029 Keeping a Secret. Rated a hard M! Out of the pool, kids: Adult Swim. SERIOUSLY.

Michaelangelo - Age 17

"Hey, uh, Mikey?"

"What's good, D?"

"Uh…noth…ing? Or is it everything? I don't really know what you're supposed to - things are fine. I just have to talk to you about something. Not a big deal," he added hastily.

"Okay," Mike said, suspiciously, sitting on the edge of Donnie's desk. Normally Don would scold him for it, but today…he had bigger fish to fry.

"Remember how…oh geez."

Donnie took a deep breath, mopped his face, and started again.

"Remember how…I had that little talk with you and the guys about…clearing your web history?"

Mikey laughed abruptly.

"Yeah, you said - "

Mikey cut himself off, his eyes going round. He glanced at Donnie nervously, who just smiled back patiently.

"I forg - I mean…that wasn't me. I'm not, like - I was just…"

Don smiled patiently and waited for him to work through his lame denials. Mikey's expression sagged, and Donnie almost laughed out loud: his green, freckled face was mottled with patches of red - he looked comically miserable.

"You're not gonna tell 'em, right?" he said, in a small voice, and Donnie immediately felt guilty for finding it funny.

"Of course not," Don soothed, "It's really okay, Mikey…Just…if you don't want the others to know yet, then…you gotta be more careful."

"Oh…uh…right. Okay," Mikey said, shuffling his feet nervously, "So…we're cool?"

"Frosty," Don smiled, turning back to his computer, deliberately keeping his tone light and casual, "Why wouldn't we be?"

"So like…you don't think I'm…I dunno."

He looked down at his feet and crossing his arms, rubbed one of his triceps nervously. He said it so quietly Donnie almost missed it:

"A freak'r whatever?"

Donnie's heart tugged beneath his plastron.

"Hey."

He stood up out of his computer chair, and pulled Mike into his arms into a fiercely tight hug. Mike stiffened at first, then hugged him back just as tight.

"Of course I don't. And, strictly for the sake of perspective? We are anthropomorphic turtles who practice ninjutsu," he added, kindly, "So…I think that ship may have sailed."

Mike laughed abruptly.

"Yeah. Heh."

"You're always gonna be my little brother," he said firmly. He added, quietly, "I don't care if you like guys, or…whatever."

"Yeah," Mike grinned lamely, "Not like it really matters, anyway…stuck down here."

Don patted his head. "Chin up. You never know what might happen."

"Yeah, I guess." Mike sighed, and smiled, "Thanks, D. It kinda…feels good. Having somebody who knows."

"Any time," Donnie smiled patiently, "Now get your ass off my desk."

Raphael - Age 22

"Hey, man," Casey said on the phone, casually.

Raph sighed and cursed inwardly.

"You almost here?"

"Yeah," Raph whispered, "I, uh…I got a…thing, here…"

Raph shifted from his place on the rooftop and peered down over the edge. The bum down below that he had been staking out had finally fallen asleep. The half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels was temptingly slack in his grip. It would be so easy.

"Dude," Casey said, firmly, "You missed yesterday."

"I been busy," Raph muttered defensively, "Crime doesn't exactly keep business hours."

"Raph - it only works if you work it."

"Don't handle me, Jones," Raph snapped.

"You missed Thursday, too," Casey said, unrelenting, "Not cool, man."

"I'm fine!" Raph insisted guiltily. He wouldn't even wake the guy up. He was out like a light. It'd be like candy from a baby. I mean, clearly this guy couldn't handle his liquor - he'd be doing him a favor. Like taking a bullet for him, kinda. Right?

"Dude. Where are you? Right now."

"On a roof," Raph said, evasively.

"No shit. Give me an address," Casey insisted, firmly.

"I'm not…geez, I'm not 'in crisis,' or whatever," Raphael snapped. His voice was a little too loud - the bum snorted, and dragged the bottle a little closer to his chest in his sleep.

"Fuck!" Raphael cursed out loud, tempted to throw the phone down on the roof and smash it, "Great! That's just - "

He suddenly got an image of himself - as though he were on the adjacent roof, watching himself through binoculars - contemplating using his years of martial arts training to sneak into a dirty alley and steal a half-empty bottle of whiskey from a homeless guy.

"Fuck," Raph whispered solemnly, putting his face in his free hand.

"The address, Raph," Casey insisted, a note of panic in his voice.

"No, I'm…" Raph sighed, squeezing his eyes shut in shame, "I'm coming now. I'm on my way."

"Okay," Casey said, relaxing slightly, "The bell tower is unlocked, like always. I'll tell Dan you might be a little late. But you better fucking show. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Raph nodded, his eyes stinging in spite of himself. He thought he was past this already.

"Hey, Case?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks, man."

