When Karai swims her way back to full consciousness, Raphael is staring down at her. He might think he's constructed a careful blank out of his features, but his eyes give everything away.

"Are you waiting around to finish the job?" she asks. Her voice is slurred. It's a challenge to talk around a broken cheekbone, but she'll manage. Already the pain is just a whisper, fading to a suggestion. "Going to kill me as a favor to your big brother?"

Raphael's fists tighten, but other than that, he makes no reply. Just keeps watching, eyes glittering. He wants to kill her, no mistaking that, but he's holding back.

Karai would wonder why, but the evening has exhausted her. Carrying the warhounds and keeping them alive long enough for them to be useful is challenge enough, but it was the confrontation with Leo that drained the last of her reserves. She felt again, something besides fear or loathing, and it has eaten her empty.

She clears her throat, and allows herself a thin smile when Raphael's hands twitch toward his sais. "You're running out of time if you're going to start a fight," she grates out. "Sunrise isn't that far away." With a nod to the horizon, she sits up and rubs her neck. The sensation of Leo's hand — and his blade — lingers. It's idiotic to savor it, but Karai can't help herself. Of course the first living person to touch her in seven years would be Leo. She still remembers that last, searing kiss, just as she remembers Leo's face when the first blow landed. Not thinking about something doesn't mean that she's forgotten, but anything she let into her mind became the Boar's, and she wanted those moments kept safe, as painful as they are. They're hers.

And now Leo despises her. That doesn't surprise her, or hurt her; it's nothing more than she expected. The thought of him turning from her, however, does. She wasted whatever influence she had over him years ago, and now, when he's supposed to listen, he turned his back on her, his shell a wall. She could break her fists on it.

Karai is no good at thanks, or apologies. Nothing will ever change that, nothing will ever pull the thorns from her soul. She is dangerous, she is bad. It's all she was trained to be. But she has her honor, even if it's a poor, stunted, twisted thing, and she always pays back what she owes.

"You need to get out of the city," she tells Raphael, trying to meet his eyes. "All of you. Your brothers, your — the rat, O'Neil, even the idiot. Things are going to get bad, very soon."

"If Leo isn't listening to you," says Raphael, the words pouring out of him like like molten iron, "I'm not going to either. So shut your hole. You're wasting your time."

"Probably," she fires back, wincing as her broken cheekbone grinds against itself. "But I'm going to tell you anyways. There's a storm coming —"

Raphael laughs and holds up a hand, pushing to his feet. "Yeah, yeah, we've heard it before. Your little dog told us. A storm is coming." He grins down at her, his ferocity leashed — for the moment. "We've handled storms. We'll handle this one."

"Don't kid yourself," says Karai. "You might give it a challenge. I mean, that awkward one —"

"Donnie," Raphael spits, fists clenching again.

"Donnie already did." Karai stands too, and finally notices where they are. The realization almost makes her laugh. Oh, Leo, if only you'd stolen the sword, we may not be here now. Unfair to blame it on Leo, but she can't help that either. "You guys might hold out for a while. It won't last." She feels a tug in her chest, the hook drawing her back to the Boar, and whatever punishment awaits her. "Get out of New York. Forget this place — just go anywhere that isn't here. And do it soon, because come midsummer —"

"Oh, shut up," says Raphael. "God, you really think there's a chance we'll believe you, don't you?" He turns around and walks to the edge of the roof. "If you're smart, you'll go back to wherever the hell you've been hiding, and stay there. The next time I see you, I'll rip your throat out."

Karai closes her eyes as the hook in her chest twitches again. She presses her hand to her breastbone, her lips hot, like she's just been kissed. "You can try," she says, even though Raphael has already leapt away, and faded into the dark.

April is very familiar with the idea of cause and effect. A scientist has to be.

She can look at an egg, and see a sparrow; she can hear thunder and think of spring flowers. Action, reaction. F=ma. Magnetic attraction. The simple, inescapable fact of gravity. She knows all of this. She understands it, breathes it, lives it.

So why does it seem like she's missed out on the whole idea of consequences?

She stares at the inside of her closet, blinking fast. The clock by her bed says it's almost four in the morning. Less than five hours ago, she was making up her mind to give Donnie his space. Two hours ago, she was weeping all over him. And an hour ago, she was picking glass out of his feet and hoping the cuts on his legs wouldn't need stitches, because her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold the bandages.

