This chapter I wrote for 'Turtly Xmas Countdown' on DeviantArt and Tumblr my day was 22! Enjoy my dear readers and have a fabulous festive season!

~WHD~

After a few hours sleep in the van, the family of two continued on their way. The snow had stopped and the blanket of white covered the multitude of sins bringing a beauty that only the aftermath of a snowstorm could bring.

Their destination appeared in the distance and Don peered over his shoulder, where Mikey still dozed on the back seat. He looked back ahead. The closer they got the harder his heart pounded. What possessed him to suggest this? Oh, yeah. That's right. He didn't want Mikey running about topside in the snow. It was a pang of nostalgia, something from the distant past that slipped past his throat before he could stop himself.

The look of absolute joy that plastered Mikey's face when he mentioned it, was still branded in his mind. He'd felt a painful pang in his breast which set a lump swelling in his throat as he was instantly reminded of his baby brother. In that second he didn't have the heart to retract the suggestion. So, here they were, five minutes away from a place that he hadn't stepped foot in, in years. His chest clenched.

Don reached over the seat and tapped Mikey's shoulder. "Hey, Mikey, we're here."

The leaf green head bobbed up. "We are?"

"Take a look," Donatello nodded ahead of them and Mikey duly squealed in excitement.

"What is it? What is it?" He bobbed eagerly in his seat.

"It's a farmhouse," Don said quietly.

"Cool!"

Don slowed down as he turned the van into the driveway. Mikey duly hung over the front seat to get a better look. "Whose farmhouse is it?"

The moment the innocent question passed Mikey's beak, a fist of cold iron clamped about his breast. It was a question the youngster was always going to ask. Don drew in a deep, steading breath, valiantly swallowing back the ever growing lump in his throat. "It belonged to a very, very good friend-," and lover. "-and she passed it onto me," he managed to finish.

"What was her name?"

Don winced, not realising the word he'd said until it was too late, she. He turned off the engine and reached for his belt, listening to the deafening 'CLICK' as he pressed the release button. He took a short sharp breath, keeping his voice as level as he could. "It doesn't matter now," and yanked door open to get out before the child could ask another question.

The chill in the air hit the old turtle first and a shudder coursed up his spine. As he pulled open the van's side door, Mikey instantly spilled out into the snow. Don couldn't recall the last time when he'd seen a smile that wide on the youngster's face.

Bright mitten clad hands immediately dug into the frosty white powder, grabbing handfuls before being flung into the air and floating to the ground. Mikey giggled, repeating the action twice over when Don saw fit to calm him down.

"Mikey, c'mon. Let's get the supplies into the house. There's plenty of time to play in the snow after we've settled down," 'yeah right,' his mind hissed. 'As if you could "settle down" in this place.'

"Okay Grandpa!" Mikey chirped back, running round to the rear of the van and out of sight.

"Slow down!" Don found himself calling as the child disappeared. "I'm not as fast as I used to be," he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly there was a yelp and a heavy sounding 'flumpff!' "OW! Owowowow!"

Donatello hurried round to find Mikey half buried in the snow clutching his left knee. "Mikey! What happened?"

"Some-something hard in the snow," the boy sniffed. "I tripped and bashed my knee on something hard."

Don reached down. "You have to be careful running around in the snow. You never know what may be hidden beneath the surface," he rested a hand on Mikey's back. "Can you stand?"

Mikey sniffled and attempted to get up. He whimpered and he clung to Don's arm. "It hurts Grandpa," he uttered.

"Come here Mikey," Don sighed in resignation, hefting the youngster into his arms. Without warning Mikey looped his own arms about the back of his scarred neck. For a moment he stiffened. "Let's- let's get you in the house," he finally murmured.

The trepidation almost stole his breath away as he reached the farmhouse steps. Donatello paused, taking a long steadying breath before approaching the front door. Feeling the key in his hand and trying to ignore the star shaped key chain that it was attached to, he raised trembling digits and unlocked the door.

