Short chapter, I know. An epilogue to come, then done. But fear not. The muse hasn't left me yet, and I shall be continuing this in another story. The boys will need revenge, after all, and I see some action and violence in their future. Thanks to all who have reviewed, as always…please keep it up. I'm very greedy. Not mine, as ever.


Darkness cloaked the farm, broken only by the warm lamplight spilling from the windows of the house. The six shared a quiet meal, then padded silently out to the pond where Raphael, Leo, and Splinter had built a pyre. The breath caught in Donatello's throat when he saw it, but he hid it from his brothers by giving a little cough, and wiped his arm across his mouth to mask the quiver in his lip.

He had removed Mike's makeshift bandage from his arm as soon as his brothers left him, and reopened the wound with the blade of the shuriken. He berated himself for being so careless as to let his younger brother see the injury. He didn't expect Mike to understand, and it wasn't fair to burden an already troubled mind with more fear. For someone like Michelangelo, who was abstract, artistic, free of spirit, memories were real, real enough to cling to. But for a mind like Don's, grounded in fact, in the tangible, more was needed. A mark in the physical world.

Casey stepped up to the pyre, April in his arms. He was making no effort to quell the tears that were causing him to breathe in little hiccups and gasps, and Don was forced to look away from his friend, heart burning.

Casey gently laid April's body down on the wood, taking a moment to arrange her hair around her shoulders. Splinter had washed her body and dressed her in clean clothes from the farmhouse closet, but he had been unable to hide the damage to her face. Her quirky beauty had been destroyed, replaced by swelling and bruises. Soon she'll just be ash. She'll blow away on the wind, enriching the soil where she falls, growing up into plants to be eaten by animals. Don shook the thought from his head. Could he never just turn off his brain?

With a shuddering breath, Casey bent to press a lingering kiss to April's lips. He nuzzled his face into her hair and whispered something that none of them could hear, then backed away. His face was creased with pain, shining with tears. Donatello could not bear to look at him, and turned his eyes to the sky where a thousand stars shone, unchanged, unheeding of the tiny drama unfolding below.

Splinter shuffled forward, leaning heavily on his staff. Raphael, with a face full of conflicted emotion, stepped up to hand his father a torch. Splinter lowered his head for a moment, eyes closed against the glow of the flame, then gently touched the torch to the pitch-covered branches at the base of the pyre. The kindling caught and began to crackle, and Donatello felt his stomach twist, tasted bile in his throat.

Splinter slowly bowed, and the brothers followed suit. The flame grew, creeping up to lick hungrily at the frayed cuff of April's jeans. Don had to swallow hard to keep himself from vomiting, but he would not take his eyes from the macabre sight. He owed her that much, to not turn away as he had done only hours ago.

Michelangelo made a little noise of distress and turned to fling himself against Don's chest. Donatello, momentarily startled, took a step backward, but then wrapped his arms around Mike. He could feel Mike's tears against his throat and moisture slicked his own eyes, but he blinked it away. Mike's shoulders were heaving as he tried to catch his breath, and Don sighed as he rested his cheek against the top of his brother's head.

The fire, driven by the night breeze, quickly engulfed the pyre, and April was lost from sight. The heat from the blaze burned against Don's face and made him squint, but he could not, would not, look away. Embers, caught by the wind, swirled upward and out of sight, snapping as they went. There she goes…

Long hours passed before the flames started to die away, and finally the pyre collapsed in on itself with a crash and a flurry of sparks. Raphael, who had been standing silent at Casey's side, took the man by the elbow and they both turned back toward the farmhouse. Leo and Splinter were close behind, their eyes sad, empty.

Michelangelo turned to follow, but when Donatello did not turn as well, he stopped short and touched his brother's elbow. "You okay, bro?" Mike's voice was rasped with grief.

"I'm okay, Mikey." Don forced strength into his voice. "You doing all right?"

"No." Mike's face was drawn, pale. "I think that's the worst thing I've ever seen."

"Me too."

Mike chanced a glance over his shoulder to where the embers still glowed and his eyes filled again. He sighed, and the exhale was shaky with emotion. "I just can't believe that she's gone. She's really gone."

Donatello nodded, staring down at the remains of the pyre. "We've still got each other, Mike. We have to remember that."

"I know." Together they turned to walk back toward the farmhouse. "Hey Donny?"

"Yeah, Mike?"

A short hesitation. "I love you, bro."

Don did not reply, but wrapped one arm around his brother's shoulder, and they walked together through the darkness, away from the fire, away from their friend.