This isn't the time to yell at herself. She needs to grab the essentials and head for the lair. There's no time for her to stare at two identical pairs of jeans and wonder, what if I had said something on New Year's Eve?

She'd had a plan. A special night, tucked away in her dark, quiet apartment, something home-cooked and not pizza for dinner, slouchy, fuzzed-out blues playing in the background — and then a kiss, and another, each one a cause and an effect.

The consequence? She'd be in love with Donnie, out in the open, and free. She could have been taking care of him, working on the bittersweet business of making up the last ten years to him.

What if?

What if, indeed.

What if she'd still fallen, and Donnie's guilt, always so eager and so hungry, had been compounded? If he had her, and she fell, how much worse off would he have been?

It's nice you're finally thinking of him, snaps an acid-coated voice in the back of her head. But your timing's shitty. Always worried about how you affect him.

But that's the key: she's never thought enough about how much she affects him. How long had she avoided the truth, because it meant such a radical shift in the status quo? Instead of being his partner, giving him what he asked for — and Donnie never asked for much, just time and a little undivided attention — instead of giving him what he deserved — she let him lavish her with the best of himself. Because she was scared. Because she was selfish.

The consequence? A month of silence. Of Donnie thinking he couldn't come to her empty-handed, because he never had before. He'd made the choice to stay away, but really, how much reason had she given him to come?

"I'm sorry," she says, closing her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"Yo, April? You ready? Time to move." Casey slumps in the doorway. Without Raph at his side, he seems somehow reduced, but still fierce. April has a brief moment of envying him his certainty - he's never had any trouble with consequences, but he also never bothered with worrying about the risks. Maybe it's a lesson she should have taken a little more to heart.

The look Casey gives her is understanding, but not sympathetic. Finally, says his weary face, framed by a wry grin and steady eyes. You get it.

Yeah, I do. She thinks of a pair of steady hands: stitching together the skin of her back, carrying her away from needles and blank white tile, tracing the lines of her shoulder-blades.

In spite of everything, like the pain still clenched in her shoulder and thigh, and the stench that still gathers in the dark corners of her apartment, April's still capable of feeling desire. Of feeling want, and the sudden lurch makes it impossible to talk for a moment.

"Let me get changed," she says without looking at Casey, hiding her flush behind the curtain of her hair. "Most of my stuff's at the lair anyways. I just have to grab my laptop and hard drive."

"Got it." Casey shuffles away, groaning under his breath. April gives him an hour before he collapses — always the tough guy even when Raph isn't around — and hope they make it back to the lair in time. The thought makes her pack faster.

Three minutes later, she walks into the living room, tasting the minds around her. Mikey's is bright, but nervous, a tangerine glow at the back of her skull. He keeps casting glances at Leo, who waits at the window, arms folded. She can't get anything out of Leo, and she doesn't think she wants to.

Donnie is sitting on the couch, head thrown back and eyes closed. There's nothing bland about his mind now, though the taste and colors are still muted. Now there's something like cinnamon, burning at the back of her throat, banked low, waiting. He opens his eyes as she approaches, and reaches out wordlessly to take her bag. April pushes his hand away as gently as she can, smiling when he frowns.

"I'm good," she says. "Thanks."

Donnie's about to protest, but she sweeps her hand down his arm, skirting the bandages on his shoulder and holding his gaze a little longer than usual. Long enough to see a question spark in his eyes, long enough to feel the wheels start to turn in his head. Now isn't the best time, or even a good time, but April gave up the luxury of choice a long time ago. All she has left is now, and she needs to make the best of it.

Leo is watching them with nothing in his eyes. It must look so bad, just more of the same, but that's another consequence she'll have to deal with. And soon.

"Let's move," is all Leo says before leaping into the night.

April helps Donnie off the couch and into Mikey's arms, and takes the rear at Casey's side. It's a long way home.

Age has not dulled the precise angles of Splinter's shoulders, but his hands are gnarled where they grip his cane, and there is more grey than brown in his fur.

And then there are the changes no one can see: the aches in his muscles that never quite leave, how his left ear only catches every other word with certainty. He was not young when he was last Hamato Yoshi, and after almost three decades as Splinter, he has begun to feel the creeping edge of winter.

