A long overdue chapter. I apologize; life has gotten in the way more times than I can count, and I did want to relax between classes at uni. However, as an apology, I will be posting another chapter tomorrow. It needs a little editing, but not so much that it won't be timely.

And is anyone else as excited as I am for the new episode, "Race with the Demon?" And that last episode? Expect to see some new stuff too.

And, Earlimart. May change it later, depending on if I find a song and artist I think fits better.


Don sat on his bed, knees curled to his chest. His eyes were red from crying and every inch of his body ached. He stared down at the broken gameboy in his hand, constantly screwing and unscrewing its backcase. It was mindless, tedious work, but it gave his hands and thoughts something to focus on. He was tired of thinking, tired of seeing the same horrifying images over and over. But he kept circling back to them, mulling over the memories.

Like Mikey losing his left arm.

Hot, stomach churning nausea railed through his bones and something in the back of his mind slithered He shut his eyes and shuddered. The room was too bright, his eyes burned, and all his body wanted was sleep.

If Donatello had his way, he'd never sleep again.

Soft knocking drew his eyes to the door, but he move to open it. Sighing, he stretched his legs out, waiting for the door to open. He didn't know who to expect. By now, everyone had to think he was on the verge of madness. For all he knew, they'd all walk through his door, determined to talk about what happened. Dissect it. Analyze it.

Donatello didn't want to do that. Not now, not yet.

But the door opened and Don looked up as Splinter stepped inside, his sensei bowing his head in Don's direction before closing the door behind him with a soft snap. Splinter stood there for several long, quiet seconds, watching his son while Don watched his feet. The turtle felt his mouth drying and heart squirming. He wanted to shrink away, press into the wall and disappear.

"We have much to talk about, my son," Splinter said softly.

Donatello thought of the note hiding under his pillow but quickly pushed it away. Now wasn't the time for that. "I know, sensei," Don said, resignation in his voice.

Splinter nodded, gesturing at Donatello's bed. "Would it be all right if I sat with you?"

Don blinked in surprise but nodded, curling his legs back in so Splinter could sit next to him. The small mattress dipped and Don found himself sinking toward where his father sat. More silence stretched between them, Don's heart thrashing in his chest by the time Splinter spoke again.

"April did not mean to see what she saw." Eyes widening, Don glanced at his father. "She wanted to be sure you knew that. She had only meant to wake you from your nightmare, to stop you from sleepwalking," Splinter explained, brushing Donatello's shoulder.

"She apologized many times, both to you and to me. For what she saw. For what she didn't say." Don shrank a little, looking away. That could only mean one thing. "I did not know you had spoken to her about your recent sleepwalking." It was a statement; not a question or accusation. Somehow, it still stung.

Don shook his head. "She didn't know how serious it actually was. I played it down so she wouldn't worry. Wouldn't-"

"Tell anyone?" Splinter finished for him. Don nodded, sheepish, but Splinter only sighed. "I know, my son. I know it's hard to ask for help. More so with you and this situation. And your stubbornness." They both chuckled a little. Splinter trailed off, his eyes darkening. "When I felt you two connect, there was this...wave of emotions."

Don's face scrunched in confusion. "You felt it?"

"Yes. Acutely, even if I wasn't the one to make the connection. It's something that comes from years of honing the skill and constant meditation. April, however, has an innate gift-she could not have known or been prepared for what would happen next." Don bit lip and nodded.

"The emotions passing from you to her were jumbled, but they were all dark. Guilt, regret, shame and loss. Fear. Rage. So many things. But I don't know what you saw. What made you feel that way."

Splinter eyed Donatello carefully, grabbing him by the chin when he looked away. Don gulped, eyes flitting across his father's face. Splinter loosened his grip, patting his cheek. "I don't know what you saw, but I know it was a terrible thing. April refused to tell me. She said that it was up to you to share it. And I agree."

Splinter lowered his arms and waited. Donatello stared at him, throat tight, trying to think of what to say or how to say it.

"I-I don't know if I can talk about it, sensei." Don's voice was subdued, barely above a whisper. He brought his knees to his chest again, wrapping his arms around his legs. "I-I don't know. I don't know why I saw it or what it means."

"Like the sleepwalking? The blackouts?"

Don's stomach dropped and he hopped from the bed, nearly stumbling into his desk chair. He rounded on Splinter, spluttering and shaking his head. "Leo told you?" He told you about that?"

