It's been too long hasn't it my dears? My sincerest apologies and I hope you can forgive me. Life had taken over but I'm ready to continue this story for you all. :)

Thank you for all your reviews and follows, I am quite blown away by it all And really know what to say. :)

So, hold tight and let me guide you through the rest of this tale :)

'I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
'Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone

These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase...'

My Immortal - by Evanescence

(I found this whole song to be rather poignant to this chapter. Just hang on my dears, one more sad chapter after this then we can start looking up again! :) )

Chapter 9 'Ghosts'

4 years later…

All was quiet in the lair save for the occasional beeps and bells from the arcade and pinball machine that Donnie refused to unplug but wouldn't play. Too many memories to lose and remember.

Donnie, 19 years old and 4 inches taller sat in his lab readjusting a temperamental security camera, cursing as he touched a wrong wire causing it to spit rudely up at him. "For goodness sake you little, urgh," it happened again and Donnie abruptly threw the soldering pen down with a frustrated shout. "Be like that then! See if I care!"

"Donatello?"

The mutant turtle shoved the camera away from him bringing a hand to his head in bitter frustration. "Yes sensei?" He uttered wearily.

"It is time my son."

Donnie sighed deeply and leaned back on his chair causing it to creak and squeak in protest. "Hai sensei, would you give me one minute?"

The tall rat nodded from the doorway. "Of course Donatello, I will be waiting in the main living area."

"Thank you sensei," he was left alone again.

The teen glanced at the clock hung on the wall before him. Time it seemed was passing him by again. Had it really been another year? He glanced across at the numerous photographs that he had tacked to wall behind of his workbench, suddenly feeling an anxiousness tense his chest. His fingers stretched out and traced them across the nearest picture and his breath hitched in his throat. Four years. Four. He scarcely believed it. Had it really been that long?

It took a second to decide and Donnie peeled the picture off the wall and tucked it under the strap that crossed his plastron. He crossed the silent lab and holstered the staff that stood up against the doorway. The weight brought a comforting reassurance and he took a steadying breath as he left the chamber.

Splinter was waiting patiently in the centre of the room, hand folded atop his green crystal cane. "Are you ready my son?"

Donnie nodded. "Hai sensei," he turned to head toward the exit that they normally used but the next line his father spoke froze his feet to the floor.

"I thought we could take the Shellraiser there this time."

Donnie swallowed nervously. "Th-the Shellraiser?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I-I don't know sensei. It-it's been standing idle for so long it probably won't even run."

Splinter raised a disbelieving eyebrow and quirked his head to side. "Is that so?"

Donnie nodded stiffly but knew Splinter saw straight through the lame excuse.

"Do not lie to me. Will the Shellraiser start?"

Donatello's shoulders slumped and he looked to the side to try and hide his guilt. "Yes, sensei. It will," he murmured.

"Then lead the way," Splinter motioned with his hand.

Donnie tried one more time. "I'd much rather walk sensei, if, if you don't mind."

"I do mind," there was a hard edge to Splinter's blunt answer.

Donnie winced. There seemed to be no way out of it and when Splinter pointed again the teen reluctantly obeyed. He had to face it some time. Pushing through the turnstiles the young mutant ploughed to a halt several paces from the Shellraiser's door. A barrage of memories swept up and over him, crashing about his ankles as he stared, unable to move.

"Is something wrong?"

The youth hesitated. "No sensei," he lied.

"Well then, the door will not open itself my son."

Donnie dared to move closer and held his breath as he reached out and activated the converted train carriage's door. It hissed open with a tired mechanical sigh. The youth bit down hard an his bottom lip and felt himself quake as the musty smell of years old abandonment hit him full in the face.

"You can do it," Splinter reassured. "I am right here."

