A/N: Well, we're finally reaching the story's climax. Took me long enough! As for those of you have been wondering, I have been playing with the tenses of these last couple chapters. Mostly it signifies the concept of time bleeding together as the continuum shatters even deeper. I hope this won't confuse anyone too much, because the next few chapters are going to be pretty nuts.

Thanks for reading and enjoy!

Chapter 13: The Price of Weakness

Terror. The new-fallen snow had smothered the world in silence. Only his breathing broke through, cutting with glass-edged knives. But the cold ran hot and the quiet was deafening. He knew it was in the trees.

He ran with fate chasing behind him, and he knew it was hopeless. He heard his brothers' stories. He's seen what these monsters could do. Running wouldn't get him out of this alive.

Unfortunately, Don was running out of options.

He burst through a tangle of bushes and stumbled into a clearing, his pulse thundering in his ears. Through it, he heard a branch crack, the shuddering of half-dead leaves. He saw the shadow in the trees, and as it raced toward him in the snow, he turned to face it.

There was no running now.

And like before, it collided with all its body weight and momentum, gnashing teeth and slashing claws. It was too strong, too wild. He couldn't predict her movement. She attacked from all angles like a feral cat, blind with rage and the predatory instinct that numbed her pain.

His lungs were on fire and blood trickled down the ridges of his shell like canals. She lunged for him again and he blocked, but teetered backward with the weight. His vision skipped as he hit the frozen ground. The last thing he knew, he was staring into the eyes of Death.

It has no face, but he knows it well.

At first, he thought it was snow. Things moved like ghosts beneath the whiteness, back and forth like swaying trees. But when it cleared, he found himself sitting alone in the middle of a field. Night had broken into a gray excuse for morning, but the sky was blank and sunless. She is gone, the snow is gone, and everything around him has been drained of its color. He knows for certain he isn't in the park. Something tells him to stand and he starts jogging up the grassy hill to where the trees grow tall and ancient.

There, he sees Death waiting.

He's seen this type of darkness, and he's seen this place before—its muddied air, the gray grass that brushes against his knees, confusion and relief in a single breath. Time is eternal. There is no beginning. There is no end. It never knows the lines between the past and present, or the future that will come. The last time he'd seen it, he'd learned that time is insignificant, and he'd learned how helpless he was to stop it.

People go about their lives like stones cast in a pond. Their decisions are like ripples, colliding into one another, bringing the world one step closer to chaos.

And there were other worlds where he didn't make the same decisions. There were other worlds, divided from his own behind a membrane of silk, where a single step in another direction had changed the course of the universe. He could feel them all now, colliding like atoms.

In this land between lands of neither death nor living, he could feel the other worlds moving on without him. He could feel the other lives leeching away his strength. When he reaches the top of the hill, there's a weakness settled in the marrow of his bones. It's familiar and exhausting. It makes him wonder if, since the War of the Shadows, he'd been living here all along.

And there are worlds where he has died. He feels them lean upon him with one thousand heavy hands. He feels too heavy to stand.

Still Death watches without his face, black like a pillar beneath a cloak of shadow. There are ravens in the trees. They watch with hunger in their eyes, but stay silent. Don takes a step and his knees give out. His legs are numb, and he cries out in terror.

The ravens stir with dusty feathers. The branches shudder with spreading wings. They take to the sky and disappear behind the horizon. All he knows is fear.

Time is eternal. There is no beginning or end. He's been here before, and he'll be here again, entwined in the same skin he's always been. He crawls toward the darkness, toward the trees. He sees his Death. It has no face.

But he doesn't remember the road. As he crawls, gravel bites into his elbows, clogs his nostrils and settles in his throat. Something cracks like a branch and he howls in pain. The snapping spreads outward from the center, crackles with spider web veins. It feels like someone's taken a sledgehammer to his shell, and all his healing is for nothing. Blood seeps into the colorless grass as the cracks spread open like broken bone.

The plates shift and settle. His vision blurs. He's coated in blood and dust, lying paralyzed and helpless at the edge of the road. Despite the pain, he lifts his head and sees Death waiting by the trees.

He's seen this place before. He knows it well. Death will watch unmoving because it's not his place to judge. He'll wait to gather the soul that was always destined to be his. It's only a matter of time, and Death is a patient thing.

Don knows his death, but this time, he is wrong.