With a protesting creak the door swung open. The same musty odour that had met his nostrils all the time ago when he had first stepped foot in this house, hit him again and an almost impossible wave of sadness plunged down over him. Don bit down hard on his bottom lip as his eyes welled. He couldn't lose it, not here, not in front of Mikey. He blinked his eyes furiously, scrunching them tight shut before he trusted himself to open them again.

The old turtle drew in a summoning breath and finally crossed the threshold. He carried Michelangelo to the front room, setting him down on the stale smelling sofa before kneeling in front of him.

"Let's have a look Mikey," he said quietly, rolling up the baggy trouser leg. There was a slight abrasion from where the fabric had rubbed against the skin as it caught on whatever 'hard' thing that Mikey had tripped over. A blossoming bruise grew around it but other than that it was nothing serious, thank goodness. "I think you'll live Mikey," he uttered. "Let me get my First Aid Kit from the van."

"Okay Grandpa," Mikey uttered. "Be quick," the youngster added as he got up to leave.

"I will Mikey," he automatically replied. The boy never liked to be alone but then again there was only the two of them and as a younger child he had always been in the lab with him getting up to all kinds of mischief. He couldn't count the times Mikey had swapped beakers around without him noticing causing explosions with of varying degrees of damage. Thank Darwin the boy had never been hurt. He'd always been the one that ended up getting singed, stained, wet and mildly scolded. Nothing serious but enough to make him look and think twice about what he was mixing with what. It was his own fault really, he thought with a shrug.

Don reached the van, glancing at the ground briefly as he reached for the back doors. He frowned, eyes flicking over the nearby surrounding area. What exactly had Mikey tripped over?

He followed the tracks, seeing how the snow had drifted up against something. Don crouched down and brushed at the cold white crystals until his gloved hand hit something hard and unyielding. It was stone. A flat stone half buried in the ground. The old turtle's heart clenched and he swept the snow away more urgently. Don caught his breath, and pressed shivering fingers over the worn epitaph.

He whipped his hand back over his mouth. "Sensei! Papa, I'm so sorry!" he whimpered, scrabbling to his feet. Seconds later he was at the wheel of the van, driving the vehicle a respectful distance away before cutting the engine. How could he have been so careless? He scrubbed the away the tears that cradled his eyes as he jumped out into the snow, heart hammering a mile a minute as he stared back at the gravestone.

"Grandpa!"

The sudden sound of Mikey's upset voice made the old turtle start and he whipped about to see the little mutant stood at the front door looking positively terrified.

"What is it Mikey? What's wrong?" he uttered still on edge.

"Don't leave Grandpa!" Mikey bleated. "Wh-where were you going?"

Don let his head drop, hand over his heart as he tried to calm down. "I- hhhuhh, I wasn't leaving. I was just moving the van."

"Why?"

'I didn't want to desecrate my father's grave,' he thought with a shiver. "I- I didn't want to trip over what you tripped over Mikey," well, yeah that was a partial truth.

"Oh," the plaintive quality of the youngster's voice faded.

"So," Don then said, trying to make his voice sound as dry as possible. "You can stand on that leg now Mikey?"

Mikey glanced away. "It- it still hurts though," he murmured.

Don knew it had to have been an adrenaline rush, a fear response that sent poor Mikey racing to the door. As if he would leave him! Donatello may have been many things, a scientist, an inventor, a brother, a husband, a widower, a drunk, a- father… but the one thing he could never be was a person who would abandon his family.

Don shivered at the unwelcome reminder. "Why don't you head back inside Mikey, I'll get what we need and come straight back in."

Michelangelo gave him him the biggest wide eyed puppy dog look.

Donatello sighed, adding, "I promise."

Mikey nodded and finally retreated back inside.

The old turtle raised quivering fingers to his brow, sighing again, deep and long. How he was going to get through this stay without a drop of alcohol and endeavor to keep his promise with Mikey, he didn't know. He was going to have to get a grip on his feelings and memories if he ever hoped to get through this Christmas without having a complete emotional breakdown.