A/N: Well, here the long awaited ch. 20! Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! I'm absolute ecstatic that you guys are hanging in there with on this wild roller coaster ride! This chapter's pretty emotional, tissues maybe necessary. Special thanks to Ravenshell for her awesome beta skills. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 20

My feet are lead blocks of disgrace as I slowly approach his room. The hushed chatter in the kitchen come to an abrupt end as I pass by with downcast eyes.

See how they stare at you in fear and disgust? Your brothers shun you like the pathetic creature you are. Your father will shun you, too. The things you've done are deplorable….unforgivable.

The closer my steps come to his door the more my body trembles. Maybe it's exhaustion, the cramping pains in my limbs, or fear…..I'm not really sure. I just know I can't do this anymore….I just can't. I'm a nervous wreck as the sharp pains in my quaking body feel like a thousand needles coursing through my veins.

Do you really think he will bother to help you after you've done nothing more than rip his little family apart?

My steps falter at the posed question. Would he be willing to help me, now…after everything I've done? I twitch at the sinister snickering in my head. Breathing out a shaky breath, I muster the courage to knock on the closed door.

"Come in."

Opening the door, I stand there trembling as whatever objectivity I possessed moments ago evaporates, leaving me vulnerable and uncertain of my decision. Even with his eyes closed in meditation, his expression is guarded. Then again, he has every right to be guarded around me. I told my own father I hated him. My cruel words make my stomach weak. Feeling an inch tall, I wrap my arms around myself and bow my head until my chin touches my plastron. I just want to disappear, but now's not the time to be a coward….I owe my family that much.

An apology is stuck in my throat as I stare nervously at my father's meditative body. I can neither swallow it back or speak it aloud, a defeated whimper slipping out instead. It's so hard to acknowledge my falsehood, my wrongdoing. How does one admit to such shameful words and actions? And why bother….the awful things I said and did are unforgivable.

Even within the depths of meditation, I know when my sons are near. I sense Donatello's wavering aura as he lingers near my door before softly knocking. At my acknowledgement, he enters. I do not immediately open my eyes to ensure my own temperament is calm and poised.

"Father?..."

However, it is the slightly heightened pitch and falter in his voice, that makes my ears twitch and eyes snap open. Poise is tossed aside at the frightful treble in his voice I have not heard since the boys were toddlers. The pitiful voice pulls at my paternal instinct. "Donatello?..." He stands inside the doorway trembling like a small child after a nightmare, but there is also a tortured look in his eyes that I have only seen in defeated warriors released from the captivity of their enemies. His arms are wrapped tightly around his waist. I fear this gesture is keeping him from emotionally falling apart in front of me. Before I can beckon for him to come, he staggers toward me. He sways in front of me only moments before he drops to his knees like a broken marionette doll.

His appearance is more haggard in such closeness. His complexion lacks its usual vibrancy and warm palette appearing an unhealthy tone of green. Scaly cracks of unshed skin look like crumpled paper with spots of brown and dark green discoloration. There are patches of redness along his arms where he has scratched off skin before it was ready to be shed. With shaky hands, he pulls his mask over his head, wringing it nervously with his hands in his lap. I stifle a gasp as he slowly looks at me. He has become so tall over the past few months that he now sits at eye-level with me. His weary eyes are weighed down with dark bags and contain an endless pool of shame and hopelessness that mirrors a breaking soul. He did not look so poorly earlier this evening. Parental fear tears at my heart. I know something is terribly wrong, but I do not what this 'terrible' is.

"My son, please tell me what troubles you." Despite the warmth of scented candles, he shivers. He breaks his gaze from me, bowing his head. Glistening beads of sweat form at his crown and it makes me wonder if he has a fever. When he does not answer, I gently touch the side of his face and he shies away bowing his head further toward the floor. His skin is very warm confirming my thoughts of fever. He mumbles something so low my ears have trouble discerning his words. "What did you say, child?" I keep my voice as calm and gentle as possible as if I am talking to a small child instead of my teenage son.

