a new clarity to her vision — April isn't sure, but she's known, all day, that something is coming, and she's known she needs to be outside to greet it.

The storm is the first thing in weeks she's been sure of. Her body's healing, not as quickly as it would if she used her powers, but siphoning energy off her friends quietly disgusts her, so she's stuck with a broken collarbone and bruised ribs, along with the ragged scar on her cheek. She doesn't trust the gaunt, short-haired woman who looks back at her whenever she passes a mirror, so she's stopped looking.

Not trusting her body's nothing new. April knows it'll pass. What scares her, deep under her skin, is the dream: she's back in the room with the spear, with O'Neil bent over her, drooling and laughing. And behind O'Neil, his eyes black and with the warhounds swarming around his legs, is Donnie. He watches, and he smiles, as O'Neil — the Boar — eats her alive.

For two weeks, she's had that dream every night, sometimes more than once, and she wakes up sweating and gasping loud enough to wake up everyone in the room. Casey hugs her till she stops shaking, but when they put out the candles and the others are asleep again, she lies awake, trying not to give in to her exhaustion, and casts out her mind as far as it will go.

If Donnie is out there, she'll find him, but the dream makes her wonder if he'll be the Donnie she knows, the Donnie she loves, when she finally does.

Two weeks. April knows Casey and Usagi are worried, and that they talk about her whenever they get a moment alone together, but she can't bring herself to care. She has to stay focused, and push herself harder, farther, until she can reach Donnie, wherever he is. As for the rest — she'll worry about that later.

Not your best strategy, she tells herself. And yet, she keeps reaching, longing for home, longing for Donnie. It all comes out to the same thing in the end.

The rain slams against the gravel, nearly loud enough to hide the sound of the door opening. April keeps her eyes closed as Casey's mind bumps up against her, and doesn't turn his way when he reaches her side.

"Dang," he says, throwing a too-skinny arm over her shoulders — she's not the only one still clawing her way back from a scourge. "That's a big one."

"I see you've absorbed Usagi's talent for understatement," she says, not quite smiling.

"When in Rome, Red, when in Rome." He falls quiet, down to the steady presence of his mind, and April leans against him, relishing his warmth, and the beat of his heart against her shoulder.

"You think it's gonna rain all night?" Casey asks, before a vicious crack of thunder breaks the air. They both jump, and Casey lets out a rueful laugh. "Look at us, total city kids."

"I'm surprised you haven't gone totally insane from being away from the Rangers this long," April replies.

Casey kicks one of the wooden posts. "I'm tryin' not to think about it. But thanks for remindin' me."

"Any time." The storm's blocked out the sun, but April can see a faint glow on the mountains where the light breaks over the edge of the clouds. "It won't last much longer," she says, and feels Casey's sigh.

"I hope not, we're all outta sandbags." He sighs again, and jumps — not quite so far this time — as another rumble of thunder bursts overhead. "Do you — you don't feel anythin', do you?"

April shakes her head. She can't bring herself to say no to Casey, who's not just waiting to get home to Raph, but to his dad, and his sister, and the whole life he's managed to keep while still running with the turtles. She's always envied how he can straddle both worlds, when she's never stayed balanced for long.

"I'll keep trying," she promises, and Casey nods without looking at her. Neither of them need to say that even if April does find Donnie, it doesn't mean she'll have found a way home, or that they'll have a home to go back to.

She shivers, huddles closer to Casey and keeps her eye on the light as it tumbles down the mountains behind the storm.

I don't care if you haven't won, she thinks at the silent expanse ringing the world. I just want to see you, Donnie. Just be alive.

Nothing. Not even a whisper that anyone or anything is listening. Rain sheets through the fields and gusts into her face, and she sucks in a breath as a chill settles over her skin.

The journey here had been so cold, and the cold had lasted forever. But beneath the cold was the sound of water — and maybe, if water brought her here, it can take her home.

April steps out of the circle of Casey's arm, and slowly goes down the stairs.

"Uh, Red?" Casey calls. "What're you doin'?"

She ignores him, gasping when the rain drenches her to the skin, and picks her way across the loose gravel and into the fields. The ground squelches under her bare feet with every step.

Come on, Donnie, you have to meet me halfway. I'm trying.

She reaches out, not just far but wide, till her vision goes white and all she hears is the rain. The sun follows the storm and high overhead the stars turn in their deathless circles, but the rain is all that matters. She tilts her face to it, and thinks of home.

"I got it!" Donnie yells. "Guys, I —" He forgets the rest of what he was going to say when the portal's extravagant swirls of color coalesce, then solidify into the image of a half-drowned field. A silent wind presses the grasses flat, but something stands tall at the far edge of the field. Faded blue cloth flutters, just as dull as everything around it — but then a red-gold flash fills his eyes.

The light in the back of his head burns, a miniature sun.

"Dammit, Donnie," April says, through chattering teeth. She drags herself forward another few feet, mud thick on her soles. "Are you there?" Her voice breaks, and her control falters. For a moment, she's just cold and wet, shivering in the wind and rain, cringing when the thunder rumbles above her.

