Because I watch far too much Doctor Who and really dislike plot holes.
Based off a theory I had. Seriously, these Ninja Turtles writers need to address these kinds of problems.
I own nothing.
"Guys, we traveled back in time."
Raphael and Leonardo momentarily paused their sparring, sending a bemused glance in Donatello's direction. The tallest turtle stood at the entrance of the holo-chamber, posture resembling that of a slug. His shoulders slumped, brown eyes trained intently on the ground. Something haunted his gaze, but neither of the older turtles could identify what it was from this angle.
Raphael tried to get in a dirty swipe while Leonardo was distracted, but the blue-clad turtle evaded it easily. "You're just getting that now?"
Leonardo countered with a back-hand and twisted Raphael to the ground. "Try to keep up, Don. These things are kind of important."
"Yeah, dude," Michelangelo piped up from his spot in the corner, speaking around a mouthful of pizza. "You're supposed to be the smart one."
None of these comments put Donatello on the defensive, odd for the scientist, who defended his intelligence like he defended his life. "No, guys. We traveled back in time."
"Yes, Donnie," snapped Raphael, thoroughly annoyed with this stating of the obvious. Two quick movements and he had Leonardo in a headlock. "And the sky is blue, and Mikey is an idiot. What is your point?"
The hey of protest was crushed on Michelangelo's lips when Donatello slid to the ground, suddenly boneless. The sparring match dissolved instantly and the pizza was discarded as his brothers rushed to his side.
"Donnie? What's wrong?"
"Are you feeling sick?"
"Was it the Aztec space chipmunks? It was the Aztec space chipmunks, wasn't it?"
Donatello shooed them away, haunted eyes never meeting theirs. "Six months, right? Six months we went back?"
"Yes, Donnie," the other three chorused.
"The Earth still exists now," Donatello was beginning to sound less like a genius and more like a madman. "The Black Hole Generator hasn't been put together yet."
"That's why we're out here in deep space," Leonardo said gently, as if talking to a frightened animal.
Donatello finally met the eyes of his oldest brother. "But Leo, we still exist on Earth right now!"
This finally brought the other three into silence as they processed this information. Finally Michelangelo breathed, "whooooaaaa... Right now, in the universe, there are eight ninja turtles."
Donatello waved his hands in exasperation, like he was swatting a fly. "No, you're still not getting it! If we're on Earth right now, and we're stopping the Triceratons from getting the Black Hole Generator right now, then the Black Hole Generator will never make it to Earth."
"That's what we're hoping for." Raphael was very quickly losing interest in this conversation.
"Then we're changing the world's timeline," Donatello finished quietly. "The Black Hole Generator never will find its way to Earth and, by extension, we'll never leave to save the world. It'll be like living in a parallel universe. We'll still be on Earth, but we'll be in space too."
"Like I said, bro," Michelangelo grinned, pumping a fist in the air. "Two sets of the ninja turtles! Twice the ninja action, twice the bad guy butt-kicking! Oh, imagine! We could make a movie out of it!"
"You can't cross time-streams, no one knows what that'll do!" Donatello snapped. "You could destroy the fabric of time itself!" He quieted again. " And if we can't go back to Earth on the off chance we'll meet ourselves..."
The atmosphere deadened as the realization kicked in. Raphael, itching to get back to fighting before, was now stock-still. "We'll never get to see Master Splinter again."
A small, pained noise slipped from Leonardo's mouth. "So... even though we'll go through all this to save the Earth... we'll never see father again?"
"Not as... us, no." Donatello's voice was tight with grief. "If we continue to exist in this reality after we alter the future and save Earth, we'll never get to go back. Everyone~ Master Splinter, the Mutanimals, Karai ~ they're as good as dead to us."
His blunt summary took its toll, and Michelangelo's baby blue eyes welled up and spilled over. One by one, the same thing happened to the others, and they gathered around each other, sharing in the small comfort of their presence. The small spark of hope that flickered in each of their hearts, hope that they might once again see their father and touch his fur and smell his scent and hear his voice, died.
Grieving a father was bad enough the first time.
It felt as though they were living his death all over again.
END