Splinter's eyes hardened for the first time since he entered. "Yes, Donatello. He told me. He had to. You were making no move on your own and it has become more than clear that this is something you cannot handle alone."

"But he promised he wouldn't!" Don didn't know why he was shouting, why he felt so hurt. He knew the moment Leo made that promise he'd never meant to keep it. That he would go to Splinter and tell him everything. I knew it. I knew it was going to happen. Why does it-

"You must understand your brother's position, Donatello," Splinter said evenly. "He must look after each of you. Make sure you are safe from harm. Your lives are just as much his responsibility as mine."

A pang of guilt hit Don and he looked down at the floor, running a hand over his face. "I'm sorry," he muttered, eyes burning. "I am. But I just-I don't-I don't know what else to-"

Coughing interrupted him and Don whipped up, expression torn as Splinter coughed hard into his hand. Donatello blinked hard and wiped at his eyes. His chest swelled painfully and he pushed the feeling down. Splinter relaxed when the coughs subsided, catching part of Don's reaction. The old rat stood and put his hands on Don's shoulders.

"I am all right, my son. I am all right."

Don took a large gulp of air, shaking his head. "No, you're not, sensei. You've been sick like this the last few days but because of this stupid-whatever this is, I haven't been able to help you at all. Who knows what this could be or how bad it is. I should have been paying more attention, trying to-"

"That is enough, Donatello." Splinter squeezed Don's shoulders, searching his eyes. "You have had more than enough to worry about. You do not need to add my cold to the list."

"It doesn't sound like a cold, sensei." Don couldn't understand the panic flooding his chest or why he felt like this was all his fault. A heavy shadow clung to his shell, pulling him down. "I'm sor-"

"No apologies." Splinter's voice was firm and brooked no argument.

Donatello closed his eyes and moaned, walking back to his bed and dropping onto it. He pressed his face into the sheets, breathing in the musk of oil and pencil lead. "I'm so tired I can't even think straight."

"Which brings me to my next point." Don furrowed his brow, pushing himself back up and looking quizzically at his father. "While I may not understand the exact cause behind this, I believe it is safe to assume it surrounds your sleeping habits. What do you think, Donatello?"

Don nodded, resting his head against the cool wall. He could hear the echo of dripping water and found it oddly soothing. "It's the only thing that makes sense. All the strange behavior patterns are connected to my sleep, or lack of it." His mind instantly brought back several studies he'd read about sleep deprivation; what it did to judgment, motor skills, reaction time.

But it couldn't be the only thing. He'd had poor sleeping habits for the past couple of years now, bouncing between semi-normal and losing track of time until five in the morning. No, this isn't the only thing. This all started back with that fight.

Don glared at the ceiling, fisting his hands in the sheets. "And...and from that one patrol."

"Donatello? What is it?"

"Ever since the night with the shadow creature. Ugh, why didn't I make the connection sooner? But, that still doesn't explain what's happening to me, or why." He was talking more to himself than Splinter but his father's face turned grave.

"So the Shredder is behind this as well." A dark glint sparked in Splinter's eyes, almost making them glow. Donatello nearly shuddered. "Oroku Saki does not know what he's in for, attempting such a tactic on one of my sons."

"Sensei?"

"But that is a matter for another time. Now, we must find answers. And the best way to do so would be for you to sleep."

Don's stomach dropped. That voice whispered in his head, "We need to talk."

"S-Sensei, no. I don't really think that's the best..." Don shrank back, throat dry. "I mean, maybe there's another way to do this. Without me going to sleep. I-"

I don't think I can handle what I'll see. Mikey...what happened to Mikey... And what about everyone else? What if they're all there too, all about to-

Splinter brushed Don's head, and the turtle looked into his father's eyes. "Father," Donatello whispered, face hot with embarrassment, "I'm scared."

A paw fell on his shoulder and squeezed. "I know, Donatello. I know. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried. But your family and friends are here and we will do anything and everything in our power to protect you. I will protect you, Donatello."

Eyes widening, Don slowly bowed his head and leaned into his father's chest, taking several deep breaths. Minutes passed like this, the silence still tense, but warmth spreading into the cold in Don's stomach.

"I saw Mikey die, sensei," he muttered, jamming his eyes shut. "And be-before that, he was missing an arm. That project-have I been dreaming of that? Is that why I started it? All of this...I don't know what to do." Don shook his head, shivering. "I hate this. I hate not knowing what's wrong, not knowing what to do. I can usually find the answers, but now it feels-it feels like I'm-"

Arms wrapped around his shell and Don quieted, listening as his father breathed. "Come, Donatello, let's get you to bed. I will be there. You are not helpless."