"….I don't deserve to ask, but I…I need…help…. I can't fix this…" He finally looks at me, his eyes rippling with unshed tears that threaten to pour down his cheeks at his shame of asking for help. "I can't fix this….I…I don't want to fight this alone anymore." I lean forward to embrace my broken son, but pause at his sudden gasp and jerking motions as he looks over his shoulder, to his right, and then stares at the corner of my room. I turn to see what has paralyzed him with suspicion, but there is nothing there save for a few candles and trinkets.

"You are never alone," I reassure him empathetically. "What is it that you fight, Donatello?" My voice thickens with worry. This skittish and paranoid manner is far more troubling than his earlier aggression and belligerent behavior.

"…It's so loud, I can't think….if it were quieter, I could think, and then maybe I could fix it…." He does not answer my question but instead babbles hurriedly about 'fixing' something. My heart aches to see him succumb to whatever is plaguing his mind. Knowing this could have been prevented much earlier brings me great regret as a father. "…can….can we meditate, please?...I…I just don't know what else to do and—"

"Still your thoughts, my son." I keep my voice as soothing as possible to balance the vehement waves of anxiety rolling off his presence. "You know I am always here for you; you need nothing more than to ask. Whatever needs to be fixed, we will fix it together." With palms turned upward, I extend my hands to him and wait. His hands hover over mine twice as he pulls them away, his eyes darting left to right in nervousness. I swallow back the lump of hurt at my son's distrust. "My child, can you find it in your heart to trust me?" I fear I have let him down so heavily over the past several months that he is hesitant of my intentions. He shakes his head at the unseen demons tormenting his mind and looks at me in a surprising moment of clarity. I finally see the sensible, gentle eyes of my beloved son for the first time since he entered my room.

"I don't trust myself," he whispers.

"It is alright, Donatello. Let me help you." He is hesitant for a few more seconds before he finally lays his twitching hands on top of mine. "Close your eyes." When he obeys, I close my eyes as well. "Focus on your breathing….inhale….and exhale. Let your thoughts fall away until there is nothing.

...useless little turtle...your struggling is pointless...you will succumb to me...I will have you...

That voice…I can barely hear myself breathe over that voice. Intimidating and maddening thoughts of rejection, self-hatred, and shame cling to me, weighing down my mind. This is impossible. I think this problem may be too big for meditation, but just when I feel myself giving up, something familiar and warm takes hold of me. A gentle but firm tug lifts me out of the clingy darkness of my own thoughts.

It's finally quiet and I hear the soft steady breaths of my father as he smoothly transitions me into the spiritual plane. I focus my breathing to fall in synch with his. I feel weightless and for the first time in months, my mind is calm.

"Open your eyes, Donatello."

My eyes flutter open. I frown in confusion as I take in the atmosphere around me. This doesn't look like the same 'spirit realm' I came to months ago. "What...what happened here?"

His lack of discipline in spiritual awareness made it difficult to bring him into his spiritual presence. He does not possess the same strength here as he does intellectually and physically in the earthly realm. Nevertheless, the meditational shift to his aura went smoothly enough. Here, the image he projects of himself is before his growth spurts took place. I look around us in complete dismay of the sight before me.

Donatello, what have you created? What twisted reality dwells here?

I am deeply troubled by the sight around me. His aura is an appalling inner reflection of his deteriorating outer appearance.

The spiritual dwelling place of his aura was once a place of large computers processing data, and mechanical mechanisms clicking, turning, and whirling to life in full production of his extraordinary theories and ideas. Now, I hardly recognize my son's spiritual presence.

There is a black substance coating nearly every mechanical and technological device in the spiritual depiction of his mind. Leaning in for a closer look, I instantly wrinkle my nose at the pungent corrosive scent. I watch as one of his gears churns slowly against the black gook wedged between it and another gear. Startled, I lean away. It moved.

The way this black matter moves is disturbing. It sticks to the gears like stiffening tar, but also moves with spider-like agility, spreading like cobwebs to the other gears in his spiritual mind. A few gears eventually stop moving altogether like a fly caught in the proverbial spider's web.

Several of the computer screens that were once filled with the eternal scrolling of data are now broken, with this black tar festering and breeding in their broken cavities. The only functional screen in his headspace flickers, occasionally showing distorted images and words, before flickering back to grey static.