But she will not stop, not until she knows. Not until she sees him again. She pushes her mind forward, again and again, until the rain goes silent and she burns, alone, in a dark universe.

One line of code left. Donnie types it one-handed, his other hand hovering inches from the portal. His screen flashes the system locked code, but he doesn't spare it a glance. How could he, when he can see her, clear and shining and alive, and almost close enough to touch?

"Dude," whispers Mikey. "Come on, bring her home."

Leo and Raph murmur in agreement, but Donnie ignores them just as he ignored his computer. He has seconds left before the portal powers down, not long enough to bring her home, or get close enough to call her name.

He's got time for a wish, that's all.

A flick of the wrist, and his message spirals through the eternal, silent space between universes, and tumbles in a gold-and-green blur down toward April's outstretched hand.

There are no dandelions in Usagi's world. None at all, except the one falling slowly, sweetly, out of the leaden clouds. April catches it, cradles it in her palm, and holds her breath.

And then, she starts to laugh. The storm is moving on, but she isn't worried. How could she worry, when the dandelion's stem still holds the marks from Donnie's fingers? It's a message, as eloquent as she could ask for, and a promise: soon.

Donnie's never broken a promise to her, and he wouldn't start now. All she has to do is be patient, for just a little longer.

"Hurry," she tells the dandelion, while the last of the storm blows past her.

A night separates them, and nothing more. Time, death, fear; none of these things could defeat the Champions. What is distance, then, these two, who between them brought low a god? Simply one more challenge to be solved.

One question remains, and the Bull must ask now, before it fades from their lives, its bargain fulfilled: what reward do you claim, for your service?

The Champions' dreaming minds respond, in bright, savage images, in emotion sleek and bloody. It does not surprise the Bull that they ask the same boon. How could they not, these Champions, who have bound themselves to each other not just in one world, but two?

Let that lost family be together, they ask. Let them be whole again.

A simple request. The Bull has already granted it, though its Champions do not know. Their lives are their reward, lived twice, and now lived freely. Even the angry daughter waits, not lost, but not yet found.

That time will come. The Bull will not stint them now, its brave Champions, and it will not forget. They will live, and they will die, but they will not fade.

And they are together, now, again.

The Bull watches them as they sleep. It will not see them again, and it must take its fill while it can. Now it goes to other battles, in stranger worlds than these.

The spear it leaves to Donatello: a promise, that the time of Champions is over.

Its hooves leave no marks as it walks away.

April comes through the portal last, whether by accident or design or by Casey Jones once more shitting all over Donnie's life. Whatever the reason, Donnie's there, waiting with both hands held out to catch her as she steps from Usagi's universe to theirs. Everyone is hugging and shouting, Mikey and Casey are crying and Raph is definitely not, but it's all just senseless, wild noise in Donnie's ears. All he hears is his pulse, and all he sees is April, reaching out for him just like he's reaching out for her.

She's bandaged and too thin, her hair falls in ragged strands across her forehead, but Donnie would know her anywhere, no matter how long or how far she traveled. He's known her by heart since he was fifteen, and he will know her for the rest of his life.

"April," he whispers, and she makes a thin, glad sound that makes his hands ache.

They stare at each other, her good hand cradled in both of his, not smiling, not even breathing, until April bursts into tears and throws her arm around his neck. She has to push onto her toes to do it, but Donnie sweeps her off the ground as soon as he feels her fingers on his shell and buries his face in her neck. The brisk, astringent smell of herbs hits his nose, along with tea and woodsmoke, and underneath it all is April, apples and salt and sun-warmed skin. He closes his eyes, breathes her in in huge, shaking gasps. Then her mouth is on his cheek, his eyes, the line of his jaw, soft and hot, and he turns his head to kiss her back.

He tastes tea on her lips, and then nothing but her. Maybe he says her name again, maybe she says his, but the words are swallowed by that one nearly-endless kiss.

You're here, he thinks, almost crying himself. You're alive. And where that light blazes in the back of his head, he hears April's voice echoing his: You're here. You're alive. I love you.

Raph glares at Casey from the other side of his room as he changes the bandage on his arm. "You're an idiot," he says, for the third time.

Casey rolls his eyes and tugs off his shirt. "We just gonna talk all night, or are we gonna get to the good stuff? I mean, you callin' me names gets me hot, but why talk when we could just —"

It's still scary, how fast the turtles move when they want to. Raph may be a brick shithouse but he can move at the speed of light, and pretty much silently too. He's up in Casey's space before Casey can take a breath, jabbing his finger into Casey's chest.

"Shut up," Raph hisses, eyes narrowed to slits. It's pretty damn hot, honestly, but Casey shoves down what he wants to say, and listens. "Just, look, I…I missed you." He kicks the floor, then turns his glare up to eleven, like he's daring Casey to start in on him.

"Hey." Casey swings both arms around Raph's neck. "I'm not goin' anywhere again. It was boring as hell there. So you're stuck with me." He means it, too. There's no one else for him, just Raph, because only Raph can take Casey's shit and shovel it right back at him.