It does not mean he's ready to lay down and accept an ending, not by any estimation. He merely knows it is coming, just as the first leaf turning from green to gold means that the heavy snows approach. Preparing for the inevitable is not giving up. It is prudent planning.

His children still need him, and that alone is reason enough to keep his back straight against the pain. So he waits at the turnstiles, listening for their footsteps.

Michelangelo's call had been scattered as usual, though the source of the confusion is not Splinter's youngest son's propensity toward distraction, but the product of the night's events. Green spectral dogs, a smell like rotted meat. Donatello hinted at a voice, Michelangelo said, and something like a dream. A terrible dream, stones and blood and a cage, everything touched by a dead winter wind.

Parts of an old, old story, one of which Splinter only knows a small fraction. The Boar and Bull, locked in eternal struggle. And now they are here, in a city he has long learned to think of as his own, even if he can never walk its streets. New York is home to dead gods now, but only a fool would believe that dead gods lose any of their power.

Splinter is no fool. He knows how sharp the teeth of dead gods become, while they wait for worship or for the heart-hungry to pray them back to restless almost-life.

Sharp teeth, indeed. Donatello is hurt. Casey Jones is hurt.

We're comin' home. Raph's got a stop to make…Michelangelo had paused there, and in his reluctance to elaborate, Splinter heard the truth.

As if these factors were not enough, as if his children did not have enough to haunt them, Karai has returned. The lost daughter rose from whatever darkness she allowed to cloak her, and moved against Splinter's family once again.

He aches for Karai — no, he aches for Miwa, poor thwarted flower, whose bloom withered before it had a chance to open to the sun. Tang Shen was not the only one who died in the fire. Miwa burned as well, and what was left was a soul and body of clay, ready to be formed by Oroku Saki's malice.

Neither Splinter nor Hamato Yoshi could save Karai, though that did not mean Splinter did not try. He broke his heart on the rocks of her own for years, before he retreated, feeling like his daughter once more had died. So he left the choice to Karai, and prepared a space for her in his family, unasked-for, in case she ever decided to come home.

And then she betrayed Leonardo, the most faith-bound of all his sons, right into the hands of the Shredder. She sowed seeds in Leonardo that night, in the scars the Shredder left behind, and now she has returned to see what dark and too-ripe fruit those seeds have borne, watered by Leonardo's blood, fed by his rage.

Must I always make this choice? Splinter thinks, his hand tightening on his cane. Always forced to choose between one who used to be my daughter, and those who are my sons now? They have been my sons so much longer than she was ever my daughter, and she seeks only to destroy them. I can never choose her, only hope that she will see the truth, and come home.

The moment Splinter thinks the word home, he senses the hardy weave of his children's minds approaching, an invisible light in the tunnels. One strand is distant, but fast-approaching: Raphael, whose dark errand is over, and makes his way home through a long and tangled route to hide his passage.

They are inaudible until they reach the outer ring of light, and that pleases Splinter. Even hurt, they are still ninja, scraps of darkness moving without noise through the tunnels.

His pleasure in their skill fades when he sees Leonardo cross into the light, followed by Michelangelo, who supports Donatello with an arm around his shell. His sons are so tall, so strong, but one glance is all it takes to see how badly they need a father, and not a leader. Donatello's bandages are stained with new blood, and it is all too clear that each step he takes pains him.

His other children are not much better. Splinter has not seen April in months, but seeing her now hurts like a wasp's sting in his hand. She is too thin, her eyes too large in her face, and she staggers under Casey Jones' weight. It is good to lay eyes on her again and see her ordeal has not dulled her fierce, bright edges. And Casey Jones is forever himself, though hurt: his steady, warm presence steadies the rest, without anyone realizing it.

They are all pale, all weary, though it is Leonardo's gaze that troubles Splinter most. It is the look of a warrior who knows that the war around him has already taken its shape, but that he cannot see what it is.

"My son," says Splinter, and holds out his hand to Leonardo.

His oldest son gives him an unspeakably weary look, and walks past him without a word. With a straight back that never bent, not even after Shredder's worst, Leo walks toward the koi pond, and Splinter cannot bear to follow and steal what little peace his son can glean from dark water and silent currents.