I step over a few shards of glass. "Watch your step." My warning goes unheeded as I hear crunching glass and a hiss of pain behind me. I turn to see Donatello wincing as he brushes away glass from the bottom of his feet.

"How is that even possible?! I shouldn't have been able to feel that…isn't this all a hallucination? "

"This is very much real, my son. You can perish here just as easily as you can in the physical world."

I stare at the black tar slowly consuming my son's spirit. I need to know what kind of darkness this is. Darkness comes in many different forms, but the end result is the same—destruction. Hardening my spiritual self, I reach out and touch a small slithering glob as its spidery appendages branch out to get away from my hovering hand. Pinching off a small piece, it stretches like freshly chewed gum. It is too small to cause immediate harm to me, yet large enough to feel like a stinging wasp. I grunt at the discomfort but hold fast to the small black glob. It is very pliable, yet hardens defensively between my fingers when I apply pressure.

My fur bristles at the sensation of its evil intent. This kind of darkness sneaks up on unsuspecting souls, latching onto the heart and filling it with lies. It suffocates, breaks down, and devours its prey. It is a darkness that easily manipulates the emotions of the spiritually weak. This is not the kind of darkness caused by depression as Michelangelo originally thought. Depression clouds an aura like toxic gas, but this darkness is different. It is solid and dense…more physically binding. I can feel it press against my aura trying to find a crack, a crevice, any entrance into my being. I wince as the sensation of a sting turns into one of a vicious bite. I flick the offending glob to the floor before it can inflict further pain.

I backtrack, taking my son by the shoulders. "Donatello, you possess much knowledge of the tangible world, but despite the things you think you know, it is important you listen to me in this spiritual realm. Spiritual things do not always make sense to the logic of our minds, but you must listen. When I tell you do something, do not question me, just do as I say. Do you understand?" His silence is unnerving. I know my most curious and knowledgeable son desires logical answers over the mystical and fantastical, but time is of essence. I do not know how far this blackness has stretched across his aura, but it must be stopped immediately. "Donatello…" There is an edge of warning in my tone that snaps him out of his silence.

"…Okay," he nods doggedly. "I…I don't understand, but okay." I can see the trepidation and uncertainty in his eyes, but as long as I have his cooperation…his trust….I can work around his disbelief.

"Come. Stay close to me. Do not let any of this black filth touch you." He stays close to my side as we walk the corridors of his aura. The lighting flickers heavily above us, threatening to leave us in complete darkness. The walls are solid black and move with the steady rhythm of Donatello breathing as if it has a life of its own.

"So what exactly is this black element?...It's everywhere."

"It is a spiritual representation."

"So, it's supernatural?" He acts as if the question of spirituality pains him to even ask, his doubt as visible as the menacing darkness around us.

"Everyone has a spirit, Donatello. A spirit to love, live, and fight to survive. There are times when one's spirit becomes clouded by bouts of darkness. However, darkness can be a necessary evil. With proper mediation and understanding of self-worth, these clouds of darkness dissipate on their own and the spirit is wiser and stronger than it was before."

"But these," he says motioning his hand toward the soot covered walls, "aren't clouds. They're thick and solid, with adhesive properties." I am proud that my son has made this deduction while in the spiritual realm, but regret that it is at a time like this.

"Yes, this is true. When darkness takes on a more solid form as it is now, it generally means it is connected to the physical world…the physical body in some way, usually in the form of sickness or disease."

"….Oh." His quiet and short reply raises my suspicion. I start to question him, when I notice his wide eyes staring straight ahead.

My eyes widen as well when I see the source of the cobwebs of blackness around his aura. In the center of it is his aura's metal box. This filth consumes everything in its reach; however, there is a defined circle around the box untouched by the darkness. It is like an invisible boundary was drawn…protecting it. Donatello said he grew tired of fighting alone….did he unknowingly create this small defense against this darkness?