Don wasn't ready. But he followed anyway.


Donatello tried not to look at April or his brothers' faces as he waited by his father's room, pillow and blanket tucked under one arm. Heart thudding painfully in his chest, he watched Splinter come in and out of the room, carrying tea and extra blankets, as well as a few more cushions and a small radio.

"In case the music soothes you. It used to when you were small," Splinter had said, and Don agreed because maybe it would. Maybe it would help him relax and willingly enter sleep again.

He doubted it, though.

"It's like a sleepover, huh?" Mikey said, breaking the silence. He tried to smile, unable to stand the tense quiet. "It's been a while since any of us had one with sensei. You're lucky, Don, Splinter doesn't usually let me in his room. He says I might knock something over. I don't know why. I'm a ninja aren't I?" Michelangelo ignored Raph's piercing gaze, grinning at Leo. "Besides, if we had to worry about anyone knocking something over, it'd be Leo. Or did we already forget the stair incident?"

Leo rounded on him, cheeks dark, "One time. It happened one time and it was only because you guys wouldn't. Keep. Quiet."

"I'm pretty sure it happened at least twice these last couple of months," Raphael added. He smirked at Leo struggling not to blow his top, the oldest boxing his head and whipping away.

"Sure, whatever helps you guys get over your own inability to remain stealthy and silent."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad, Leo. And I'm a way bigger klutz than you." Leo balked at April, shaking his head.

"Not you too! What's with everyone today? What did I do?" Donatello found himself smiling, quickly hiding it behind his hand. Leo glanced over when a chuckle escaped Don, smiling a bit himself. When the brothers caught eyes, Leo quickly dropped his gaze and rubbed his arm. "Um...listen, Don. I know... I know I said I wouldn't tell Splinter about before... But I just couldn't. I mean, that was just too big of a-"

"I know, Leo. I know." Don sighed, voice calm. "I think I knew it was coming, even when you were making that promise. I guess-I don't know. Maybe I wanted you to tell him. Maybe get some help before things got worse." Don gave an empty smile "Obviously that didn't quite go so well." Leo tried to think of something to say, but Splinter's voice came from behind.

"All we can do now, my sons, is learn from our mistakes." Splinter emerged from his room, looking at Don. "Now, we must do what we can for your brother. Come, Donatello. As for all of you, please wait out in the living room if you must. Otherwise you are free to go to bed. Or home," Splinter said, glancing at April.

She jumped, smiling but looking sheepish. "Um...mind if I spend the night? I already told my aunt I'd be at a friend's house for the rest of the night a while ago, so..."

"Of course. The couch is always open," Splinter said, smiling. Don still hadn't moved from his spot, watching the others talk instead. Splinter leaned in his direction. "Donatello?"

"Hai, sensei." He waved at April and his brothers before crossing into his father's room, squinting in the dark and eyes immediately centering on two candles sitting on a table in the center of the room. He felt around the dark with his foot, pausing when his toes hit a soft lump before kneeling down and patting his makeshift bed.

Heart racing, he crawled onto the many blankets and sheets, throwing his pillow under his head and bringing his own blanket over him. He laid face up, staring into the dark and waiting for the door to slide closed. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out Splinter's form moving around, lighting a few more candles before coming to sit near Donatello.

Without a word, Splinter switched on the small radio, quiet classical music filling the otherwise silent room. "I will stay close to you, meditating. I will try to connect with you as you dream, and hopefully we'll both see what it is that's plaguing you."

Don nodded, squirming a bit at the thought of his father seeing into is mind. The whole thing sounded impossible, but he didn't want to admit it out loud. And after everything he'd experienced the last few months, who was he to say what was and wasn't possible?

"Do not worry, my son. It's nothing so intrusive as mind reading. It is a difficult thing, to enter another's dream and see what they see. Feel what they feel. It will take time for me to enter, and I will only be able to see so much. Of course," he added, nodding at him, "I will do my best to provide you with comfort, and fight to stay as long as I can."

"Okay." Don nodded, more to himself than his father. "Okay."

Splinter turned around and Don heard a clatter before Splinter faced him, handing him a cup of tea. Don stared at it, confused.