They all watch Leo fade into the tunnel's shadows, and it's so quiet Mikey wonders if anyone except him is breathing. Then Casey shifts, groaning, and Sensei moves, pulling him away from April and easing him down to a couch.

"Will you be able to assist Donatello on your own?" he asks Mikey. He sounds calm, but the way he doesn't look at the tunnel says everything he doesn't. No one will bother Leonardo, the not-looking says, and Mikey is totally okay with following that order.

Mikey salutes with his free arm and lets Donnie lean a little more against him. "Yeah, I got this. Come on, D."

Mikey's shoulders ache from hauling Donnie all the way home — because while his bro might look all lanky and stuff, he's solid muscle just like the rest of them and there's more than six and a half feet of it. Donnie weighs a ton. Not that Mikey's complaining — well, not that he's complaining much. He's just happy everyone's home and safe. So if it means his shoulders are going to totally kill him for a while, it's cool.

He bundles Donnie into the kitchen, even though the bathroom is cleaner, and there's a better first aid kit in Donnie's lab. The kitchen is closer, and also has the bonus of the stove and tea pot. Mikey doesn't usually drink the stuff, gross hot dead plant water, no thanks, dude, but Donnie and Leo and April and Casey are crazy about it, and even Raph won't say no. So he'll boil water and put all their mugs in the right places and maybe things won't suck quite so much.

Hard to believe things could suck more. Karai, weird green dogs, nightmares — and that's before Mikey thinks about the bandages all over Donnie and Casey. The bandages make his fingers all itchy, like he wants to punch something. They make him angry.

Being angry's not going to help anyone, so Mikey takes deep breaths, just like Sensei taught him (he paid attention sometimes, seriously, he did), and lets the anger slip out of him like water down a drain. Bye-bye, being pissed off.

He eases Donnie into a chair, then digs out the first aid kit. They've got them scattered throughout the lair, at least one to a room, and if the one in the kitchen doesn't get the most use, it's still got everything he needs: clean bandages, fresh gauze, antiseptic, and a needle and thread.

Donnie gives the last two items a wary look. "Uh, Mikey, you sure?" He shrinks in on himself, and Mikey tries not to roll his eyes.

"Dude, you just got eaten by ghost dogs, and you're freaked out by stitches?"

"I'm not freaked out, Mikey, but I'd really like to not be poked and prodded for five minutes." He gives Mikey a helpless look. "Just wait five minutes, please. I just want to sit."

Mikey knows Donnie's not squeamish. He's the only brother who can stand all the gooey stuff in scary movies as well as Mikey does, and if there's blood to deal with in real life, he just handles it. So if Donnie's asking for a few minutes, it's not because he's afraid of pain. There's something else, something he doesn't want anyone to see, so Mikey nods and turns around to fill the tea pot.

He can't taste feelings the way April can — but how cool would that be, tasting feelings? Mikey thinks Raph's brain probably tastes like an ass sandwich — but he knows when someone needs to just chill out on their own. Whatever happened to Donnie messed him up pretty bad, and that's before Mikey counts his month-long freak-out. Not just the dogs and losing it over April, but that nightmare too. He told them about it on the way home, just a few short sentences about a battle and dead people everywhere, but Mikey knows Donnie didn't tell them everything. He got all squinty and quiet, the way he does when he's trying to lie, and Mikey would bet only he and April know the signs. So Donnie's holding back, and whatever he didn't tell them is still in his head. Still messing him up.

If Leo were here, he'd probably tell Donnie to just start talking, and Raph would yell at him until Donnie yelled back. Either way, the whole story would come out, and maybe Donnie would stop looking so chewed-up (pun most definitely intended). Mikey's not sure those are the best ways. He thinks it's better to wait Donnie out, and let him figure out what he needs to say before he says it. Donnie's got a big brain, so there's more room for nasties to hide in, and he's got more work to do to chase them all down. It's a waiting game, and even if Mikey doesn't have a ton of patience, he can drum up enough for Donnie.

He wants to worry about Leo too, but that's the fastest way to get his head bitten off right now. And Mikey really likes his head where it's at.

April pads into the kitchen just when the water starts to boil. "Casey's asleep on the couch," she says. "Out like a light. I checked his bandages — they'll need to be changed later, but for now they're good."