I frown at the surrounding black grunge finally understanding its dark and strategic intent. All this time it has slowly worn down my son's defenses. Striking his physical body, attacking his mind, manipulating his behavior….destroying every other aspect of my child in hopes of breaking his spirit. And here we are, watching this venomous creature wait patiently for Donatello's will to break, for the barrier to crumble and for his box of emotions to be devoured until there is nothing left. But why? What does this thing want with my son? Where did it come from? I feel there is an important piece missing from this puzzle, but it will have to wait. Our first concern is retrieving his emotional box from the center of this devious presence. Turning back to the mass of dark phlegm, I stare in horror to see the box has disappeared. No…this can't be! If that creature has consumed it—

"Sensei, how?…." I turning to my side to see Donatello with a baffled look as the metal box materializes in his hands. He does not understand the power he possesses here. He is so out of touch with himself he does not realize his subconscious action of repossessing the box.

"Donatello, listen to me. If you do not embrace your own emotions, I cannot help you." I place my hand over the metal box in his hands. "For too long you have detached yourself from your feelings, burying them within this box. You think you are protecting yourself, but in the end it will only cause more harm. Your aura has already suffered greatly because of it. You cannot live on logic alone, my son." The small keepsake trembles beneath my fingertips as tremors course through my son's body. "There is no reason to be afraid. Your emotions are yours and yours alone. There is no right or wrong, my son. You cannot continue to treat your emotions like a separate entity. They are a part of you just as your intellect and logic are a part of you."

Blowing out a nervous breath, his eyes meet mine and there is a silent acknowledgement as understanding slowly glistens in his soft brown orbs. He nods. "What do I have to do?"

"Accept them. The good, the bad, and everything in between. Accept them."

"I can't…I..I don't know how…." His voice trails into a shame-filled whisper. This is very elementary, something even Raphael, my most hot-tempered son, knows how to do. However, I do not belittle his lack of knowledge in this impromptu Spiritual Refinement lesson. I simply cup my hands around his and guide his hands—and the box he holds—toward his chest.

"Take a deep breath and release it….do it again." We repeat this deep breathing mantra until his tremors cease. "Very good. Do you feel the warmth?" We both look down at the box pressed against his chest. Not only is it warm but it is also glowing brightly at the seams of the lid. "Concentrate on its warmth until you feel it extend from your hands, to your arms, and then to the rest of your body." The contents from the box shine so brightly the metal box is transfigured and completely fades out of existence as a swirling ball of purple light now inhabits his hands. It is so bright it is impossible to look directly at it. "Accept it, Donatello." There is no need to guide him any further as his spiritual instinct comes into play. He gently presses the ball of emotions against his plastron until it starts to absorb into his spiritual self.

If someone would have told me three months ago, I would be inside my aura absorbing my emotions through bodily osmosis, I would have suggested a prescription of antipsychotic medication to suppress their hallucinations. Despite the general weirdness and insanity of this situation, this is really happening.

I gasp as coolness washes over me and my body soaks up the cluster of emotions like a sponge in a sink of water. A glowing warmth soon follows, like the feeling of tattered quilts Master Splinter use to bundle my brothers and me in when we were tots. I wish it would last forever, but instead it gives way to more unpleasant feelings. Grunting, I double over as my insides feel like they're in a vice.

"Donatello, do not fight what you are feeling! Acknowledge it and let it go!" I hear my father's voice but it sounds so far away, like shouting from a distant shore as a more dominating voice washes over me like scalding water.

what an incompetent student you are….. tear them limb from limb….. They don't want you….. you're weak and pathetic….never as good as your brothers…..

My knees wobble and then completely give out beneath me under the weight of the searing pain, leaving me trembling on my hands and knees. A sudden stickiness between my fingers makes me cringe. Looking down, I found myself in a puddle of black sticky slime. I sit on the back of my legs, extending my hand to the front of my face. My hand is dripping with the dark mucus, strings of the matter stretching for the ground to my raised hand.

I frown at the thick tar on my hands. I don't remember standing anywhere near this black matter….

"Donatello! Get up, now!" The urgency in my Sensei's voice pushes me to my feet. As I step toward him, something coils around my wrist. Looking down, I stare in disbelief as a black tentacle wraps itself firmly around my wrist. It, as well as several other tentacles, have risen from the puddle beneath me. The other tentacles sway and slither like a snake charmer's pets as they loosely entangle around me with malicious intent. A menacing laughter echoes through my aura.