"Too calm your nerves and help you sleep," he said easily. Oh, of course. Don brought the drink to his mouth, taking several deep gulps and slapping his lips. The honey pooled in his mouth and he smiled. "My favorite."

"Thank you," Don muttered. His father stood up, lighting several sticks of incense and blowing out several candles before sitting next to Donatello again. "Now try to relax. Don't think of what's to come. Focus on your exhaustion and I'm sure you'll be able to sleep."

Don nodded once more, eyes fluttering shut. He started breathing deeply, trying to shut his thoughts and growing apprehension off. He focused on the itch behind his eyes, the sagging of his shoulders, the lead weights in his legs. He could feel himself being pulled under, faster than he thought, faster than he meant.

"We need to talk."

The one thought, the one realization, almost made him wake up and tell Splinter they should find another way. That there might be something waiting for him in his own head, something dangerous.

But he was already gone.


Donatello found himself floating into awareness, his body resting on something cool. Groaning and squirming, he rolled off his shell and opened his eyes, perplexed when everything remained black. He closed and opened his eyes several times but everything stayed dark and formless, and he sighed. Pushing himself off what he thought was the floor, he stretched his hands out in front of him and felt around, hitting only air. Just looking around hurt and it felt as if this world was suffocating him.

"This would be a lot easier if I could see."

A spotlight came from above, complete with a loud, echoing click that sent a circle of white light onto Donatello. Hissing, he threw his arms over his eyes and waited until the burning stopped before he let his arms fall to his sides.

He took several steps forward, the light following him in a way that kept him in the circle's center. Looking around, he saw the darkness stretched endlessly in all directions, with no other light or figures in sight. He ran a hand over his face, narrowing his eyes when he realized something.

He was lucid.

Rather than being in the throes of a dream or nightmare, only along for the ride and forced to watched what would unfold, his thoughts remained coherent and questioning. He didn't understand the place he was, had demanded light and received it...

That doesn't make sense. I didn't actually try and have a lucid dream. But-but maybe it's because...

Nodding to himself, Donatello closed his eyes and released a long, slow breath. The slip of paper crossed his mind and he said aloud, "I'm here so we can talk."

Instantly the air shifted, circling around Donatello like a whirlwind. Wisps of black smoke wove into the light, sitting idle once they reached Don. He followed them, heart racing as more of this smoke slithered into the circle and gathered near his feet. The air grew heavier and Don took a step backward, eyes widening when the smoke only followed him.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he whipped around, reaching for his staff and stomach dropping when he found nothing. The hand, made of the same black mist, curled around his right wrist and pinched the bone. Don winced, heart leaping into his throat when another hand, this one small and human, touched his shoulder.

"You okay, Donnie?"

"April?" He looked around, a smile forming, and then falling as he caught sight of her.

She looked like April, with red hair in a loose ponytail and familiar yellow shirt with the number five plastered on her front. Her brow was furrowed and she peered at his face, blue eyes worried. But the whites of her eyes were black, with dark veins spreading like spider webs out of their corners. Don gasped, taking another step back while the smoke swirled around April's feet before billowing out in a great whoosh, blasting Don like a gust.

"You're not her..." he mumbled to himself. He glared at the ground, cheeks hot. "Why did I even think-"

"Because," she said, and it was strange. It was April's voice; he knew it and recognized it instantly. But there was an echo; a strange warp to it. "You're looking for comfort. Familiar people are comforting. So here I am."

"But you're not her," Don said firmly. Like it was important. Like the creature, like the not-April, had to understand this before anything could continue.

"You're right," she said, eyes softening. "I'm not."

"Then who are you?"

"We've already met." She shrugged, smile playing on her lips and hands tucked behind her back. "That night, in the alley. When I was still young, still largely untouched. A blank canvas."

Don shook his head and cut across her, "You're those shadows, right? The ones that were after Leo. Sent by-"

"The Shredder, yes." April nodded, stretching her arms above her head and sighing. "I can feel it here. Much more than usual." Don tilted his head and she chuckled, the laughter echoing throughout the room.

"Your thoughts and feelings. What you want and what you don't. You don't feel like hearing my odds and ends. You want to know who sent me, how I was made, what's wrong with you and how I'm connected. You have all these burning questions but there's fear here, too. I can feel it in the floor, thrumming through the dark."

April spun in her place, clasping her hands at her back again and stretching the limbs further and further. Don winced at a crack, tearing his eyes away from the crooked arms.