Mikey pulls the tea pot off the burner and sticks the tips of his fingers through the mug handles. He has to balance his own on the palm of his hand, but April rescues it when it starts to wobble. "Thanks, April. You did a good job on Donnie's bandages — not as good as me, but hey, beggars make poor choices, you know?"

"Beggars can't be choosers," Donnie corrects, his voice all spacey, still staring at the table. He looks up a moment later, eyes still dull, but as soon as he sees April, something sharpens in him and he almost smiles. Whatever's in his head just took a backseat, and Mikey has to try not to roll his eyes again as he sets the mugs in place.

Donnie and April are still at the look-but-don't-touch stage and it's driving Mikey nuts. They're a done thing. Even Casey knew that, and it's driving everyone nuts. Well, Leo's not going nuts, not about this at least, he's more just…bothered. Like, really bothered.

The tea's already steeping in the mugs before April looks away from Donnie, frowning a little bit. "Raph's almost home," she says, and she sounds so relieved that Mikey has to smile. At least she still has something, and that weird crap isn't blocking all her powers. It'd be telepathetic for real if it did.

April stretches, rubbing her bad shoulder. "I figure it's okay to let Casey sleep for a bit." She turns a crooked little smile on Mikey. "Unless the doctor wants to give his opinion?"

Mikey sniffs. "Nah. I'll check on him later." His stomach growls, super-loud, and all thoughts of stitches and borders and weird green dogs gets pushed out of his head. Everyone's hurting, everyone's bleeding somehow, and Mikey can only do so much to bandage those wounds. But it's not always about bandages and blood, even in his family's world. Sometimes it's about the good warmth can do.

"You guys hungry?" he asks. "I'm gonna make something. Something awesome."

April smiles again, but her gaze slides toward the door — toward the tunnel. "I'll eat later, but I'm going to go check on Leo."

Oh, bad idea alert, Mikey thinks, but manages not to say it out loud. Instead, he gives her the most serious look he can muster. She flushes, but holds his gaze. "You sure? You know what he's gonna say." And it's not gonna be pretty, not after Karai got into his head again.

April shrugs, her smile going hard and a little sad. "Yeah, I do. Might as well get it over with now. Not like tonight can get much worse, right?"

"Your funeral," Mikey says cheerfully, before he can stop himself. April just laughs, exhausted, and heads out. Donnie watches her until she disappears into the tunnel, then turns to frown at Mikey.

"What was that about?" he asks Mikey. "What's Leo going to say to her?"

Mikey sighs, and remembers the first aid kit. It's been more than five minutes. "Dude, if you can't figure it out, I'm not gonna tell you. Now hold still, time to check you out."

Donnie opens his mouth, but Mikey turns on the faucet to wash his hands, and Donnie's next words get lost in the rush of water.

Pancakes, Mikey decides, scrubbing his arms to the elbow. I'm gonna make pancakes.

Dr. Chefenstein is in the house.

Raph stumbles in just as Casey wakes up. He has no idea how long he slept, only that Sensei and April have both disappeared, and he's too exhausted for bluster. Casey waves from the couch, bleary-eyed, but unspeakably glad that Raph's back, and reaches out as soon as Raph sits down heavily on the floor next to the couch.

"Hey," they say in unison. Raph offers Casey a tired smile.

"You okay?" Casey asks. He puts a hand on Raph's shoulder and squeezes. Under his hand, Raph's skin is warm and heavy.

Raph shakes his head. "Nope. You?"

"Nope." Casey rolls onto his side, and sweeps his thumb over Raph's collarbone. It's a sign of how beat Raph is that he doesn't try to brush Casey's hand away, but leans into the touch instead. Raph doesn't just accept comfort; he fights it first, and only gives in after Casey coaxes him into it. "This is bad, ain't it?"

Raph takes his time replying. His eyes never leave Casey's face, not even when he nods. "It's bad," he agrees. "It's gonna get worse."

"Always does." Casey squeezes his shoulder again. "We'll handle it. We always do."

Raph leans forward, breathing deep, and lets his forehead rest against Casey's.

Karai, Leo thinks, his eyes closed. Stay away from my family. I've given you this chance. It's my last gift to you. If I see you again, I'll tear out whatever you've got in place of a heart, and I'll laugh while I do it.