Donnie shut his eyes and nodded. He placed his hands either side of the door's opening and hauled himself up. He had had not dared laid a foot inside the Shellraiser since the day he had driven it back from that damned house of horrors. When he had reached the lair he was a quivering wreck. His brothers' voices seemed to be all around him and then their screams. He couldn't get away from the vehicle fast enough. He'd spent the next two days huddled in the corner of his bedroom wailing, convinced his brothers were haunting him, blaming him for their deaths. Oh yes, that first year had been a dark one. His father though, he managed to keep him sane, pulled him back from the edge of oblivion and stopped his mind from going crazy with grief. Splinter even bore the brunt of his bouts of desperate fury toward him for not laying the blame upon Donnie. He shut his eyes. He wasn't proud of that.

The mere sight of the Shellraiser still gave him chills sending icy spears of fright that sliced to the very core of his being. He avoiding even looking in the direction of the turnstiles knowing this was the last place he'd parked the invention that he was once so very proud of. He recalled the praise he'd received from Raphael, a rarity indeed and it was something that he treasured to this day. An unexpected lump pressed in his throat.

The first step was hard. The second was even worse. Donnie's eyes slipped across the interior, taking in each of the individual stations that he had intended each of his brothers to use dependent on their skills, navigation, weapons and the driver. The analyst position sat empty and alone at the back of the Shellraiser. It was in the best place where he could monitor the data on the numerous screens from his on-board computer and to keep a watchful eye on the activities of his brothers. He spied an old comic, shoved unceremoniously under the navigation's chair cushion by its owner and the lump in his throat swelled a fraction too big. Donnie couldn't take another step further.

Whispers, voices of the past seemed to echo all about him. He could see them in their placements laughing, joking, arguing, every sound that he associated with this place filtered into his mind. This was too much. He had managed to close this off, block it from his memories for the longest time. They were far too strong in this place. His head began to throb. An iron fist squeezed at his chest and Donnie suddenly found it too hard to breathe. He needed to get out. Get out before the voices started haunting him again. He couldn't do this.

Donnie stepped back one, two and the third found his shell butt up against something firm and unyielding. "You have come this far Donatello, do not back out now."

Donnie glanced over his shoulder. Still standing outside, Splinter stood poised, with his arm out, a strong hand pressed against his carapace, solid and unmoving. Anxious eyes swept over the interior once more and just as he feared the voices rose about him. Donnie shook his head, his breaths getting shallower as he began to hyperventilate. His legs turned to water and he shoved back against the obstacle as he felt the beginnings of a full-blown panic attack take hold.

"Let me out sensei," the youth uttered desperately.

"No. You will get past this."

Donnie brought both hands to his head as he felt his muscles seize and begin to tremble. "I can't."

"You will."

Donnie gasped, the world began to spin about him and started to press in on him as the accusations he feared flooded the rest of his senses. He thrust himself back but Splinter refused to relent. His anxiety was taking hold and try as he might Donnie couldn't control it.

"Sensei, father please! I can't do this!" He cried, releasing a half broken sob before he could bite it back.

Splinter finally seemed to loose his infinite patience. "Chikusho Donatello! Do not let this irrational fear rule you! If you cannot conquer it, it will rule you for the rest of your days!"

A more pronounced sob escaped and Donnie pushed back with frustration as he whimpered plaintively.

'Look up.'

An alarmed cry leapt up Donnie's throat and he thrust himself back with renewed effort. "Let me out! LET ME OUT!" He suddenly felt gentle pressure on either shoulder and a voice calm and reassuring met his ears.

"Close your eyes and breathe in deep and let it out slow."

Donnie did as he was told.

"And again."

Donnie repeated the action and his limbs stopped quaking and the voices faded. At last he found that he could open his eyes. He focused on his toes and continued until his breaths no longer shuddered from his chest. At last he looked up and stared straight ahead.

"How do you feel now my son?"

"Better, thank you sensei," Donnie uttered gratefully.

"You must not let these negative feelings overwhelm you my son. They will eat away at your soul until you have nothing left. If you meditate and calm you mind, you will find it easier to control these unwanted fears. Focus on the positive."

