Disclaimer: Does anyone have any idea of how much money I would make if I did own them? That would be insane…

Author Notes: So here we go, probably one of the most anticipated chapters so far in this story.

Also I need to apologize. When I had started Picking Up the Pieces I hadn't expected how it would turn out in the middle having only the beginning and end really worked out. Initially there was going to be a different reason why Don went to the junkyard alone but I found myself wanting more family drama and guilty brothers from this whole ordeal.

Therefore -and I'm surprised no one caught this- what Leo says at the end of Ch 7: Very Early morning Snack doesn't actually fit in with what happens in the story. Oooopss… anyway, that'll be fixed in the proofread of Picking Up the Pieces with a translation of the text at the end of this chapter.

And the Pieces Fall Together

Chapter Ten: Early Morning Promises

I let my head rest back against the soft cushion on the armchair as the anchor man drones on about the latest sports news. Really I could care less about the latest in sports, about the only one of us who really pays attention to it is Raphael and that's more so he knows what Casey is talking about so that they can trash talk other teams. Actually, the only reason any of us even watch a sporting event is when the Olympics are on or there is nothing else to watch or Casey comes over and hijacks our television.

Thankfully that's not often, and we can usually wrestle the remote away from him if it gets really bad, but the news does help to provide some background noise in the otherwise silent lair. The drone of the news anchor and sportscaster allow me some time to think while their voices become little more than white noise that only add to the tranquility of the sounds of my family sleeping.. Well… except for Raph's snoring…There will never be anything peaceful about that.

I just can't stop thinking about Donatello and his expression as he fought me. He was so scared so determined. Ever since Casey called us and told us he had just been in their apartment he's been running scared from us except for that brief moment with both myself and Raph. Then he had been leary, cautious, the same as when he first woke up here. But now that I look back over the past couple of hours, underneath all that caution and fear, there were brief glimpses of our Don.

Stepping in to protect Casey even though he didn't know him. The look of concentration on his face when he was trying to figure out what Mikey was saying through charades. His reaction to April was almost the exact same as the first time she directed her sole attention on him shortly after we saved her. Using pepper to distract me so he could get away? Typical Don move when trying to outsmart a more powerful enemy.

We just have to figure out ways to remind him of who he is. April mentioned that most drugs have half lives so whatever they gave him will fade out eventually. Hopefully. We just have to be patient, show him that we are not a threat and maybe, just maybe, if we remind him enough, he'll figure out who he is and who we are. Then we can get back at whoever did this to him in the first place.

It's small, but in the stillness of the lair the sound of the bathroom door unlocking was like that of a shotgun going off, and it was all I could do not to leap out of my chair. Not a good idea. I don't want to startle him. I don't want to scare him into hiding again. Just have to wait. Be patience.

The door creaks as the knob is turned and Don pushes the door open the barest of cracks before pausing and waiting. I want to go over and pull it open so bad but Master Splinter had a point. It will be better if he came to us rather than us trying to force him to come.

It's torture waiting for the door to open more so I focus on my breathing while I wait. In and out, in and out. My patience is rewarded and I can't help small grin that spreads across my face as Donatello peeks out around the door frame. His eyes automatically gravitate to the television as the only source of movement and light in the room and he freezes for a moment when he sees me. I keep counting my breaths and remain still as he watches me with the same wary uncertainty he had when we had first met.

After a long moment he looks away, glancing along either side of the door and then up to the balcony above him. He's probably use to getting jumped on from above at this point. Still after another quick scan he finally steps out of the bathroom and the goofy grin on my face breaks into a full blown smile. Now we're getting somewhere.

Don's frowning slightly as he watches me. I have a feeling that he is not going to be letting go of that door handle or getting anywhere near me on his own accord so I slowly get out of the chair. I keep my eyes on him, if he even has a touch of fear show up on his face then I'll stop moving but right now I really just want to give my younger brother a hug.

I...I've missed him.

He looks wary and uncertain still but he stands his ground as I slowly approach him. When I'm about arms length away he tenses up and says, "Tipw?" Does that mean what? I let out a small chuckle, given the situation it wouldn't surprise me if it was. I take his arm and pull him into a gentle hug, ready to let go the moment he tries to pull away.

