From his position on Donatello's old easy chair, Michelangelo burst into peals of laughter. He pointed at the TV. "Ha! Did you guys see that? Why aren't you laughing?"

"Because," April answered, "It wasn't that funny, and Don is trying to sleep."

"No, I'm not," Don said tiredly. "I'm just resting."

April rolled her eyes. Fortunately, Don couldn't see. He was lying with his head on her lap as she massaged his shoulders with one hand. The poor kid hadn't been feeling well at all lately. He had taken the last of his hormone doses a few hours ago. If he didn't go into labor within the next 24 hours, she was going to have to do the surgery. At this point, she was fearful that he might not survive it. His energy level had dipped to an all-time low. It was as though Donatello was sacrificing his own life source in order to provide it to his kids.

Don groaned and resumed rubbing his massive belly beneath the blanket that was covering them both.

If concern was water, they'd all be drowning in it. "You sure you're okay?" April asked.

"I'm fine," Don said, weakly.

As the movie they were watching progressed, April noticed Don tensing up at regular intervals. She started to suspect that he was hiding something from her, and began mentally keeping track of time. As the movie was ending, she placed a hand on his side during one of his spells. Sure enough, it was rock hard. Once the contraction ended, April asked Mikey to make them more popcorn before the next movie.

As Mikey disappeared into the kitchen, Don locked his anguished eyes onto April. "I'm not sure yet," he said quietly. "Let's not get Mikey all worked up. You know how excitable he can be."

"Do you want something for the pain?" April offered.

Don let out a long breath. "No. I don't want anything until after they're born."

Don had refused all non-essential medications throughout the pregnancy, out of concern for how the babies might react. His own mutation made predicting side effects difficult, and Don didn't want to take unnecessary chances with the babies' health. Donatello was as tough as they came, but April couldn't help but worry about him. Still, it was his decision.

As the second movie progressed, his distress became increasingly apparent. He was using breathing exercises to manage the pain, but it was already becoming a struggle. Midway through, he had grabbed April's hand and kept it. By the end of the movie, it was time to spill the beans. April reluctantly let go of Don and left the brothers alone, so that they could have a few moments together.

"M-Mikey," Don whimpered, "I think I'm in early labor."

Michelangelo's face was impassive. "I know."

"You do?" Don asked.

"Yes. How oblivious do you guys think I am?"

Don didn't answer. Instead, he yelped and grabbed his middle. Mikey was by his side and rubbing his shell in a heartbeat. "You okay, bro?"

"Y-Yeah," Don puffed out some measured breaths. "I'll be fine."

When the contraction was over, Don put a shaky arm around Mikey. "Don't worry about me, okay? April and I have everything planned out, and the tools and monitors are all ready and waiting."

"Okay."

"And I don't want drugs so I'm sure that I'll be yelling and freaking out a lot towards the end. It won't mean I'm dying or anything," Donatello continued.

Mikey nodded. "Got it."

"Yeah?" Don asked skeptically.

"Yeah," Mikey smiled. "I'm your rock, Donnie. We've got this."

"Yeah," Don agreed, "we do-o."

"Isn't this kind of fast for another contraction?" Michelangelo fretted.

Donatello grimaced. "It's not a contraction. They're just moving around."

Mikey chuckled and rubbed Don's side. "They're excited to be coming out. I bet they'll be in our arms in no time."

Don smiled through the pain. It was bright and genuine, lighting up his whole face. It would've been cheesy to say out loud, but Mikey always did think that Don had a great smile. "Hey," he said, "we oughtta take a picture!"

Don cringed. "Why on earth would I want this memorialized?"

"Well, we haven't taken any pictures of you while you were pregnant. This is our last chance. Your kids might want to see it someday," Mikey reasoned.

April put in her two cents from the doorway she was now leaning on. "I agree with Mikey. Besides, believe it or not, you might end up looking back on this time fondly."

Don was going to make a joke, but he knew that they were right. As hard as it had been, the feeling of nurturing life inside of him had been amazing. "Okay. You convinced me."

Taking extreme care, Donatello slowly sat up and posed for a few candid shots. He made sure to hold his belly and smile, conveying none of the inner fear and doubt that he was feeling at the moment.

It was a very, very long night for Don. With the support of the others, he periodically waddled around to help speed up his progression. For the most part, though, he simply tried to relax as much as he could, given that his body felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out. He knew that he had to save his energy for pushing, and that relaxing as much as possible would allow his body to do what was needed more quickly.

Casey, April, and Michelangelo took shifts sitting with Don, as he was in dire need of comfort, and wanting to be held. For the most part, he sat quietly nestled up with them, preferring not to speak. From time to time he would let out a hiss, moan or whimper. He kept his eyes closed, and his hands on his quivering midsection. When a contraction hit, he would tense up before forcing himself to relax, taking deep, measured breaths and leaning in closer to whoever was beside him.