"Why would you-"

"It doesn't hurt. This can't hurt me." She didn't look at him anymore. Instead, she stared off into the distance, seeing something Don couldn't. "It can't hurt you, either, so try not to make that face. Believe it or not, it hurts me when you feel this way. Worried, scared. In pain."

"I'm not calling you April," Don said, shaking his head. "So... What should I call you?"

"I never really gave it much thought." She brought a stretched, gangly finger to her lip."Why not Shade?" She paused, entire body shivering before she giggled. "Too cliché? But it's what I want. It sounds more interesting than shadow, anyway. Besides, who wants to be named what they're made of? Shadow doesn't sound interesting to me." She turned back to him, holding her hands in front of her face, hiding behind her fingers. "Think of me as Shade."

Don groaned, pinching the space between his eyes. "How can you be made of shadow? It's-it's formless, it has no substance. How can that really be your composition? It's impossible."

Her eyes flashed and she stepped forward, invading Don's personal space, her face hovering to close to his while she spoke. "You should no better than anyone that there's hardly such thing as 'impossible.' Otherwise, you would be impossible. Your father. Your brothers. The Kraang." She flitted away, twirling out of the circle and into the darkness, evaporating.

"Besides," April's voice came from all angles, "You know at least one way it could have happened. It's the same thing that created you, in a sense."

"Mutagen," Don said shortly.

She stepped back into the circle, except now she was Michelangelo, grinning wide and eyes dancing. Familiar Mikey devilishness but tainted with something Donnie couldn't name. "You hit it right on the nose." Mikey's voice too, and it bothered Don because of what he'd seen.

And older Mikey, haggard and missing an arm. April trying to wake him from his nightmare. Crying, but he couldn't remember if he'd sobbed in the dream or reality. Finally, Mikey's voice brought him back.

"But I'm just making guesses. I don't remember my own creation, or really much at all aside from the fight with all of you in the alley."

Don nodded, watching Mikey watch him. He bit his lip, the question bubbling out before he could stop himself. "How are you this coherent? Before you could barely string words together but now? Now it's like-"

"I'm a whole different person? Well, thing, anyway." Michelangelo giggled, sound echoing and coming from all sides. But Don could feel his curiosity getting the better of him. His shoulders relaxed and he listened intently. It was like he was cracking some new puzzle, reading a new textbook. "I have you to thank for that. When I look back and see who I almost attached myself to...well, let's just say I got the best choice."

Don's face soured and he snorted. "Me?" He glared at Mikey, biting out, "So, you're like a parasite?"

"That's such an ugly word. But yes, I'm like a parasite. But it doesn't have to stay that way," he said quickly when Don's face darkened. "No, you and I can actually help each other out. That's what I've been trying to do since I gained enough strength. Help you to help yourself."

"You're working for the Shredder." Donatello's voice took on a new edge and he bared down on Mikey. "So forgive me if I think that's a load of shell."

Mikey hung his hands up, and Don shuddered when the green skin chipped and peeled away, revealing black, wispy skin. The green shreds fell away, sizzling when they hit the ground before fading into the air. A blackened, smokey turtle stood where the Mikey replica had. Familiar, large white eyes stared back at him, and the white smile stretched from cheek to cheek.

"You have every right to feel that way. I would too, in your position. But I think you, out of all your brothers, are a turtle to be reasoned with." Shade held a hand out, grin swelling further. The mass of shadows moved, shrinking and extending until it matched Donatello in shape and height. There was even a gap in the smile now, a small space of black.

Don said nothing, stomach knotting up. His heart thudded painfully in his chest and his legs wanted to move, to run into the darkness.

"I never said I wanted to work for the Shredder, for one. I was simply forced to. I had no way of knowing better." Shade dropped its hand, gestruing to the endless darkness surrounding them. "And even when I didn't know better, I made my own decisions. I was told to enter the 'blue' one. To prick and prod until he couldn't take it anymore, then hijack his body. Reveal Hamato Yoshi's location so that Shredder could finally come and bring an end to things."

Donatello's mouth dropped but Shade shook its head. "I didn't though, did I? I rebelled in those moments, considered different options." Its voice was almost musically; the words practiced. It'd been working on what to say and finally had the chance to say it. "

And something must've drawn me to you, because it was you I chose. And then I spent my time here, doing what I was designed to do. Digging up histories of yourself and your other selves, slowly understanding my purpose as I dwelled inside of you."