The figure moves like a shadow across the hill and stops nearby, at the edge of the road. Don buries his face in the dirt, digs his hands into fistfuls of grass. With Death looming over him, writhing in remembered pain, he sobs for mercy, freedom, forgiveness. He's already dead. Take him. He has no strength. Since the war, he's been nothing but dead.

There's a touch on his shoulder, and its warmth is surprising. The pain snaps out of him with a breath.

"Donny, get up."

His hands were shaking, but the bleeding stopped. The pain stopped. The chaos stopped. His fists uncoiled, and his vision cleared. Don kneeled in the soft grass and stood without pain.

He lifted his gaze to see his Death, and met his brother's eyes.

"Leo?"

He flung himself into the road, and they held each other until everything came flooding back. He let his brother tighten the embrace, and never flinched. The shadows were gone. The weight had been lifted.

"Oh my god…"

When they parted, there were tears in his eyes, completely different from before.

But Leo never smiled. There was pain in his expression. "Is that how you feel?" His gaze shifted to the bloodstain in the grass. "Is that how you see yourself?"

"Leo… you've been dead for two years."

It wasn't an answer. It wasn't an excuse. But it had to be enough. For now, it was enough.

Leo's hand hadn't moved from Don's shoulder, and his face was close. Don recoiled under the ferocity of his brother's stare. "This isn't what I wanted for you. This isn't what…"

He lost his words, but his eyes were full of fire. Don trembled, unable to fill the silence.

"You understand I'm not your brother, right? Not the one you know, at least. But knowing you, you've probably got this whole thing figured out by now."

His words sunk like a rock, and Don took a step backward, away from the touch. "I have my theories," he said uneasily, glancing around the colorless world—the road, the grass, the hills, the ancient trees twisting up to a blank-slate sky. "It's a limbo—like a combining of parallel universes where the worlds connect before..." He pointed to the trees beyond the road. "Before going to the afterlife."

"It's a crossroads. You're right about the other worlds, and you're right about collecting souls. But this is far from the end, Donny. You're not dead yet."

Don said nothing. A cold breeze stirred the dust around their ankles and toyed with the cloak of Death, no longer without a face.

Leo broke the gaze with defeat heavy on his shoulders. He stared off into the forest, and the wind continued to blow. "I made this place, a long time ago. It was something Master Splinter and I were working on when he started feeling Death hanging over us. That's from a time you know, right Donny?"

"I… yes. Before the war. I remember that."

"He was afraid we would lose each other. There was no way of knowing what could happen. But Sensei knew enough about the planes. When I passed, I found it and promised I'd wait. I'd look over you, and be here when you passed."

Don wasn't sure if Leo was speaking to him, or the forest. He'd become entranced with it. But Don was too dumbstruck to take his eyes away. Whether he was actually his brother or not, this Leo knew him. This Leo was in part the brother that died in on a planet called Atun during a life that no longer seemed to be his.

He ran his hands over the rough edges of his scars, and wondered if they'd follow him even after he was gone.

When Leo turned, there was determination in his eyes, but his face was still pained. "You know I always planned to be the first. But I didn't want this for you. I knew it would be hard, but I never, ever wanted this."

"But you didn't have a choice." The words didn't even sound like his own, but they were enough.

Miraculously, Leo smiled. "You're right. I didn't have a choice, but you do. Our brothers need you, Donny. They need your strength. I can see both decisions branching like tree roots, and even if I can't show you, I hope you can understand they can never live without you."

Don dropped his gaze. He couldn't look at him anymore. "I have to tell you I'm unconvinced," he mumbled. "I've been more of a burden to them than anything. I don't see how this is any different. If I'm gone, they would at least be able to move on without me weighing them down."

He felt his brother's hand on his shoulder again, and it forced him to look up.

"Donny, what you've lived through would remind anyone of their mortality. But just think about it. There must be a reason you survived. You're destined to do great things, little brother. If you choose to walk across this road, our brothers wouldn't be the only ones that would suffer. You're not as insignificant as you think."

"Then what about you? Weren't you destined for great things?"

Leo gave Don's shoulder a playful squeeze, letting out a breath that sounded a bit too much like a laugh. "You think you've changed so much, but it's amazing how little you have." He shook his head. "When I died, I gave my life to save my brothers and billions of people in turn. Despite the pain I caused, it was worth it in the end. I've seen worlds where it turned out differently, and I know I made the right decision. Like you said, I didn't have a choice."

