Chapter 1: Dead or Alive

Though it had been ten years since then, Michelangelo remembered it like it had only been yesterday. How could he forget? The memories came back to him in pieces, like snapshots in a scrapbook. The yelling and accusations. Leo nearly slicing Don open with a katana while Raph—of all people—held him back. Don just standing there, a blank expression on his face. It was the worst day of Mike's life.

Mike leaned back in his chair, sitting at a desk in April and Casey's farmhouse. He stared at the computer screen in front of him and sighed. The only email in his inbox was one from his old friend, the Silver Sentry. He quickly scanned it. Just some chat about a recent meeting with some other local superheroes—the Armed Avenger, the Black Ghost, Raccoon Girl, and the rest. After shooting off a reply, Mike hit the button to compose a new message.

Another snapshot: Leonardo screaming and struggling against Raph's hold. Screaming that Don was dead to them, was out of the clan. Ordering Don to leave and never return.

Don nodding, understanding the judgment. Accepting the judgment.

Back in the present, Mike's fingers lightly danced across the keyboard. "Hey, Don," he muttered aloud while typing out the words, "I know you're not dead, because I must have sent you a million emails over the last ten years and your inbox never seems to fill up. Which means you're still checking and deleting your emails." He paused, hands hovering over the keys. He realized that it was possible someone else had taken over Don's account and was simply deleting his emails as spam. But he preferred to think it was just Don being stubborn. "You might as well reply, Donny, because I'm going to keep writing to you. I miss you, bro."

He hit the "send" button and looked out the window. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, creating a patchwork quilt of dark and light greens on the lawn. It was beautiful, and for some reason the beauty of it just made Mike even sadder.

"We all miss you," he added, though nobody was there to hear. "Even Leo. Especially Leo."

---

Raphael threw a hard punch at the man in front of him. Casey Jones ducked it and stepped back to avoid a second. They were in April and Casey's apartment in the city, sparring while April was out running errands. As they circled each other, responding to each other's movements like dancers in a violent ballet, Casey decided to break the ice.

"So, today's the ten year anniversary, huh?"

Grunting, Raph kicked out and connected with Casey's abdomen. His dark eyes flashed angrily. "Looks like."

Casey staggered back. "You hear from him?" he asked, taking a swipe at the side of Raph's head and just missing.

"Sensei? Nah. He's dead, y'know."

"You know who I mean, wiseass."

The turtle did a back-flip, placing himself out of Casey's reach. "No," he said finally, "I ain't heard from him. And I really don't care if I do."

"That's bull." Casey rushed forward and tackled Raph. As Raph struggled to break the hold, the man's deep blue eyes stared down with concern. "You miss Donny," Casey added, almost as an afterthought.

"Like hell I do. I hope he's dead." Raph pushed Casey off and stalked away.

Apparently sparring was over. Served Casey right, though, for trying to talk during it. Casey followed as Raph walked into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. "I think yer lying," said Casey calmly.

"It's a free country. Think whatever you want." Raph downed his water in one long swallow, then slammed the glass down on the counter. "But you got the wrong guy, Casey. It's Mikey who keeps hopin' that Don's gonna come strolling back into our lives someday. It's Mikey who wants him to. Not me."

Wisely refraining from comment, Casey poured a glass of water for himself and then refilled Raph's glass. They took their water and sat at the table. They drank in silence for a while before Casey asked in an unusually subdued tone, "Think he's still alive?"

Raph looked out the apartment window, thinking it over. Don had been a lot of things, but "natural born fighter" wasn't one of them. "Not a chance," he said, taking a sip of water.

---

Sitting in the lotus position, Leonardo shut his eyes and tried to keep his breathing deep and even. He tried even harder to shut down his mind. The meditation candles threw flickering shadows onto the walls of the lair. Meditating had always come easily to him, but not so after Master Splinter's death. After that terrible day, nothing could empty Leo's all-too-full mind.

He thought about Donatello and wondered where he was. If he was well. If he was even alive.

Leo sighed and tried again to force his brother out of his thoughts. A completely futile effort, of course. Reluctantly he opened his eyes, giving up meditation for the moment. The problem was, he reflected, that while he hated Donatello, some small scrap of him still loved Don too. Every time he remembered Don with the syringe and felt the rage bubble up, suddenly he'd remember something else. The time Don first fixed a toaster. The time Don had his back in a fight with the Foot. Leo would remember how Don's eyes would light up whenever he had an idea or how scared he felt the time Don mutated into a senseless beast.

Shaking his head, Leo stood up and stretched. He didn't know whether it was just because he'd been sitting in one position for too long or he was just getting old, but his arms and legs were stiff as boards. He blew out his candles and headed for the kitchen, thinking bitterly about his ruined meditation.

Leo's mind used to be his greatest asset—his greatest weapon in battle. But that weapon had turned inward, somehow, and now it slashed at Leonardo's very heart.