This is a sequel to my first fic, Night Falls. It probably would be helpful if you read that first, but at any rate...Please review, and as always, I don't own anything here.

Michelangelo could hear it in his dreams. A hiss and a gurgle, over and over, a choking sputter, then silence. His brain knew that he was sleeping, but he could not force himself awake. He could only wait it out, cringing at the sounds that April made as she died. Several times a night he would jolt out of sleep, the noises still echoing in his ears, and lay staring into the darkness of his bedroom. It had only been two days since they returned from the farm, but they had been tense days, and they were filled with charged silence and short tempers. His nights weren't any better.

Mike sighed into the darkness. A slick of cold sweat on his forehead chilled him, and he tucked his blankets closer under his chin and curled his legs up toward his chest. Part of him wanted to cry. But he was tired, sick and tired of crying, which in turn made him feel even worse, as though he was being disloyal. He knew it would be hours before he made it back to sleep, and it hardly even seemed worth it. With a groan, he kicked off the blankets and rolled out of bed, stumbling out toward the living area.

The lair was dark, and he had to stand for a moment to let his eyes adjust. As he did, he was startled to see the form of one of his brothers sitting motionless on the couch. Shuffling his feet so as to avoid stubbing his toes, Mike shambled over and plopped to a seat in an overstuffed chair.

"Can't sleep?" Donatello's quiet tenor came out of the darkness, weary and subdued.

"Nah. I figured that since Leo would be booting my ass out of bed in three hours anyway, I might as well beat him to the punch."

Don gave a little mirthless snort of a laugh. "Yeah."

"Besides, Splinter is always on me to make better use of my time, so what better use than to sit in the dark and contemplate my navel?" Mike paused, glancing back toward his bedroom, where the soft glow of his nightlight beckoned. "What're you doing out here in the dark, anyway?"

A little sigh, barely audible. "Just thinking."

Mike gave a sigh of his own. "I hear ya, bro. I've never had this much trouble sleeping." He paused, unsure if he should continue, then plunged forward without preamble. "You can't keep obsessing about April, you know."

"I was thinking about that, actually." Don ignored his brother's admonition and leaned forward, seeking Mike's gaze. "What are we going to do about it?"

"About what?"

An exasperated sound came out of the darkness. "About what? About the fact that the Dragons slaughtered our friend. About what. Jesus." The last word was a bitter laugh.

"Donny, I hate to break it to you, but not too many Dragons made it out of that alley alive. And how would we even find the ones who did?"

"That's not who I'm talking about. Those kids are small fish. They didn't just happen onto April by luck. Somebody ordered this to hurt us, and I'd put money on the fact that it was Hun."

Mike leaned back in the chair and laid the back of his neck against the headrest. "Hun doesn't strike me as being the mastermind type of guy, you know." The thought of deliberately taking on that mountain of a human being was enough to make him vaguely sick to his stomach, and he could feel the beginnings of a headache putting pressure on the backs of his eyes. "I dunno, Don. Maybe."

As if he could sense Mike's discomfort, Don gave another sigh. "I'm going to go by April's apartment tomorrow. Maybe there's some clue there. And we need to make sure that there's no trace of us left. No pictures, nothing."

"April would hate that the store will close." Mike felt a catch in his throat. "She loved that store."

"All the more reason to find these cocksuckers and make them pay."

Michelangelo was startled and a bit frightened at the hard tone in Don's voice. This wasn't his gentle, quiet brother. This was someone new, someone scary. "You know, this whole thing is usually Raph's job."

"What whole thing?"

"Being a revenge-obsessed, violent hard-ass."

Don gave a bark of laughter. "Guess I had a wake-up call. Maybe he's had the right idea all along."

"You don't really think that. We're all angry, Don. But I know you, and you're too smart to get caught up in all the berserker vengeance talk." Mike stopped, considering his words, wanting so desperately to make his brother hear him. "We'll get them, bro. But we have to plan. We can't just go out there half-cocked, or we'll just get slaughtered ourselves." He regretted his choice of words immediately, and his stomach gave a flop.

"Don't worry, Mikey." There was steel in Donatello's words. "I'm going to make this right."

"But that's my point!" Mike cringed at the high-pitched whine of his voice, and he forced himself to breathe. "You're trying to take this on alone. We've got to do this together. No Lone Ranger shit. No Nightwatcher vigilante crap. We do it as a team, or we don't do it at all."

"Now you're sounding like Leo." Dry humor softened Donny's accusation.

Mike gave a little laugh. "Every once in a while the guy makes a good point, you know."

"I know. And for the record, the Lone Ranger didn't work alone. He had Tonto." Don leaned forward and clapped Mike on the knee. "It's gonna be okay, Mike. I promise."

A lump in his throat blocked Mike's breath for a minute, so he just nodded. "Yeah. I know it will." In his mind he added, "But will you?"