"I love you, Raph," Casey said, firmly.

"Pfft," Raph said, smiling slightly despite the hard lump in his throat, "Okay, ya big queer. Sheesh. I mean, me too, whatever."

He coughed, tried to clear the lump in his throat. Casey didn't say anything, just gave him a minute to compose himself. He always knew: just when to push, and just when to back off. His brothers never knew.

"If you ain't here in ten minutes, I'm hunting you down."

"I'll be there," Raph promised.

"Alright. Ten minutes."

"Yep."

Casey hung up, closed the phone, and closed his eyes, puffing his cheeks out in a long sigh.

"Casey, we need to get started," Dan said, poking his head out into the hallway, "Is your friend coming?"

"He says he's gonna be here in ten minutes. If he's not, I gotta go out and find him."

Dan winced sympathetically.

"It sounds like he's struggling."

Casey huffed in frustration. "Who even knows with him."

"Do you think maybe he'd be willing to introduce himself today?"

Casey shook his head sadly.

"I don't know if he's ever gonna be ready for that," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, "And I know for sure that not everybody in there is ready for that."

Dan nodded, hesitantly, "From the little you showed me, your friend is definitely…unique. But…everyone in that room understands the word 'Anonymous,' Casey."

"I know. I'll…I'll keep working on him."

"That's all you can do." Dan put a hand on Casey's shoulder, "Come on, we gotta start."

Casey nodded, put his T-phone in his jeans pocket and followed Dan into the sanctuary. It was beat up and weary-looking, and the space in front of the altar was full of people sitting in metal folding chairs who looked much the same. An ancient, unsteady-looking folding table held a Box o' Joe from Dunkin', and a half-empty box of stale donuts.

"Okay. Welcome everybody," Dan said, taking his place in the circle, "Serenity Prayer."

Casey took his seat and mumbled along with everyone.

"God grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, courage to change the things we can, and wisdom to know the difference."

He listened politely while the others took turns speaking, but Casey didn't really relax until he heard the rafters creak softly above him from the choir loft, and he knew that Raph was there, watching and listening.

Leonardo - Age 24

"Aah…AAH!Fuck!"

"I hate - when you - curse," Leo hissed through gritted teeth.

"Well you - don't get - a vote," Karai sneered between each thrust, "So fuck you - and your - aah! - pretentious - AAH, right there! Don't sto - op - AAAH!"

"Hnng!"

Leo grunted, and froze, the world swaying beneath his feet…for a moment he didn't know up from down. His perception shrank to a laser-like focus: he felt a single bead of sweat slide down his temple as his vision swam, cling to the curve of his cheek - it trembled briefly on his jaw, and then fell free. He swore, he could almost hear the sound it made as it landed on her bare breast.

His chest ached, and he realized he was holding his breath. He took a raggedy gasp and his exhale came out as a strangled moan, and he blinked owlishly in the darkness as time sluggishly resumed, like an old record player grinding up after a black-out. His neck gave way, and his head seemed to float down like it was sinking through deep, dark waters, coming to rest between her breasts and he thought maybe he'd drown in the scent of her.

"Hey."

Karai gripped the knot of his mask roughly, and tilted his face up towards hers.

"Did you ask for permission?"

Leo shivered and goosebumps broke out over his arms at her words.

"No," he murmured, weakly.

"No, what?"

"No, Mistress," he mumbled in a barely audible whisper, the intense degradation and his desperate need mingling into a fever of adoration and burning shame, prickling hot across the back of his neck, tracing scalding fingers down his spine - a feeling as familiar as her touch, as longed-for, and every bit as illicit.

Ohhh, he was in trouble.

"You stop when I say you stop."

Immediately, obediently, he pressed forward, felt himself slide within her, and they groaned aloud in unison as he doggedly resumed his punishing rhythm. He sighed in delicious agony as she struck him across the face, the sharp sting mingling with all the other sensations in a confusing, overwhelming jumble, an intoxicating high coupling with a mangled ego, bloody and bruised; and through it all, the pervasive, searing lust - cruel in its urgency. It frightened him just how bare she could flay him with only a few words: exposing the depth and desperation of his need, the folly of his pride, all his careful plans and pretty ideas about himself scattered like a house of cards. She saw clean through him - and she always had. It was the most humiliating and terrifying and intimate and freeing thing - not having to be the capital-L Leonardo that his family knew and expected from him.

It was the closest thing to peace he'd ever known - and the closest thing to love that she could give.

And if they ever knew -

Well. He'd rather die.

"Again," Leo whispered in a small, trembling voice - so unlike the one he was accustomed to using every day.

"Beg me."

Leo cringed, averted his eyes.

"Please," he whispered.