"Then what happens? What happens to them if I choose to go?"

Don's questions were getting desperate. Leo had never planned to tell him this much, but then again, Don always had been stubborn. It was necessary. He hesitated for a beat, mouth pressed into a hard line before sighing in defeat. "I guess there's no way around it. But I can't tell you the details. All I can say is they will keep looking for you, at least until Raph gives up. Mikey won't, though. You know he won't. He'll keep searching until he's captured or worse. Raph would probably be dead by then, if he's lucky."

Don swallowed around the knot in his throat, letting each scenario play out before him until he'd had enough. It was too easy to think his death would mean nothing. It was too easy to think that whatever he decided, it wouldn't make a difference. But none of it was true. Every pebble can make a ripple, and even the smallest waves could change the course of history.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice had been stolen away.

Leo pulled him closer, gripping his brother by both shoulders now. His eyes were close. His gaze was iron. "All they'll know is fear. You can stop it. I can't promise you a happy life. I can't promise you it'll be easy or things won't get worse before they get better. But they will get better. That's all that matters. Things will be better, and they won't have to deal with this alone."

Don was trembling under his brother's grip. He sucked in a breath, his eyes were red-rimmed, but the tears remained unshed. "Well, what the hell do you want me to say, Leo? Tell me! I've been nothing but a selfish bastard for the last two years of my life, but I can't do this."

Don pulled away, his hands wound into white-knuckled fists, mouth pressed into an angry line. Leo watched him steadily, never changing his expression. Between them, the wind lifted away a column of dust, curling upward in the cold, gray sky. Don's trembling was growing more violent, but the silence hung like new-fallen snow.

With a gasp, he fell onto his knees, letting the gravel bite them. Then he lost the last of his control, burying his face in his hands.

He broke into frustrated tears. But in a breath, found himself collapsing into his brother's fierce embrace. It was soul-draining. Two years worth of grief, anger, hate and weakness was spilling from his pores. He could run away from this. If he had the strength, he could wander into peaceful oblivion and forget the blood, forget the nightmares, forget the shame that followed in his shadow.

He'd made too many mistakes to fix. There was too much broken beyond repair. But none of it mattered now, because it was better to try and fail than to never try at all. They were his brothers. They were his family. Though they were damaged, he could never turn away from them again.

He wasn't insignificant, and to them, he was stronger than he believed.

When his heart was finally empty and his voice was hoarse, Don found his brother's solemn gaze. "What choice do I have? I'm so tired of living this way." His eye traveled to the dark woods behind him, and he knew he would be here again. Another day, maybe. Death was patient. It would always be waiting. Leo would be waiting.

He swallowed back the last of his weakness, and it poured out of him like blood on the dusty road. "Send me back. There's no other logical answer. You have to send me back!" The plea drained him of everything that remained, and a heavy exhaustion settled in his bones."Please," he whispered, "send me back to them. I can try again."

By his ear, he could hear Leo's weary smile, lending him strength. "Of course, outouto," he breathed. "Thank you... thank you."

A little creek had sprung from the bloodstain in the grass, spreading across the barren land and turning it into something beautiful. The road gave way to crystal water, and the tree bough shivered in relief. The shadows were lifted, and Death had found its face.

The grassy hill looked so inviting, no longer sick and gray but a soft, pleasant green. The sun broke through the gray and filtered through the tree canopy. They sank to the ground in the dappled shade of a maple tree and Don rested his head against his brother's shoulder, drunken with the thought of sleep.

"Tell Raph I said thank you for keeping his promise."

Leo's voice seemed far away. Don tried to open his eyes, but saw darkness in his place. It didn't bother him, though. It only made it easier to drift. "Mmmhmm… after a nap, maybe."

"You're not the only one to come here, you know. I was here when Sensei crossed the path. He said the forest was beautiful."

"It is," Don said lazily. "Can't you see it?"

"No. Not until I choose. But the grayness is beautiful in its own way. It's… peaceful."

"Then why don't you choose? It's so… wonderful."

There was a smile in his voice. "I'd rather wait. You know I can't rest with things left unfinished."

Don sighed, and felt himself slip farther away to oblivion. The darkness had covered everything until only his voice remained. But that was enough. "I used to be like that," he whispered to the nothing. "What happened?"

"Things change us. People change. But we'll make it better. I promised I would wait until my brothers were safe, and when I walk across that path, I want to be whole. There's only one more life tying me down, and when I die, I won't have a choice. But I plan to wait until then. You, Donny, will have to do the rest."