He doesn't though, for a moment he freezes, tense as a pole in my arms and then I feel his arms slowly wrap around my shell. Most of the tension drains out of him as he leans against me slightly. I tighten my arms just a bit and let the side of my head lightly press against his and I enjoy the brief moment. Don seems to enjoy it too, after letting his head rest against my shoulder he turns and tucks his face into the side of my neck. Just like how he usually responds to someone hugging him.

Just another bit of proof that he does remember who he was before...

"Wipcfx Oevl," he suddenly mumbles into my collar bone. "H ylpeer cllmlm bcl bk wilxl."

Cue another dork grin from me and I nuzzle the side of his head lightly. "It's going to be okay, Don. It's going to be okay." I give him one more gentle squeeze before letting him go though I do drag one hand down to his and squeeze that too before stepping back and giving him his space. No sense to over crowd him now that he is semi calm around me.

Before I left his room while he was still picking himself off the floor, Mikey did remind me that Don still hadn't eaten anything and told me to give him something if he woke. Of course, about the only way we seem to be able to communicate with Don right now is charades. Leave it to Mikey to come up with an idea like that. I 'ask' Don if he wants something to eat by miming eating an almond out of my hand. Even though I feel silly doing it, Don gets the point and nods his head. His stomach growls in counterpoint and I'm able to stop the laugh that really wants to burst out, settling for a shake of my head and a smile as I head for the kitchen.

Don heads right for the cabinets the minute we set foot in the kitchen. Does he really think I am going to let him cook for himself? I offered. I take him by the arm and push him into a seat at the table. Wow, Don really is still in there. I'd recognized that annoyed glare anywhere. "Rbv ylpeer mbc'w ipue wb nbbf pcrwihcj kby dl. H npc mb hw drxlek," he tries to stand and I push him back into his seat, holding my palm up to him when he gives me that annoyed look again.

After a moment longer in our staring contest, Don gives in and settles himself more comfortably in the seat with a small nod to me. Small victories. I'm glad that Don doesn't have the stubborn streak that Raph has. We would have been 'arguing' like that all night if he did.

I fall into the familiar rhythm of heating canned soup. The good thing is that Don's favorite canned soup is one that we always keep a large stockpile of for emergencies. Campbell's chicken noodle soup. When he was a really little kid it was about the only thing that Master Splinter could get him to eat half the time.

I doubt Don has drank much of anything lately so after I get the soup started I make a detour to the fridge and pull out a bottle of water, handing it over to him. He says something that I don't quite catch as he twists off the bottle top and begins sucking down the water like crazy. Not good. He can make himself really sick chugging water like that.

I wrap my hand around his own and pull the bottle gently away from him despite the fact he fights me for a moment before I take it from him completely. We glare at each other, his is more annoyance but that swiftly melts off to become one of more curiosity as he studies my face. I'm not sure if he understands what I want him to so I point at the clock -which he does a double take at- and spin my finger first at one speed and then at another much slower speed. I pretend too take a sip of water with my free hand and then making what I'm sure Mikey would call a 'gacking face' and point down my throat. It's about the only way I can think of charading an explanation and I hand the water back to Don who takes it looking a bit more confused than before and maybe a slight bit worried.

It's a look Don has given us more than once before when we were acting weird in the past.

Just another brief glimpse that he's still in there.

He takes a sip of water this time around and I can't help but give him a small smile. At least my charades made sense to him. I turn back to the stove, feeling his eyes as they track my movements about the kitchen as I get him a bowl of soup ladled up. I set it and a spoon in front of him only for him to turn and give a small bow to me still seated in his chair.

Well, that was a bit unexpected.

Don looks a bit flustered as if he's not sure what he did or why he did it. I take a step back and bow back to him in keeping with the tradition. I give him another smile as he looks more thoughtful now, with that small frown he usually has when he's trying to figure something out. It can't be easy having so much thrown at you that you only half remembering thing so I turn my shell on him and pretend to busy myself in the kitchen to give him some time to regroup and make myself a cup of tea.

After dawdling as much as I can I turn back to the kitchen table and join Don there with a small mug of green tea. Don is still stirring and blowing on his soup but I catch him eyeing my tea. I should probably offer him some but my eyes keep straying to his bound wrist. It looks like he tore up one of the older hand towels and used that as a temporary pressure bandage. That can't be comfortable.