These thoughts don't feel like his own, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that Karai hears them, and obeys. He's carved her out of his soul. In time, the empty space will scar over, and he'll heal. In time. All he needs now is time.

His hands clench as his muscles remember what her throat felt like under his hands. He remembers her kiss too, and her pale, silent watch over him as her father went about his work.

Make that your fixed point, he instructs himself. She betrayed you, and she'll do it again and again if you let her. Give her nothing, and the next time you see her, destroy her. Protect your family. That's all that matters.

He sinks into himself, seeking peace, seeking absolution, and finds nothing, not even fear. He's empty.

Leo hears April's steps, and his only thought is, what took you so long?

She's the last person he wants to see right now, but she's the only one he expected. Everyone else is treating him like a time bomb, but only April is brave enough — or foolhardy enough — to actually hit his trigger. Such typical April behavior too, always needing to be at the center of the action, where the blows rain down hardest, where the battle cries are loudest. At first, it was because she felt like she had something to prove, and now it's habit. Selfish, knotted habit, and Leo should have broken her of it a long time ago. For her sake, for Donnie's.

April takes a seat at his side, pulls off her boots and socks, and trails her toes along the surface of the water.

"I know why you're here," he says. "And before you ask, I'm fine."

"I wasn't going to ask," April replies, and kicks the water. The splash echoes too loudly off the old brick walls. Leo flinches. April gives him a sad, knowing look, then pulls her feet away from the water and hugs her knees. "We all know you're not fine, Leo. But I'm not here to make you feel better."

"Thank God for that," he snaps, his anger straining in his muscles. "Because believe me, you're the last person who could."

She rests her chin on her knees and doesn't look at him. Leo bites his tongue as his anger shoves right up against the limits of his control. April always fights back; she snarls and accuses and yells, aiming for weak spots with vicious, unerring aim. She barely needs a weapon, because her tongue is a river of acid. It's why he never sends her on patrol with Raph and Casey. The idea of the three of them shooting off half-cocked accounts for half of Leo's migraines over the past ten years. In her own way, April's worse than Raph. She never stays silent, she never submits.

Unless she knows she's messed up, Leo thinks, remembering how contrite April is when she realizes she's unintentionally caused real hurt. Like a punch to the gut, he understands, and his anger fades to a reluctant simmer.

"Now, April?" He laughs bleakly. "Seriously? Your timing is —" He can't finish; the muscles under his shell are already tightening, waiting for her justifications.

"Terrible, I know." She flicks water droplets from her feet. "Story of my life. But I want you to know — I was going to say something. I swear to God, I was. But then I fell, and he didn't come, and things just…"

"Don't try and put this off on Donnie," Leo says. "It's not his fault."

"I don't blame him." April turns her head so her cheek is resting on her knees. Her gaze is wide and dark, her pupils vague ink-dots in thin rings of blue. "I got used to things working a certain way with Donnie. I got spoiled. That's on me, Leo. What's your excuse?" she asks, her voice unexpectedly pointed. "You always haul us back before we go off the rails. Why not now? Why not Donnie?"

He gapes at her — how dare she, when she's been dragging Donnie's heart behind her for a decade, until it's little better than a pile of rags — but before his anger leaps up, a thick wave of exhaustion hits him. He slumps down, his skin tight and cold. The koi swim in sleepy circles below them, and he wishes, more than anything, to slide into the cool water and curl up on the bottom of the pond, where it's silent and dark, and nothing but gentle fins can reach him.

Why didn't he do more?

Donnie is his second, the one who can be trusted to have three alternative plans to every one of Leo's. He can be trusted to be ruthless when it counts, but his compassion is just as pure as his practicality. Donnie wants to fix everything, everyone, and when he couldn't — well, it was like Leo had lost his second, best set of eyes.

How do you fix the one who's always fixed you?

The question had seemed too daunting, and with a storm brewing on the edge of his world, Leo had faltered. He had failed.

"I got spoiled," he says flatly. Beside him, April sighs. After a moment, Leo reaches out and wraps a tentative arm around her shoulders. She leans into him, breathing too fast, and Leo isn't surprised when a hot trail of her tears slips down his arm, right along his scars.

