~I'm back and doing better than ever. Things are still shaky here but depending on how things go I'll just have to wait and see. Slumber Party is dried up in my mind and this new idea has been begging to come out. If I can I'll put up another chapter to Slumber Party but this fic will now take the lead role. Oh and Artista, I knew the line was from Bedknobs and Broomsticks, I just felt like putting in Mary Poppins :o) Enjoy!

Central Park of New York. Well Manhattan if you wanted to be politically correct. A figure wearing a large brown trench coat and a fedora hat was walking around the lake, simply observing, not doing much. The sun was nearly set, thought it was hard to see with all the clouds in the sky. Mothers were gathering up their children to take inside before it got dark, and with good reason too. The foot attacks have been in the up rise and meeting with a particular villain have been becoming more and more current. A man brushed by the trench coated individual and was startled by the hardness under the man's coat.

"Sorry," He mumbles before running away.

"Happens all the time," The figure replied to no one. "Save people, they get scared by the littlest thing that is different then, they run away." Glancing at his watch he saw it was seven thirty two. An attack by the foot could almost be predicted, that's how constant they had become. Thinking a moment, he configured that the foot will attack at eight thirteen tonight.

Kicking an invisible pebble, he turned to head home, before his brother's and family started to worry. Another brother would disappear all the time, no word then show up again a few hours later. Once they were attacked on the roof top of their friend, April O'Neil and for a while he stayed close. But that was a year and a half ago, they had all been approximately fifteen then. Now they were almost seventeen, still hidden from the world. Only a few humans were their friends.

April O'Neil, previous reporter and now journalist. She lived in her own apartment, writing story after story. Casey Jones, April's boyfriend for a short time, until stubbornness, either hers or his proved to be too much and split before it got the best of them. April was still single while Casey was seeing some one, though he hasn't introduced her yet, it was still too soon. Shadow is Casey's adopted daughter, and even though she was only seven, she knew they were a secret she couldn't share, thought it was cute when she asked to borrow one of them for show and tell. Vanessa was a girl met in the library and had become very close. Her two best friends, Tammy and Elsa, and Elsa's sister Michelle, all knew but had guarded the secret, even when they once thought it was going to cost their lives.

A shadow passed, casted by the streetlights, resting on the figure. He glanced at his watch and smiled. They were right on time. Raising his hand, feeling the smooth wood beneath his fingers, he wasn't worried. Though the foot had risen, they seemed to have gotten dumber. How they still evaded the cops though, he wasn't sure.

One struck out to hit him, which he dodged easily. Turning to face them, he saw three, all having blades as weapons. A fierce smile took on his face as he pulled out his weapon of choice. This would be too easy, they wouldn't be able to beat him and he knew it, so he wasn't on full guard. Unfortunately that was his downfall. A hit from behind he realized he was too cocky in his stance, catching himself on his hands and flipping back onto his feet. This fall lost him his fedora, and his full face was now on view for who ever happened to pass by.

First he trusted his weapon onto the nearest opponents stomach making him fall back. The next he caught on the side of the head, who fell unconscious. A nunchuk was flipped at him, which he tangled and used his body as force to throw the opponent over his shoulder into the trees. Turning he face the shadow who had sneaked up on him. He had barely broken out in a sweat, breathing only a little heavier than normal. The shadow mearly stood there, then to his surprise, laughed. Confounded he watched as the shadow laughed until the figure growled in frustration.

"Come here and fight me!" He screamed at it. The shadow jumped at him pulling out two katanas. There was the loud thwap as they struck against wood, blocking and parrying each other. This lasted for several rounds, and the figure was now starting to tire a bit. The shadow was not letting up and showed signs of getting stronger as he started to feel weaker. The last hit knocked the weapon from the figures hand and he fell to his knee's. All the blocks have been blocked up to now, but this moment he was now weaponless, and felt defeated, with no blood shed. The shadow paused and lowered his katana, sighing as if regretful. Lifting his hands the shadow prepared a death strike when voices halted his actions. Thinking fast, the shadow hit the figure with the hilt and disappeared into the bushes.