Not just that, but Casey's not gonna be the one to get all mushy. That's Donnie and April's job. He and Raph, they just get down to business. They're awesome like that. And god, it's so good to be back in Raph's messy room, with the dip in the mattress from Raph's shell and extra bandannas and skate laces spread all over the place, with Raph scowling up at him.

Raph snorts, but his eyes — not that Casey would ever say this, because Casey likes being alive and with all his limbs attached — get a little soft. "Good," says Raph. "Just — don't do that again. Okay?"

All right, Casey Jones has held on long enough. He bends down, till his mouth's at Raph's ear, and whispers "I promise, princess."

It's worth the bruises. Always is.

Mikey's got a whole big speech ready — And heeeeeeere she is! Fresh from the planet of the samurai bunnies, it's Angel! She's ready to hang up her traveling shoes and get some homecooked meals, and she's not the only one! — but it falls right out of his head when Milagros opens her apartment door and lets out a total shriek. Angel gets swallowed in the world's biggest hug — Mikey's a great hugger, one of the best, but he's never gonna beat a granny-hug — and then the rest of the grannies pile out of the kitchen and start hugging her too.

It's still not clear if the grannies really get what went on these past couple months, but Mikey's not gonna be the one to break the mood and tell them. Maybe later, when all the hugging's done.

Might take a while, though, because it doesn't look like Milagros is letting go of Angel anytime soon. Fine with him. He smells lasagna, and snickerdoodles, but before he can sneak into the kitchen, someone pulls him into the hug and well, Mikey's not gonna turn that down. Just part of the job, right?

Two weeks in Usagi's world has done wonders for Splinter; his side doesn't seem to bother him at all, and his eyes look a little brighter than usual. He strokes his beard, and beams down at Leo, and tells him he's proud of his sons — all of them, Splinter makes sure to clarify, while pointedly not looking at Usagi.

Leo bows his head, ever-dutiful, then gives his father another gentle hug. Splinter pats him on the shell, humming to himself, then lowers himself onto the couch and sighs contentedly.

Fairly anti-climactic, as far as reunions go, but Leo's not going to complain. They won, and they're all alive. They're all home. New York is scarred forever, Slash has disappeared, and Karai is still out there — but he'll worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, he'll give thanks for victory, and for the chance to keep fighting, side by side with his family.

It's more than he thought he would ever have again, and even if he spends the rest of his life thanking Donnie, it's never going to be enough.

Still, he can try. But first, he has another set of thanks to give. And if that saves him from wondering where April and Donnie, and Raph and Casey, have gotten off to — well, all the better. There are some reunions Leo refuses to contemplate.

He shifts a little closer to Usagi's side of the couch, close enough to let their shoulders touch. "Usagi," he begins, but his friend places a warm hand on his wrist.

"It is good to see you again, Leo," says Usagi, squeezing lightly.

The unexpected nickname warms Leo, straight through, and all he can do is smile foolishly. "Likewise," he murmurs, as an answering smile spreads across Usagi's face, and Splinter begins to snore a few feet away.

There'll be time later to share their stories, after they've slept and eaten and paid more than three seconds of attention to the rest of the world. For right now, April's content to stay where she is, curled against Donnie's side with her head on his shoulder and his hand in her hair. She feels like she's floating in cool water, buoyed up not just by happiness — though god knows she's feeling plenty of that — but by the sweet current of Donnie's mind.

Sweet Donnie, patient, brilliant, brave Donnie, who keeps staring at her like he can't believe she's real. He holds her as gently as a soap bubble, with just one finger tracing light circles on her scalp.

She curls closer, and feels his sigh stir the ragged ends of her hair. It's too cold to stay outside much longer, but there's a new, clean edge to the breeze, and the grey-stained horizon is slowly turning to gold. Spring has barely gotten started, but already she feels the summer approaching: green leaves and laughter and driving late at night with the windows down and Donnie next to her, through all of it.

April grins at the sunrise, her heart as light as a song, and then turns around to face Donnie. He smiles down at her, sweet and indomitable and infinitely precious, infinitely loved.

If April could stretch one moment out forever, it would be this one, so they could survive in the warmth of each other's happiness even after the universe died of heat death — but she won't miss what comes next, not for anything.

Donnie smooths a loose strand of hair out of her eyes, then bends his head to kiss her. They're still kissing when the sun comes up. The rooftops are theirs, the morning is theirs, and the summer, when it comes, will be theirs, too. There's no reason to hurry. Nothing, in this universe or any other, can take this moment from them.

Finally, April thinks, as Donnie kisses her again, we're ready to start.

A/N: I can't quite find the words to describe how I'm feeling right now. This story has been an adventure, a learning experience, a challenge, and absolutely terrifying, all at once. Part of me can't quite believe it's done.

Thank you, thank you, thank you all for reading, for commenting, for subscribing and kudos-ing, and for supporting this story. It means the world to me