Without a moment of hesitation, his head jerked as the slap came from the other side. He groaned out loud, his whole body alive and singing. He was still so sensitive, he was quickly being overwhelmed. He groaned, and picked up the pace.

"What do - we say?"

"Thank you."

"…and?"

"Thank you - Mistress," Leo whispered hastily, heat blossoming over his neck and forehead to match the stinging handprints she had left on his face.

"Louder," Karai ordered, with a wicked grin, "You're - hah - you're so pretty when you blush."

Donatello - Age 8

Something is wrong.

Donnie sat straight up in bed out of a dead sleep, in the inky blackness. He couldn't remember what had awoken him, but in the recesses of his sleep-heavy brain, something whispered insistently: Get up. Something is wrong.

He reached over to the bed post, retrieved his bandana, and tied it over his head, adjusting it so his eye holes were situated properly, and being careful not to make any noise, shimmied down the bed post of their bunk bed.

They had dragged them to the lair in pieces, but finally, they all had their own bed - even if they were still sharing a room. Even if he still had to listen to Mikey's snoring, at least he wasn't kicking him anymore.

Speaking of Mikey - he checked on him first. Yep, still snoring away, drooling on his comic book. He hadn't even taken his bandana off - again. Gently prizing the comic out from under Mikey's head before it was totally ruined, he slipped the bandana off as well, and placed them at the foot of Mike's bed, where a collection of half-empty candy wrappers, comic books, and action figures sprawled.

"Donnie?"

Don jumped at the sound of Leo's whisper, and turned around. He was leaning over the top bunk.

"Where y'goin'?" Leo yawned, sleepily.

"Bathroom," Donnie lied.

Leo nodded, and rolled over. After a moment, his breathing was peaceful once again. Raph was also snoring lightly, Spike resting on his plastron.

Hm. Everything seemed okay here.

Something is wrong.

Donnie turned the knob carefully, so the latch wouldn't click and disturb his brothers further. He stepped out into the hallway, closed the door, and gradually released the knob again. The air was cooler out here than it was in their bedroom, and he shivered slightly in the dark.

A dull orange light flickered from the dojo.

Timidly, Donnie directed his feet towards the light - Splinter would be angry that he was up and out of bed this late…but…

Something is wrong.

He crept into the dojo as silently as he could. Splinter knelt in the middle of the floor, his back to the door. Maybe he was meditating? But that would be odd for several reasons - first of all, sensei usually meditated by the tree. And second of all, it was very late…very early, technically. Way too late-early for even sensei to be meditating…

Donnie glanced over to where the tree was growing underneath the sewer grate - it was getting really tall. "Just like you," sensei had said, the other day. Soon its leaves would be brushing the ceiling.

Donnie looked back at where Splinter sat, and waited to be acknowledged. Sensei always knew where they were. It was impossible to sneak up on him. Except…he didn't seem to notice him this time. Maybe he was in a really deep trance?

Suddenly, sensei lurched forward, and made a small gasping sound. Donnie's eyes widened. Was he hurt? Did he need help? He was about to step forward and ask, when he saw sensei's shoulders shaking, and heard a soft, wet, tell-tale sound.

He was crying.

Donnie felt rooted to the spot, like his heart was made of wood, like his feet were the actual roots of that tree, digging into the dojo floor.

He wanted to speak, but couldn't think of a thing to say. A strangled noise got lodged half-way out of his throat when he tried.

Splinter's head whipped around sharply, and he stared at Donnie over his shoulder, his eyes bright and wild.

From this vantage point, Donnie could now see a few objects in front of sensei. The framed photo from when he was human - Leo said that the lady in the picture and the baby were sensei's family from when he used to be human. There was also the flickering candle that gave the warm orange light to the room; a folded piece of paper that had Leonardo's name written on it in Japanese.

And a knife.

A short, tantō blade, laid length-wise in his lap.

Something is wrong.

For a moment they stared at each other.

"Wh - " Splinter started, and then coughed wetly. Donnie turned his toes inward towards each other, digging them into the pile of the dojo rugs with a queasy, unsettled feeling in his stomach. He clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides.

"What are you doing out of bed, Donnie-bo?" he whispered, quietly.

He didn't have a good answer, so he didn't reply.

"Go back to bed," sensei ordered, dully.

Donnie didn't move. His gaze was fixed on the gleam of orange candlelight on the razor edge of the tantō.

"I told you to go back to bed!" Sensei scolded, his whisper suddenly fierce, "Do as you are told, Donatello!"

"What are you doing?" Donnie whispered, nervously, "Is it…meditation?"

He took a few hesitant steps towards his father, and pointed at the note with Leonardo's name on it.

"Is that knife for Leo? Do we all get knives? Is it a special knife?"