"I will try sensei."

Splinter stepped into the Shellraiser behind his son, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Let us go then my son."

Donatello nodded. "Hai sensei."

It was a quiet ride to the warehouse and although Donnie's anxieties prickled at the back of his mind, he managed to keep a level head. He kept sensing Splinter gazing across at him from the weapons station though. He knew a tense expression had take residence across his face, a mere reflection of what he truly felt like inside despite his sensei's wise and comforting words.

Donnie knew that he would never really be rid of it. He just had to thrust it down, push it back and concentrate on what he had. Easier said than done though. Oh yes, easier said than done.

Entering the warehouse was hard, not physically but emotionally, as it always had been for Donatello. He tried to hide behind a stoic mask but that had never been his strongest suit. His emotions had nearly always been easy to read ever since he was a child. Hiding behind a book never worked the same as burying himself in research or his latest invention. It was a testament that something was bothering him when he immersed himself so deeply by hiding from the happenings of the world around him.

This was no different. As they found themselves standing in that unholy place where it had happened, Splinter straight through his shallow ruse. An aged hand was rested on the back of his scarred shell.

"Would you like to light the candles this time?" He asked gently.

Donnie hesitated but then found himself nodding. "Hai sensei, I would."

Splinter reached into the bag that he carried and passed his child a book of matches.

For a moment Donnie just stood, staring at them, turning them over and over in his hand, nipping his bottom lip as he did so.

"Take all the time you need Donatello," Splinter said softly.

Donnie squeezed his eyes shut and palmed the matches as he drew a steadying breath. He didn't know how long he stood there that way. It could have been an eternity for all he knew. All he concentrated on was the beating of his anxious heart.

After an age and without further hesitation Donatello opened his eyes, flipped the matchbook open and approached the four well burned candles placed on the floor between the still suspended cylinders. The youth deliberately kept his eyes away from them.

He struck a match, holding it steadily between his thick fingers before slowly lighting each candle pausing before he lit the next. Leonardo. Raphael. Michelangelo. April. A lump rose in his throat and a hand was instinctively pressed against the photograph slipped under his shoulder strap.

Gradually Donnie hauled himself up still feeling the heavy weight upon his shoulders when he first left this death trap all those years ago. He caught a glimpse of his brothers' cylinder out of the corner of his eye, (their ashes had long since been retrieved from their tomb) and the mask he'd been wearing creased as he backed away till he stood alongside his father.

They were practically equal in height now but Donnie still felt like that frightened fifteen year old that had stumbled back to the lair that dark night, the child who had lost everything. He finally felt tears sting at his eyes as the last of his stubborn resolve to remain stoic faced like his teacher shattered in the matter of a second.

His shoulders quivered and his throat worked as he vainly tried one last ditch attempt to swallow the grief back down but stubborn as he was it seemed, the grief dug in its claws like a beast and thrust itself forward until Donnie couldn't fight it back any more. His defences crumbled into nothing and before he knew it he had one arm wrapped about his torso and the other hand mashed against his face as the beast of grief invited the monster of guilt along to its terrible party. Hot tears burned from his eyes and his sobs seized his lithe frame in painful, unrelenting spasms.

Donnie hadn't lost himself to this darkness since the initial loss and he couldn't stop. God forgive it, he just couldn't reign it in or push it back. Damn it! He couldn't freaking control himself. It was stepping into the damn Shellraiser. That's what had done it.

His father's arm was then about him and he allowed himself to be drawn in, seeking comfort from the soft fur of the rat's neck as he pressed his face into his shoulder.

'Never leave me,' Donnie suddenly found himself praying. 'I never want to be alone.' It was an idle wish. He knew that nobody lived forever but the youth swore that if his father wasn't there to ground him he would go mad with loneliness.

So, in that shrine, in that place of lost hope, Donatello clung to his father and promised himself that he would never allow that to happen. His tears continued to fall until he had no more left to give.