Shade laughed, a screech like sound, a violin string plucked violently by the player. "You're absolutely infectious. Maybe you're more parasite than me. But it would make sense. I've seen your many stories, seen all the endings and beginnings. Came to understood how I was meant to bring Leonardo to his knees, weaken him."

Don growled, grabbing Shade's arm. "You're not making any sense at all! Other histories? Other selves? What do you even-"

"Alternate Donatellos. Alternate Aprils and Leos and Mikeys, Raphaels, Splinters, Shredders. Alternate worlds. Some happy, some dark, some running alongside this one." Shade peeled itself away from Don, only to twine its three fingers into his. Don shook his head, swallowing.

"But that's impossible. How would you even-"

Don stopped when Shade blinked, leaving its eyes black for a second. Then the white eyes stared into Donatello, searching him, digging inside of him. "Is it really?" Shade asked, squeezing Don's fingers. "Is it really impossible? Even after what you've seen the Kraang do?"

Don's thoughts flew to the teleporter, the device that ushered the Kranng from Dimension X. His stomach shriveled and heart dropped from his chest. Shade pressed on, undeterred by Don's silence. "You don't really think that deep down, do you? You just don't want it to be true, don't want it to be real. Because you saw a part of that universe, that possible future, and you didn't like it."

Don shook his head more violently, slamming his eyes shut and trying to pull away. Shade's grip was like a vice, wrapping around him and rooting him in place. Images of Mikey, missing an arm, dropping to the ground covered in blood. Of Mikey screaming for him, for him and still falling. Still dying. Because Don hadn't saved him then.

"If it's true, than it could happen again. History repeats itself. You know this. Have read it countless times in textbooks; the empires that would rise, fall, committing the same mistakes, trusting the wrong people, stepping on the weak. I could go on, but the truth remains the same."

Don felt Shade's lips by his ear, the creature almost purring, "It could happen to you."

Donatello moved back, shoving Shade away with his arm. He ran his hand over his face, bowing his head and taking several deep breaths. "No, it can't."

"You don't believe that," Shade said, voice losing its lightness. "If you did, you wouldn't be trying this hard to convince yourself. You wouldn't be this afraid. I wouldn't have been able to shake you if the images, the memories you saw were an impossibility." The word was spat out like a weapon, meant to dig into Don's chest. Into his brain.

"Yes, I do-"

"No. No, I know you don't. You're running the numbers through your head, calculating the chances, the probabilities. Even with what little you remember of these dreams of history, you've thought of at least two hundred and fifty three ways they could have happened," Shade said in a rush, walking to Donatello, hovering over him, casting a shadow across the circle of white light.

"Shut up. Just shut-"

"And you're resorting to this because you don't want to face up to the fact that your brother Mikey can die, very easily, at the hands of the Shredder or the Kraang. That not everyone gets to go home at the end of the day. That not every hero gets their happy ending-" Don grabbed Shade's shoulders and threw it to the ground, kneeing its stomach.

"Get out, get out, get out," Don shouted, vision blurring as he slammed Shade's head into the ground over and over. Don gasped for breath, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, each breath a shuddering, broken sound. "Get out of my head," Don whispered, swallowing.

"You want to know..." Shade muttered. Not a question, but a statement. Don didn't say anything and Shade continued, white eyes slits staring above. "You want to see it with your own eyes and remember. You want to know the truth behind it. Want to know the history of another so you can change your future." The words were flimsy and nearly slipped through Don's fingers, Shade's voice a murmur in the back of his head.

"What if I can't stop it?" Don asked. He didn't open his eyes. Didn't remove himself from his perch on Shade's body.

"You can, if you know what happened. I can't guarantee that something else won't come, ruin you and your family. But this... I can help you stop this."

Donatello shook his head, pushing himself off Shade and falling on his side beside it. He opened his eyes and stared at the churning shadows beside him, waiting until Shade turned its head to stare back at him. Don could hear his heartbeat railing against his skull.

"And why would you help me? If you work for Shredder, why help me?"

Shade blinked, taken aback for the first time since Don had settled in to talk. Slowly, carefully, Shade pushed his body up, making sure to keep Don's gaze as it moved. "I had no control over how I was born," Shade said, voice low, "but I can control how my story will end."

Don nodded, closing his eyes and taking one deep breath.

"Show me," he exhaled.

The darkness around them shuddered, collapsing into the single circle of light.