This story was bouncing around my head for a while, but it took an image from Brushbell to help me figure out how the ending worked. Thank you so much for that!

The Remedy

Casey fidgeted in his seat, his sneakers scuffing at the grass as he tugged on the tie around his neck. The tie had been a stupid idea - he never should have listened to Raph. Moron. April was wearing a freaking hoodie, for crying out loud. Still, not even a hoodie could make April any less gorgeous, and the tie made Casey feel at least not entirely out of place in the bright, flowery gardens.

He wasn't even sure their companion had enough attention to spare to actually notice what he was wearing, though at least he'd remembered Casey's name this time. After April had recounted their last visit, the turtles had called him 'Connie' for weeks. Still, he couldn't really hold it against the guy. Mr. O'Neil has a lot on his mind these days.

April's dad knelt next to her at the edge of the white sand of the zen garden, both of them animatedly messing up the carefully-traced patterns in the sand as they scribbled sciencey stuff in it, passing a stick April had pulled off a flowering crabapple tree back and forth between them.

"Fascinating," Mr. O'Neil said. "So if we could figure out a way to get past the mouth of the breach to this point-"

"We stand a chance at collapsing it for good," April finished. "At least, that's what Donnie thinks. He tried to talk to Gottlieb about it, but Hermann's still mad about the whole 'pea brained cave dweller' crack."

Mr. O'Neil shook his head. "I warned him that Gottlieb's got a temper. I got to know him pretty well when we were working up the Ranger profiles to back up the case for breaking the guys out of detention..." He trailed off, his eyes going momentarily distant as he gazed out over the gardens.

April rested a hand on her father's arm. "I think the problem is that they're too much alike. I'm going to see if I can call Hermann on my own to try to talk him 'round."

Kirby looked down at his daughter and smiled. "He'd be an idiot to say no to you." His expression softening, he took April's face between his hands. "Look at you, sweetie. When did you become such a smart, accomplished young woman?"

April's cheeks reddened beneath her freckles. "Daaa-ad!"

"I mean it." Mr. O'Neil looked up at Casey. "You count your blessings, Casey Jones."

"I do every day, sir," Casey replied.

"Good man," Mr. O'Neil said, laughing at his daughter's protests. The scientist's hair may have been shot through with grey, but he still knew how to get the best of his little girl, and before long, his cornball teasing had her crying with laughter.

It was then that an orderly across the yard dropped one of the trays he was carrying, the crash echoing over the sculpted flowerbeds.

Between one breath and the next, Mr. O'Neil was screaming. The laughter fled from her eyes, April reached for him desperately. "Dad, it's okay, it's fine. You're okay, Daddy, please-"

But it was too later. Mr. O'Neil was gone, lost to hysterics as he sobbed against his daughter's chest. April's face was wet, but her voice remained strong as she held her father, soothing him with gentle meaningless words as she rocked him until the doctors arrived at a run, sedatives in hand. Casey had to help them pry April's hands away as her father's gaze went distant. Her father was staring into her eyes, but they both knew that he wasn't seeing her any more.

"He was the Kraang's prisoner for months," April had told him the night he'd finally gotten up the nerve to ask where her father was. She'd tugged the blanket up further around her shoulders, toying absently with a fraying thread on the pillowcase to avoid looking at him as she spoke. "I never really found out exactly what they did to him, but I know they experimented on him. Messed with his mind. He was in bad shape when we got him back, but I actually think he was doing better for a while..."

And then the kaiju leveled their old neighbourhood. The guys had gotten them to safety, but a part of Mr. O'Neil had never made it out.

April stayed strong until her father was out of sight, and then Casey had to stand there and watch her just...fade. She never cried after one of these episodes. Just... turned inward. Way inward. Sighing, Casey placed an arm around her shoulders and led her back to the hospital's reception area.

"We'll try again next week, okay?"

She didn't answer. He didn't expect her to, but her arms were almost painfully tight around his waist as he wove the bike through the late afternoon traffic, heading back to the Shatterdome.

He didn't know what to do to fix her dad. But at least he knew the remedy for what was ailing April.

The Shatterdome was cold and damp in the autumn. They assured him it would get better as the winter set in and the tightwads holding the purse strings finally broke down and turned the heat on, but for now they were deep in their "energy saving measures." Which meant that the guys tended to do the turtle thing nap a lot when they weren't training.

Sure enough, he found the turtle he was looking for bundled up in a hoodie and dozing on a bench in the lounge, the book he'd been reading when he'd fallen asleep lying at his feet.

Casey grabbed the bo leaning against the doorframe and crossed the room, towing April behind him. When he reached a safe distance, he stopped and prodded Donnie in the side "Yo, braniac. Wake up."

Donnie moved before Casey could blink, his hand lashing out in a green blur and yanking the bo from his hand.

One of the first things Casey had learned about living with the guys. When trying to wake a sleeping ninja, always use a stick.

The rest of Donnie woke up a few moments after his ninja reflexes did, and he blinked muzzily up at them. "Huh? Wha?"

Placing his hands gently on April's shoulders, Casey propelled her toward Donatello. "It happened again. Fix this."

Donnie's eyes focused at last on April. He didn't say a word. Just held out his hands. Casey's were still on her shoulders, and he could feel the tremor that ran through her as her inner barriers snapped and she collapsed against her co-pilot.

The worst part, Casey thought as he moved around the lounge, putting Donnie's bo and book back in their proper places, was the fact that she never made a sound. Just shook as she wept silently into Donnie's chest. Donnie never said anything either; he just held her, stroking her hair, and let whatever it was that kept them so strong in the Drift do its thing.

By the time Casey found a blanket to cover them, April was sound asleep in Donnie's arms. That was pretty much par for the course, too; because of the weird thing her brain did, she found the constant emotional barrage of hospitals exhausting at the best of times. Donnie appeared to have conked out, too, but one brown eye cracked open as Casey returned bearing two cups of the terrible lounge coffee, and he held out his hand with a look of grateful relief as Casey passed one to him.

"Thanks," Donnie said. He didn't mean the coffee.

"You too." Sinking down on the bench with a quiet groan, Casey glanced over at his sleeping girlfriend. Her face was still tear streaked, but at least that horrible tension had eased out of her. He hated seeing her like this. It was so much harder when there was nothing he could punch to make it better. Shuddering, he took a sip of the horrible cofffee. "You think it's ever gonna get better?"

Donnie winced as he lowered his own cup, glaring in pained effrontery at the sludge within. "I hope so. His is a bad case, but post-traumatic stress treatments have come a long way since the first world wars."

"Bet they didn't have to deal with aliens, though."

"No," Donnie said slowly. "No, that would be new." Giving up on the coffee, he passed the cup back to Casey. "Still..." He glanced down at April, who was beginning to drool onto his hoodie. "He's got the best incentive in the world right here."

"And she's got us," Casey said.

Though Casey often found the Shatterdome's resident genius confusing and impossible to understand, that wasn't the case this time. They may not always get along, or even understand one another, but on one thing, they were both in perfect, drift-compatible accord.

Donnie smiled. "Always."