Why are you so quick to run to him? Do you enjoy being slapped around and told you're useless?

No…I don't. A tentacle caresses the side of my face that Master Splinter struck me and suddenly the physical sting of that blow returns as well as the hurt and shame from it.

"Do not listen to the lies of this creature!" I try to turn my head toward my father's voice, but three more tentacles turn my head away forcing me to look as a holographic image as it appears in front of me.

You are not welcome in this home! You will not harm this family anymore!

I blink as the image of my father stands before me, angrily shouting at me. I try to pull away but the black vines tighten their grip turning my body toward three more images.

We don't need you on this team!

Nobody cares about you, so get over yourself!

You…you monster!

The disgusted look on Leo and Raph's faces cracks something deep within me, but the look of fear in my baby brother's eyes is the final hammered peg that completely shatters me.

My family continues to shout horrible things to me, one voice clamors over another until it's all just a chaotic mess of hurt, pain, and rejection that feels like a thousand-ton weight in my chest. As the images fade, my body trembles. I'm not so sure any of this is worth fighting for anymore.

The same tentacles that grabbed hold of my son also restrain me from reaching him. The harder I struggle against the black manacles on my wrist and ankles, the more they burn my spiritual presence. Despite the blistering sensation in my wrist and ankles, I desperately tug and pull in an attempt to free myself.

Helplessly, I watch as these false images surround my weary son. I never spoke the words spewing from the mouth of my doppelganger, and I am most certain his brothers never said such soul-shattering words to him either.

Do you see?...Do you see how your family truly feels about you? They mock you and have no respect for you. They despise you. You are an useless ninja, a pathetic brother, and a disappointing son. And to think you were all these things before you started changing….mutating into a monster.

I cry out to Donatello as this creature spews its deviltry into his accepting ears. It pulls memory after memory from his mind. I recall many of these recollections, but seeing them from my son's perspective, gives me a deeper understanding of his isolation within our close-knit family. To make matters worse, this dark presence insists on manipulating the memories ever so slightly from their true form….just enough to make my gentle-hearted son feel unwanted, unloved by his own family. It is the way dark energy works—it only takes a touch of obscuring manipulation to derail a soul. The rest of the destruction comes from the broken soul itself.

Its movement around my son draws my attention. It entangles, wraps, and coils itself around his limbs and torso, spreading like spidery vines over my son's downtrodden body. Donatello is stock-still, sadly spellbound by this vile presence. I cannot allow this evil to consume my child. I will not allow it.

I calm my racing heart and panicked mind; it is the only way to help my son. Closing my eyes, I chant a prayer of virtue, strength, and endurance. My aura swells with a warm, glowing brightness as the spiritual chains sizzle away from my limbs. I waste no time sprinting toward my son. A pained cry grinds past my teeth as I have to step into the black muck to reach him. The black soot burns beneath my feet like hot coals, but nothing will deter me from my child.

I continue until I am able to reach out for Donatello's wrist.

"Don't touch me!" A black tentacles whips at me, slapping my hand away in synch with my son's command. Unshed tears pool and ripple in his distraught eyes. Two tentacles extend from the weeds of tentacles behind him instantly wiping the moisture from his eyes before they could spill down his cheeks. His spirit is weak. He is becoming one with this malevolent being, drawing strength from its negative energy.

"Donatello, you must listen to me," I plead with my son, ignoring the burning sensation under the soles of my feet as I step further into the syrupy puddle of emotional madness. He takes a step back, tentacles swishing violently around him. That conniving, manipulative creature! It did not try to bond with Donatello until he became one with his emotions. My son is still struggling with these newly embraced emotions, it knows this and is using this knowledge to its advantage.

"Why? You never listen to me…." There's a fire burning behind his eyes. I remain cautiously still, not wanting to agitate him—or this creature manipulating him—any further.

I reconsider my words . "I am listening now, my son," I peaceably answer. "Tell me how you feel."

"I…I don't know how I feel!" His irritation rises along with the whipping and lashing of black tentacles.

"Yes, you do. Do not think, just speak." I can feel his panic as he searches for intellect to express what only his heart can say. "Do not be afraid to give voice to your emotions."