"I'll try. I promise I'll try."

"Go to sleep outouto. When you wake up, I hope it's in a better place."

His touch was drifting. Even the prickle of the grass he'd made his bed had disappeared. His voice was gone, and Leo's was drifting farther. For a moment he wanted to follow it, but he couldn't bring himself to. He couldn't abandon them again.

"And Donny?" His voice was barely a whisper, unraveling like a string. "When you cross the rift, please, take me with you."

Consciousness hit him like a semi-truck. And for the second time that night, Don awoke somewhere completely different from where he'd started.

For a moment, the world was coated in a blinding white. In a fleeting beat of hope, he'd almost expected to see his brother's face to be there waiting as his vision cleared. But before he even had the chance to let his eyes adjust, the scent of blood, mildew, and antiseptic tainting stagnant air sent his mind racing into a panic. Beneath him was the sensation of hard, cold metal. His stomach roiled with his racing heart as he tried to push away, only to find himself bound to the table.

Though he didn't dare to speak, a panicked gasp escaped him as the whiteness collected in the fluorescent light above him, searing into his brain. There was movement in the room, and Don was certain he was not alone.

There was something in the corner, crumpled in a heap by the floor. He craned his neck against the table, but couldn't get it in his line of vision.

When it started screeching, a surge of adrenaline charged through his body. He struggled against his binds though he knew it was useless, and snapped his eyes closed against the painful thrumming in his head.

It was there. In the middle of that sterile room, it was there. A rush of footsteps scurried across the floor, a flurry of lab coats as the thing writhed in its misery. Its head was cocked at a painful angle, blood-tinged saliva growing in a pool by its open mouth. Don shuddered as it crawled into his field of vision. Instead of the cold, reptilian eyes he remembered, her eyes were now a deep, swimming blue.

Those were human eyes.

"Oh god…" He shuddered. "They were right."

"Ah, the creature has awoken."

The voice struck an instant twist of hate in his stomach. Don's eyes narrowed into a glare as he met the glassy, mechanical eye of Dr. Stockman.

"You."

The has-been scientist pressed a needle-like finger against the glass orb encasing his brain and gasped in mock offense. "Me? Yes, of course it's me. Who else could you accredit for such unending, ground-breaking genius?"

The creature was still howling. Her hunting instinct had been killed, and the venom had drained. Her cries were soaked with mortal pain. Though Stockman seemed oblivious, Don cringed as it continued.

"Genius." Don's eyes flicked sharply to the dying creature. "Is that what you call it?"

Stockman would have looked meditative, if it was possible. He clicked his probe-like appendages in agitation, telescoping his single eye closer to his captive's face. Don's expression twisted in disgust.

"You know," he responded, "I was rather disappointed when I was told you had… oh, how shall I put this? Passed on?" There was a devious flash behind his mechanical eye. His spider-like probes hovered dangerously over the cemented scars on Don's plastron. "But I suppose degrading forms of reincarnation are the price to pay for intelligence such as ours. Will the suffering ever end?"

"Don't you dare compare me to you." He nodded toward the creature, still writhing in her agony. "What did you do to her?"

Stockman hadn't planned to acknowledge her this time, and started to continue his speech. But he was interrupted when the creature suddenly stopped her bestial wailing and began to croak, "Alive… or dead… turtle-man. Alive… dead… master…"

Stockman studied her distantly. When he turned back to Donatello, the turtle's eyes were clouded with terror. He would have smiled, if he could. "A thing of beauty, is it not—to turn my greatest folly into something so elegant, so glorious? Time and time again, you freaks have cost me such inconvenience, delaying my progress to bettering this sad excuse for a planet over and over again! And then I wondered… is this approach necessary? Humanity evolved into a superior species by taking advantage of their environment, and if need be, their enemies. Why must mutants, mere creatures have the strength, agility, and intelligence that only these genetic anomalies can produce?"

Stockman's speech was a mere hum in the background. Don couldn't take his eyes off the creature and her pleading blue eyes. They had rolled to the back of her skull minutes ago, her wide mouth gurgling through rows of pointed, reptilian teeth. "Dead… dead…. Please…. Turtle-man… Master. Kill me."