Dazed the figure stood up, knowing he needed to get away from the voices. His fedora was gone that he wasn't concerned about but his weapon, that was his favorite and he didn't look forward to trying and find another one. Hand on his head, he stumbled over to a storm drain that had a cover which could be lifted. Climbing in, he slipped, dropping the drain letting crash on top of his head, making stars appear. Leaning against the wall, he tried to steady him self and move slowly but determined down to his home. He door soon came into view but seemed a hundred steps away. Would he make it, he wasn't sure. Everything was starting to spin and a few feet away he wavered, not aware that the door was still a head of him. Groaning, he fell into unconsciousness, before his body hit the ground water, in a quiet splash.

As consciousness returned the first thing he realized was that he was laying in bed. Thankfully his brothers must have found him collapsed outside the door and bandaged him up. His head was throbbing and he lifted a hand to it, feeling bandages… and hair?

His eyes shot open, looking around. White walls, a TV high up in the corner and a curtain tied up to the wall.  Was he in a hospital? And why did he have hair? Taking down his hand he got another surprise, they were now a pale flesh instead of green with five digits.

"What happened to me?" He questioned no one in particular.

"You got hit in the head, playing basketball with your friends." Looking up, his eyes saw a man with balding black hair, glasses that seemed to constistantly slide to the end of his nose, no matter how many times they were pushed back up again.

"Dr?"

"That's right Don," The doctor said now stepping into the room.  He felt his blood drain, hearing the doctor say his name.  "Dr. Weaver, been your doctor since you were two."

"That can't be right, my name is Donatello, I am a mu-," He stopped seeing Dr. Weaver narrow his eyes thoughtfully.

"Seems you were hit harder than we thought, Don," Dr. Weaver went over checking Donatello's pulse.

"He's awake! He's awake! Let me see my baby!" A shrill voice creened from the hall. That is one over excited mother, Donatello thought.

"There he is," a woman with brown hair came running into the room, running over to the bed and engulfing Donatello in a hug. He sat there, arms out, frozen, having no idea what to do about the woman.

"Honey, what's wrong?" The woman sat up starting to rub his face and checked his forehead.

"Who are you?" Donatello asked. The woman gasped and looked over to the doctor.

"I think he's having a recap Mrs. Fletcher," Dr, Weaver sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing them with his shirt. "And if what I assume is correct this time it has progressed even further than before.

"Try telling him who you are and see if that helps," Dr. Weaver said putting his glasses back on.

"Okay," Mrs. Fletcher said then looked back to Donatello. "Don, my name is Abigail Fletcher. I am your mother."

"What?" Donatello's jaw dropped as he stared at the woman before him. Slowly she started to waver, her face turned to a look of concern.

"Dr?" She questioned, her voice echoing in Donatello's head.

"He's going back under, Nurse!" Donatello felt himself fall back onto the bed, the echo of people gathering around him, grabbing his arms, putting in an IV, then slowly it faded away.

"Don, Donnie?" A voice started to come through.

"My name is Donatello," he mumbled.

"He's waking up!" Slowly Donatello forced his eyes open. The first face he saw was Michelangelo's. Lifting his hands he let out a sigh if relief only seeing his three fingers. Then becoming aware of the pounding in his head, he winced and slowly sat up.

"What happened bro?" Michelangelo asked as the other turtles walked in.

"I got jumped in the park," Donatello remembered. "There was one foot soldier who almost took me out. But then voices came, and I don't understand. He just hit me hard enough to get me to pass out.

"He probably wanted to follow you back to the lair," Leonardo looked around suspiciously.

"Or Shredder might have wanted his body and couldn't risk it being found," Raphael said.

"I don't know," Donatello shrugged wincing again as his head pounded. Leonardo left then came back with a cup of water and two aspirin. Donatello took them with thanks and swallowed them.

"Why don't you get some rest, we'll wake you in a few hours to eat," Leonardo suggested.

"Yeah," Donatello said already feeling sleep over come him. "Sleep would be great."