I cautiously touch his arm, moving slowly and trying not to seem threatening. He stops eating his soup and looks towards me. I'm not sure how to say this with charades. I make a helpless gesture at his arm, hoping he'll get it.

He gives me a small nod before turning back to his soup. As carefully as I can I unwrap it, taking my time to undo the handful of knots he's tied in it to keep the mass together and giving his wrist some support, trying not to jar or harm him any further. It's all I can do not to wince in sympathy when I finally unearth his hand. It's swollen and I don't know much about medicine but I think he cracked his knuckles and maybe fractured something in his wrist. I'll have to talk to Raph about it in the morning and hopefully Don'll let him look over it.

I lay his hand down on the strips of fabric and then go to the freezer. An ice pack in a hand towel will help with the swelling and once that goes down somewhat I should be able to fit him with a splint. He let's out a small sigh of relief as I gently settle the ice pack over his hand and wrist. And now back to waiting.

I sip at my tea as Don sips at his soup, the clock offering a gently clicking in the background as I allow myself to relax a bit. I haven't been able to meditate much and I can feel it. A tension that sits inside me instead of dispersing outwards and away from me. Hopefully now that we have Don back, I'll be able to settle my mind at some point and release all this added stress that is try to bog me down.

Don suddenly looking up at the ceiling of the kitchen draws me out of my mental inspection and I sit up a bit. I lightly touch his arm. "Don?" I ask as my touch draws his attention back to me. "Are you okay?"

He blinks at me for a moment before smiling and giving me… a thumbs up? I wasn't expecting that. Don turns back to the last bit of his soup like nothing happened and I finish off the last of my tea. It may have been unexpected but at least it seems that he was signing the truth. He seems fine. Just incase I'll keep an eye on him.

It's been long enough for the swelling to go down in his wrist. I lift the ice pack up and look over it again. The skin on his knuckles are cracked and look raw, like the top few layers of skin were removed. Those need to be cleaned to ward off an possible infection. Raph is definitely going to have to look at this later to determine if it really is broken but a splint for now should help regardless if it is broken or just sprained.

I stand and head for the far side of the living room over to the door leading into DOn's lab. Sitting on the floor to the right of the door is the old beat up gray toolbox that I think was one of his first toolboxes. Now it acts as a small non-life threatening first aid kit, filled with everything needed to treat small to medium scraps and mild sprains. It it the focal point of several basic medical course that Don insists that we take every few months as a precaution.

I'm so glad he took the time to round us all up and made us practice. As I set the kit down next to Don and open it I fall into the familiar rhythm that Don taught us. Cleaning and then binding the cuts and scrapes on his knuckles as he sits up and investigates the contents of the case as I push them about and select the right sized splint for his wrist and use and ace bandage to secure it.

I give him two ibuprofen and reach to refill his water bott- oop. I stop moving as he reaches for my hand. Did I do something… Don points first at my empty mug and then back at himself. Tea? He wants tea? I smile and give him a nod. Tea? Don almost never drinks tea especially not at night and when he does it's always that green tea chamomile blend that he likes so much. It only takes a moment for the tea water to come back up to boil and to get another mug from the cupboard. I could use a refill myself so I portion out enough green tea with chamomile for two before taking it back to the table and rejoining my brother.

We sit for a moment in championable silence and it's almost like everything is back to normal. Don would occasionally join me for a late cup of tea before this all happened and we'd do the same thing now as we did then. Just sit next to each other and enjoy a cup of tea in the silence of the lair.

Shell, do I wish that was true, but I know that this is still just the beginning. We may have Don back and he may be slightly calmer now but it's still going to take time to gain his trust and then we are going to have to figure out a way to help him. If there is a way. Don sighs next to me as I frown into my tea. I can't think that way, until we have tried everything there is no reason to think that we can't do something...