"If you do this," he says, as gently as he can, "and you tell him, mean it. It has to be a done thing, April. No takebacks."

"There won't be," she whispers. "I know it's a horrible time, but there won't be. I swear to God, this is it. He's it."

Leo's seven-years-gone betrayal is fresh and bitter in his mouth. April could be lying, or she could make a mistake. She is, after all, only human, and Leo knows too well what human hearts are capable of. But she's more than human, she's family, and Leo will always have faith in his family.

"Okay." He hugs her to his side, grateful for her warmth. There are worse things to fill his empty soul with than faith.

The walk to his room is excruciating, but Donnie grits his teeth and takes his time. He bargains with himself: take this next step, and you can wait to take the one after. Two in a row, and you can lean on the wall for thirty seconds. It takes an embarrassing ten minutes to make it just to the pit, and he has to pause and wait for his legs to stop trembling.

He almost wishes he'd accepted Mikey's offered help, but that meant dealing with Mikey's fussing, and right now, all he wants is to be alone. Everything is cold, everything inside his head is wind.

"Donnie?" April's voice floats to him from the bathroom door.

Not quite alone, a sly voice whispers in his head. He turns slowly, trying to hide his wince, and faces her with the best smile he can muster. The sight of her pierces him: bare feet, wet, messy hair, red eyes. She's beautiful, and he's still lost, still longing. He'll never have enough of her.

"Can I help?" she asks. When he pauses, she tilts her head, hair spilling over her shoulders, and smiles. "Please."

There's nothing he can do except nod. April crosses the room silently, with a quick glance at where Casey and Raph are slumped together on the couch, and slips under Donnie's arm. He tries to keep his weight off her bad shoulder, but she tugs his arm down.

"Room or lab?"

He hesitates. His room is closer, but his lab is — safer. It's not that he hasn't daydreamed about April there, but his room is where he lets his mind run free. It's where he lets himself hope the most.

"Room," April decides for him, and steers them down the hall. She pauses when he winces, stroking his arm and shell, and goes slower when they start moving again. When they reach his door, she bumps it open with her hip and eases him toward his futon. Donnie can't stop a groan of relief when he can finally stretch out on his shell, his weight off his feet, and isn't immediately aware of April's hands moving over his legs and plastron.

"April?" His voice barely quavers as her fingers sweep over his knees.

"Just checking your bandages," she murmurs. "Mikey redid them?"

Donnie nods. He tugs his blanket up to his chin, and searches for her face in the dark. A faint glow from the hallway lights falls over her hair and cheek, but that's all he can see. Without that, he'd think he was imagining her, even after she bends down and kisses his forehead.

"Stay," he blurts out. He couldn't have stopped himself if he had tried; he's still so cold, but April's hands are warm, and this is where he hopes the most.

April's thumb brushes his cheek, right below the edge of his mask, and then his covers rustle as she slides beneath them. They're not quite touching, but he can smell her, and he can feel the heat rising off her shower-warm skin. It's almost enough. Almost.

It's enough when she turns on her side and lies her head in the hollow of his unbandaged shoulder, and her warmth becomes his.

"Finally." Raph sighs as he watches April help Donnie into his room. Casey grumbles sleepily at him and turns onto his back. "Looks like they're getting somewhere."

"Only took 'em ten years," Casey mutters.

Raph snickers, and leans his head back against the couch. He could haul Casey off the couch and into his room, but that means moving, and he's comfortable right where he is, with Casey filling most of his vision, knowing his family's safe and sound. The lair is almost silent, but if he listens, really listens, he can hear them breathing.

Casey's hand plays around the edge of his plastron. "Stop thinkin'," he says. "It's time to sleep."

Sleep sounds great. A few hours to block out what happened, and what's yet to come. But first —

He leans in, and snatches a kiss.

Leo kneels beside his sensei. No, not his sensei now. His father. The room is full of blue smoke, and the air is heavy with incense.

"I don't know what to do," he says. "I don't —"

His father's hand cradles the back of his head, and Leo forgets, for a moment, that he is a ninja, a warrior, a leader, and is content to be a son.

The sun rises, though no one sees it, for the sky is grey and heavy with clouds. A cold wind blows between the buildings, and in the distance, the first low roll of thunder begins.

While the family sleeps, it starts to rain.