"I had collected plenty of samples over the years from creatures such as yourself, but I needed more to make the serum, to stimulate the gene expression that could stabilize the Outbreak Virus—"

Don's attention tore away. "The Outbreak? That's insane! What are you thinking?"

"Kill…"

Stockman let out a haughty laugh. "Ah, so naïve! You think I'm some kind of amateur? You underestimate my genius! I, out of all people, should know the instability of the Virus. Such power, such raw destruction in the palm of my hands!" He hesitated, looking down at his needle-like limbs, and pretended not to be fazed once again. He continued quickly. "The key is to stabilize it, and reap the benefits of the mutation. Induce a controlled mutation with a predictable outcome. It's brilliant!"

"And that's why you need me," Don said gravely.

"Me…"

"Oh, don't be so conceited," he chided. "I'm so close to victory I can taste it! Though I do believe you're not entirely useless. There are some small inconsistencies I have yet to polish out, and the antibodies in your blood could prove to be that final step to perfection."

"You call this a small inconsistency?!" Don fumed. "This's disgusting, even for you!"

Stockman's telescoping eye glanced over the glass orb of his body, still completely unaffected. "Ah, my Hunters. They are the first generation! The cornerstone to the cause! You mutants have been but a thorn in our sides for far too long! Yes, it's a shame a mind like yours has gone to waste, Donatello, for these creatures are just the beginning of your demise! Mutants of the world, bow down before your end!" He was quivering with overblown pride, needles clicking fervently. "A taste of your own medicine, a weapon built from your own genetic fodder. A thing of beauty, is it not? You can thank that hulking reptile when you see him. Leatherhead, I believe you call it? Without his tissues and alleles, not to mention his crude behavior inhibiting device, he made it easy."

"Kill… me…"

One of Stockman's needles extended out toward a cemented scar, the biggest, right over Don's heart. It started to screech like a dentist's drill.

"You bastard!" Don spat.

"Now, now," Stockman clucked, brandishing his drill, "profanity is such an insult to your intelligence, wasted or otherwise."

"Kill me."

"I look forward to working with you, Donatello. Now hold still, I'm interested in this material holding you together. Utrom bio-organics, I believe?"

The drill punched into the crack, and Donatello screamed. The drill squealed, plate cracked, and the air smelt of ash and bone dust. With his needled fingers, Stockman wrenched off a jagged piece of Don's chest with the nauseating sound of breaking bone. The piece was peeled from his flesh with the sound of a kiss.

"Kill me."

"My god, that is interesting."

Sweating profusely, heartbeat pounding in his throat, Donatello lifted his eyes to the reflection in Stockman's glass dome. He could see where the chunk of his plastron was missing, but instead of flesh, instead of gore, there was circuitry and the polished sheen of wires shining through the blood.

He felt no pain. He felt himself losing consciousness again.

It was all beginning to make sense. The illnesses he'd had after the operations… the fever that had almost taken his life, the exhaustion, the personality changes…

"The microchip," he whispered, "it's taking over."

He didn't know whether to be terrified or fascinated. The technology had saved his life, replaced his weakness. It had become him.

"KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME!"

They both startled as the laboratory door crashed open. The sound of a gunshot tore through the polished room. Stockman froze. Don unclenched his eyes and turned toward the door, the shot still ringing in his ears.

The creature's screaming cut out with a yelp, and he knew it was dead. A figure stood in the doorway, holding a smoking gun. With the other hand, he reached up to adjust his glasses. They reflected an eerie light.

"Stockman, you pathetic excuse. When were you planning to finish that abomination?"

"Agent Bishop. I…" He clacked his needles nervously. "You couldn't possibly expect me to have the ability, in the pathetic state I'm in! I should not be subjected to such degradation. It's your fault I'm unable! Besides, that was a very valuable specimen. I had just implanted the device today! Infuriating."

"Stockman," he bristled. "Control yourself. And don't get in my way."

Stockman cowered as Bishop stepped into the harsh light, and scuttled like a crab away from the dissecting table. In the corner, he began fawning over his felled specimen. He was mumbling bitterly about retrieving the device, but not loud enough to provoke Bishop's wrath, only agitate it.

Don cringed as his steady footsteps came closer. When his vision cleared, Agent Bishop was looming over him, studying him with a satisfied smirk. He adjusted his glasses.

"Donatello. Welcome to Project Alpha. Though I can't guarantee you your stay will be long, I promise it will be very… useful."

A/N: More of the others to come. I promise their situation is just as compromising...