"Oevl?" That's the first real word he's said since he sat down at the table. He's frowning at his tea as he continues to speak in that strange not language. Gibberish would probably be the best thing to call it I guess. "H'd… H'd xbyyr. Kby lvlyrwihcj wipw H'ul mbcl. Rbv pcm wil bwilyx tlyl chnl lcbvji wb ilea dl, wb wpfl dl hc, pcm pee H'ul mbcl hx jhul rbv wybvoel. H lulc pwwpnflm rbv. H mbc'w xvaabxl rbv'ul ipm dpcr ibvxe jvlxwx mb wipw olkbyl."

I listen with rapt attention as he talks, trying to make out anything that might be familiar. Sentence construction, verb conjugation, case usage, anything that might clue me into what he might be saying. I can't even seem to piece together a pattern, it just always sounds like babbling wit no rhyme or reason.

He heaves a sigh in exasperation. Now that sounded familar, "H fczt rbv npc'w vcmlyxwpcm p tbym bk tipw H gvxw xphm ovw H ipm wb wlee rbv ibt xbyyr H tpx kby lvlyrwihcj pcm wb wipcf rbv aybalyer."

He suddenly pushes the chair back and gets up from the table. Where is he- oh. Oh. I watch as he settles on his knees and bows low. Just like we do when we're bowing to Master Splinter while apologizing for something. I was not expecting that. "Wipcf rbv, Oevl, kby lvlyrwihcj rbv ipul mbcl kby dl."

I stand woodenly and then sink to my knees in front of him to accept his apology. I can't believes that he remembers this. This was one of the first things Sensei taught us when we were still children. If he's remembering things from that far back that has to be a good sign. Maybe he's not as lost as he is scrambled. Everything he remembers is still there it's just jumbled up into a mass that needs to be untangled.

He stay down a beat longer than he needed to before rising back up and settling back on his heels. He doesn't look at me, instead choosing to focus on the middle distance somewhere over my shoulder. Maybe he's remembering something, reliving a past memory? It's hard to tell. I wish I could just ask him but it's not like this was ever going to be that easy.

I stand up and offer him a hand. He seems surprised by this before taking it and I help him to his feet. I wonder if he remembers this? I rub his scalp like I use to do to him and Mikey when we were really little. Back then rubbing a scalp was like punching an arm now. Camaraderie and brotherly affection all rolled into one gesture.

Part of me wants to keep him awake and see what other familiar gesture he comes up with even if he doesn't know what they meant but I can see how tired he is. He's standing but listing slightly to one side, He needs to sleep. I gesture for him to follow and head for the couch in the living room. He'd probably be more comfortable in his room but I don't want to know what kind of trouble he would get into if he started poking around in there. I stopped trying to think of the stuff Don had in his room when I caught him sleeping on his draft table with a half assembled bomb next to him. Shell knows why he decided that it would be a good idea to build a bomb when half asleep but he had and I know he never left his room that day..

Just like when we were kids and I was trying to get a half asleep Don to just lay down and go to bed, Don flopped over on the couch when I push him and I tuck him in with the folded blanket we'd set out earlier, just incase this would happen. I can't help but sit for a bit on the coffee table and watch as he shifts about to get comfy and then dozes off with a contented sigh.

I watch as he slips deeper and deeper into sleep and I can't help but feel a surge of anger and helplessness. We were responsible for driving him out of the lair but this? Someone needs to pay for doing this to Don but how can I even figure that out if I can't even figure out what it is that Don is even speaking? I need to do something…

Without any conscious thought the words spill out of my mouth in a quiet half whisper so as not to wake him. "You shouldn't be apologizing to me for anything, Don. If anything I should be apologizing to you. We all should be. We were the ones to drive you out of the lair, making you go to the junkyard alone. We're the ones that failed you, Donnie, and for that I'm sorry."

Anger tints my voice and I feel my eyes narrow as if on their own accord, "And when I know you're going to be alright, when we get you back to normal, I'm going to find the guy who did this to you and make him pay." I trace my hand down the side of his cheek, "I swear he'll wish he had never ever thought of kidnapping you in the first place by the time I'm done with him. That's a promise."

I gently trace the edge of his face again before returning to the recliner and sinking back into its soft cushions. I settle in for the night, prepared to keep an eye on him until dawn. After everything that's happened, the least I can do is watch over him, and when I know he's alright, when he's back to normal, I'm going to go find some answers.

I'll start with talking to Karai.