WROTE THIS ON MY TABLET. YEP. THAT'S RIGHT.

However, due to having SIX reviews on the last chapter, I decided my computer could touch it up a bit.

Yukio87: I'm trying to write that story for you so much. It's halfway done and I'm not satisfied with it at all. I can do better than that, so it may be a little longer than ideal. BUT I GOTCHU. It will get written, I promise!

5Mississippis: Lol I'm really glad you liked it!

Roxygoth: Whew, I was hoping it wouldn't be confusing, thanks!

Lizzybud: HOW DO I EVEN BEGIN. I MEAN, I WAS DANCING WITH EXCITEMENT. And you even liked my authors notes... I didn't even know if people read these things! This one has some feels (I hope) so please enjoy!

Leggo lover 99: *Squeals to self: They said it was brilliant!* I'M GLAD YOU LIKED IT AND I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS ONE TOO

Guest/Childish 'paw: I was hoping that part made up for the earlier chapter where I butchered his character X) Thank you for reviewing it means a lot!

Um. Yeah. Not sure what inspired this, maybe Instagram. BUT GUESS WHAT GUYS I MET A GUY AND HE'S SMART AND SWEET AND LOVES GRAMMAR AND PERCY JACKSON AND BEANIES AND BANDS AND HE'S CUTE TOO LIKE ASDFJKL;

Back to business. I don't own shit, okay? Okay.

Everything is blue. His mask. His hands. His pills.

The edges of my mask peek around the edges of my vision. Usually it isn't a problem, but then again, I'm not usually looking down at the sink.

I'm bent over the side, a glass of water in one hand, the other clutching the side of the sink like a lifeline. The white on my knuckles looks faintly blue in the light, and my eyes are on the pills resting in the corner. I don't like the situation. Hell, no one does. But I have to do it; I can't face them half-dead from lack of sleep. I can't take the looks they give me.

Don said this would help. He's done all he can, I know. But he's good at the physical stuff. Mental is different.

So I release my death grip on the sink, and reach over to the blue pills. I throw all three in at once and wash them down with water. I used to hate pills. But I've gotten better.

Who knows? Maybe in a few weeks I'll be able to dry swallow.

.

Everything is orange. His mask. His smile. His footprints.

I remember when my mask was long. I didn't like it. The ends were always blowing around into my face. The others made it look so easy, all dramatic with their masks flowing behind them. I never got the hang of it, so I cut the ends off.

I know everyone is hurting. Leo's taking pills to sleep now, because he can't close his eyes on his own anymore.

Donnie locks himself up more than usual. I miss him. The coffee pot is full of cold coffee. It has been for a while.

Raph... He refuses to catch himself alone with any of us. He's been avoiding us. Avoiding me.

I'm trying to keep them sane. I'm trying a lot. Just keep smiling, that's what I tell myself.

Even as my feet move me down the sewer at midnight.

.

Everything is purple. His mask. His eyes. His tears.

I've always been used to seeing my mask around me. Doing what I do, I have to stay alert, eyes moving around constantly.

That's what I've been saying for years, anyway. To keep the others off my shell about staying up so late and reassuring myself that it was for the greater good.

I've always been bad at hiding things. Mikey says my eyes give it away. That they're just too intelligent for their own good, and everyone can see exactly what I'm thinking.

It's a good thing no one's around to see my eyes now, because one look and they'd know just what I'm thinking of, and I know they wouldn't like it.

Wet drops hit my keyboard. I wipe them away, and bury my head in my hands.

I don't have to worry about whether or not my door is locked. I know it is.

.

Everything is red. His mask. His dreams. His drink.

I've always seen red. Whether from my mask or my anger, who can tell. No matter where I am or what's going on, red has always creeped into the edges of my sight.

Right now I know it's the mask. There's no anger left in me for tonight.

The beer in my hand glints in the kitchen light. I down another gulp. Leo's sound asleep. Donnie hasn't come out of his lab for eight hours straight. Mikey... probably on another one of his walks.

Sleeping is good. I do that a lot. Or, used to. Now I wake up thinking I'm still covered in my brother's blood. Thinking I'm a murderer.

Staying locked up in my room, yeah. That has me written all over it.

Going out late at night, definitely.

Part of me wants to help. Part of me wants to comfort them. It isn't their fault, this war. I want to tell them that.

But I just want to sit alone for now. Maybe I'll even get drunk this time.