Michelangelo recognized that Don was using mindful breathing techniques to control the worst of his pain. This also allowed him to rest as much as possible between contractions. Splinter had versed them all in this while teaching them to meditate. It had never done much for Mikey, but Don was always calm and level headed about these things. His brother always did know how to use all the tools at his disposal.

A full day passed this way, and Michelangelo was getting pretty worried. Don had only dozed off for a few five or ten-minute stretches, and he hadn't been eating at all. He was still quietly managing his pain, but there were cracks developing in his composure as his labor intensified. Mikey was making dinner with April, while Casey was in the bed with his arm around a sweaty, panting Donatello.

"I can tell you're worried, Mikey. Don't let it show around Don okay? He needs us to be strong for him right now," April coaxed.

"I'm not great with hiding my feelings, April. Everyone knows that."

"Well, you have to try. Don is fine," April emphasized.

"He doesn't look fine," Michelangelo countered. "In fact, I can't even remember the last time that he did look fine."

"These things just take time. He knows that," April insisted. "He's prepared for it."

In the bedroom, Don squawked and leaned harder against Casey, desperately rubbing his middle with both shaky hands.

"You're doing great, Don," Casey encouraged, patting his friend's shell.

"Oh, how would you know?!" Don grumped. It was the first time he had spoken in hours. Even when Mikey and April had offered him lunch, he had just shaken his head 'no.'

"Uh," Casey stalled, surprised he had spoken and fumbling for words. "Well, it's been hours and hours, they've got to be getting close."

Don glared.

"Or closer at least, " Casey stammered.

"Dinner!" Michelangelo called, making Don glare harder.

Mikey cautiously approached the bed. "I know you said you weren't hungry, but I made you toast anyway."

"I don't want it," Don snapped.

Michelangelo refused to back down. "You've got to eat, bro."

Don shook his head adamantly. "I'm nauseous, Mikey. Now leave me alone."

"You were up all night," Michelangelo persisted. "You need food for energy so that you can push those babies out."

"Don't patronize me," Donatello griped. "I told you I'm nauseous. Anything I eat is coming right back up before it has a chance to be converted to energy."

Undeterred, Michelangelo advanced with the toast. As if in response, Don clutched his belly harder and wailed, desperately nestling into Casey as though pleading for protection from the pain. Mikey dropped the plate and immediately attached himself to Don, holding onto his brother's back until the contraction had passed. It was awful, hearing Don howl like that. Michelangelo could tell that his brother was trying to force himself to relax. Ironically, Mikey himself was as tense as a drawn bowstring. Don puffed frantically, Mikey right along with him.

When it was finally over, Michelangelo drew back. "Now about dinner."

"Stop. It. Mikey. How can I eat when it feels like a python is clamping down on me? Besides, my stomach should be empty in case I need surgery. Now please leave me alone! I can't focus on my relaxation exercises when you won't stop hounding me!"

Mikey looked to April for help, but she just shrugged and dismissed Casey so that he could eat. She slid into his place and massaged Don's shoulders. He moaned in relief and leaned into her touch.

Unfortunately, it only got worse and worse as the night dragged on. Night became morning, and while it was obvious that things were intensifying, there was still no sign of the babies, and Donatello felt no urge to push. April was almost ready to put her foot down and insist on surgery when Don's back lurched. "Help me move," he barked.

"How?!" A panicked Michelangelo shouted. Don had been lying on his back or side all night. He was on his back at the moment. Don opened his arms as though he wanted a hug. Michelangelo moved in and did just that. Don desperately clasped on.

To Michelangelo's surprise, Donatello lurched forward and pushed him backward, so that Don was kneeling on the bed with his head resting on Mikey's shoulder. Michelangelo held on for dear life as Donatello screamed in his ear. Mikey was vaguely aware of April moving behind his laboring brother. It was hard for him to concentrate, as Don was squeezing him so hard that he was concerned his head may pop off.

Twenty minutes later, April was cradling a baby turtle in her arms. Michelangelo laid Don back on the bed, then collapsed beside him. Mikey was feeling pretty spent himself.

April immediately placed the baby into Don's eager arms. The look on the brand new father's face was unmistakable - true love. Don nuzzled the little cheek with his own and whispered something April and Mikey couldn't make out. Whatever it was, it was clearly intended for the ears of his firstborn alone. April couldn't help but smile at the sweet scene. She knew Don would be a natural. Even Mikey was quiet as he took it all in. If he could've frozen this moment in time, he would've.

"I… I can't believe it," Michelangelo said.

Don briefly tore his tired but loving eyes from his baby to look at his brother.

"You did it," Michelangelo babbled. "It's a baby. You had a baby."

Don was looking at the tiny soul in his arms again. "Yes, a perfect little baby."

The turtles had always known that they were oddities. They often struggled with feeling as though they were freaks - something less than human. In this moment, neither Don nor Mikey could fathom why.

They didn't have long to ponder it, though. There were two more baby turtles trying to make their way into the world.