"Do as I say!" Splinter hissed, tears streaming down his cheeks. He suddenly grabbed Donnie by the upper arm and shook him once, hard, "Why will you not - why do you - "

Donnie felt his eyes growing hot as well, though he had no idea why. He was scared. Really scared. His heart pounded like it was going to break through his plastron. His arm started to hurt where sensei was gripping him.

"Donnie-bo," Splinter choked, and just as fiercely, he dragged his son into his arms, the blade thunking dully from his lap to the dojo carpet, as he pulled him into a shell-cracking embrace.

Donnie wanted to hug his father back, but his arms were pinned in sensei's vice grip.

"Daddy," he whispered, tears he didn't really understand welling up and spilling over, "You're smushing me."

Immediately, Splinter's grip slackened. Donnie stood there, uncomfortably glancing from object to object, trying to deduce why this combination had somehow caused his father to act so frighteningly strange.

"I'm sorry, Donnie-bo," Splinter said, wiping the dark tear stains from his furry snout with one hand, and stroking Donnie's cheeks with the other, "I'm so, so sorry. What kind of father?…"

"I'm okay, Daddy," Donnie said, his stomach doing anxious flip-flops, "I'm alright - I was only a little smushed."

Splinter sniffed again, and gave his son a long, appraising look.

"You must call me sensei when we are in the dojo, Donatello," he finally said, some of his composure back in his voice, "Now that your training has begun in earnest."

"Hai, sensei," Donnie said, wiping his own eyes, still bewildered. He pointed to the note again.

"Is that for Leo? Do you want me to bring it to - "

"No," Splinter said, suddenly, at normal volume. Donnie's eyes widened, and he glanced over his shoulder to where his brothers were still sleeping and back at his sensei with growing dread.

"No," he repeated, more softly, "In fact…"

He lifted the letter in his claws, and held it over the candle flame until it caught. He let it burn until it nearly reached his fingers, then dropped it. They watched as the flame burned out, leaving a scorch mark and a small pile of glowing ash on the carpet. Donnie's brow lifted in mute surprise. He wasn't allowed to burn anything…not even for an Important Experiment - not after what happened to the microwave.

He looked up at sensei, who was watched the last of the ashes curl and die, with a haunted, vacant expression.

Donnie took him gently by the wrist, and started tugging on him.

"Leave me. I am alright, now. You can go back to bed, Donnie-bo."

Nope. Not alright.

He continued to tug, until, with a bone-weary sigh, Splinter picked up the candle, stood, and followed him.

Donnie tugged on Master Splinter's arm until they reached the kitchen, where he deposited him in a chair. Getting the step-stool out from under the sink, he hopped up and grabbed his favorite cup - the Harry Potter one, from the movie theater dumpster. Then he took out one of sensei's mugs, and setting them both on the table, retrieved the milk from the fridge. Carefully, he poured each of them a glass of milk, making sure sensei's was full almost to the brim. Being careful not to spill any, he slowly slid the mug over, and sat across from him at the table.

Splinter smiled a watery smile, and nodded, picking up the mug and taking a sip of milk.

"Very good. Thank you, Donnie-bo. Now close the refrigerator."

Donnie looked over in surprise.

"Oh…sorry," he whispered.

Capping the jug of milk, he put it back in the fridge and closed it quietly before resuming his post. He sipped his own milk from his Harry Potter cup, and watched sensei suspiciously, wondering what else he could say or do.

"It wasn't real," Donnie whispered experimentally, repeating the words that Splinter had used to soothe each of them over the years, like a magic charm, calming words to chase away the bad dreams.

"I did not have a nightmare, Donnie-bo," Splinter said, quietly, "I - "

He trailed off, and he seemed to look far, far past him, into a far away place Donnie couldn't see.

"Hm. Perhaps I did, after all," he said, in a haunted, hollow voice.

He sipped his milk.

"Is it because of that knife?" Donnie asked, quietly, "Or because of the picture?"

"It…was a bit of both," Splinter hedged, hesitantly, and Donnie recognized the mysterious tone sensei adopted when he didn't really want to say. "This night…this night in particular is always…difficult for me."

"Tuesday?" Donnie asked, in total bewilderment.

Splinter looked at him in surprise, and huffed a soft laugh. Donnie grinned back, in cautious confusion - at least he was smiling again. Suddenly, though, Splinter's eyes welled up with tears once more, and setting his mug down with a dull clunk, he pulled Donnie back into his arms; this time, at least, he was careful not to smush him.

Still confused, but feeling slightly less afraid, Donnie cuddled into his father's embrace, pressing his face into the fur of his chest, and stayed there, breathing in his soothing, familiar scent.

When he awoke, it was morning, he was in bed alone, and the others had already gone to training.

It wasn't until years later that Donatello fully understood what he had seen that night.

He never told a soul.