"I'm not afraid! I'm…I'm angry!"

"Tell me why you are angry." I keep my voice calm and encouraging as he paces, gesturing his feelings with his hands as well as his words. "I'm angry because no matter how many martial art disciplines I learn, no matter how many times I perform my katas in tandem with a four count upbeat, no matter how many geometrical analogies I am able to associate with defense attacks, it's never enough for you! All you see is my failure," he shouts into my face, but I say nothing. It is essential he gets this out. "I'm not as skillful as Leo; I'm not strong like Raph; and I'm not spontaneously creative like Mikey! I'm not naturally gifted in ninjutsu and no matter how hard I try, it's still…. not…..enough! Just once…just once, I wish you were as excited about my inventions as you are about their accomplishments in ninjutsu." His soot-covered chest heaves deeply with every screaming word.

"Donatello, you have always been more than enough, my son. I never meant to make you feel as if you were not. I may not understand all of your creations, but it does not mean I do not admire your brilliant mind. I care deeply for you and everything you do; so do your brothers."

"No," he vehemently shakes his head. "No, they don't care! They don't want me as a teammate, much less their brother. Leo thinks I'm a liability and never takes any of my inventions seriously. Raph treats me like a big pushover….a useless doormat, and Mikey….he…he…." He freezes in the middle of his tirade, eyes wide with a realization unknown to me.

"He hates me." His temperament holds to his nature introverted nature. Just as quickly as the flames of rage blazed in his eyes mere seconds ago, it is smothered by an even greater force—self-contempt. It is a pattern I should have recognized and stopped years ago. After an emotional outburst, Donatello often retreats within himself trying to make sense of his feelings. I always assumed his quietness was the way he dealt with his emotions, but now I see it was simply a destructive way of trying to make logical sense of illogical feelings. Blaming himself for feeling the way he feels is easier than admitting to feeling that way at all.

"I understand why you love them more. I'm a horrible son, I know, but I just…I wish you cared about me too." His voice cracks like porcelain as it fades into a whisper. I can tell this emotional acknowledgement has drained him as a defeated weariness sags under his eyes.

"We are your family, Donatello, we love you very much. We want to help you. Whatever past wrongs we have committed we will make them right. Your brothers and I have neglected you in many ways, but for your sake, you must find it in your heart to reach past this pain. Feel our unconditional love that was always there beneath the hurt…..that will always be there no matter what."

Choking back a sob, he looks away from me with a pensive frown upon his brow. He is bitter and angry from years of unacknowledged hurt. Feeding negativity to an unforgiving and self-hating heart can do terrible things to a soul. My mind briefly drifts to a similar bitterness of my once brother, Oraku Saki, and it only increases my fear for my son.

"I know this hurt is difficult to face. You have many emotions coming to surface after years of being buried and dormant. It is overwhelming experiencing them all at once. It is often our insecurities which bring forth the most hurtful ones." At mention of insecurities, he wraps his slime covered arms around himself, covering his posture into one of uncertainty. I continue, because he needs hears this. "These sensations are chaotic and seem to be without rhyme or reason, but no matter how irrational they may appear, it does not mean they are irrelevant. The way you feel matters Donatello. It matters to your brothers...it matters to me." As I speak, his hardened aura begins to lose its dangerous edge, softening with a gentle glow. My words have reached him on some level; the bitterness melts from his countenance revealing a childlike fear and desperateness.

Lies….they are all lies…. the vile creature whispers to my son, taking hold of his torso with extra tentacles.

He trembles as his breath hitches. He looks at me and that is all it takes. I push away my own pain as I crush my precious child against my chest. The burning slime scolds my aura but I will not let him go. It is then that the long-awaited sobs begin to rack his body. His legs buckle and I allow him to take me to my knees as well. I cup the back of his head as he cries pitifully into my robe. "I can't…I don't want to feel this….it hurts….it hurts so bad…" His pitiful tears rip my heart from my chest as my soul burns with his emotional hurt.

"I know, my son, I know." As much as I wish to take this pain from him, I know it would be detrimental to shield him from his own emotions. My actions would be no better than his over the years. He must experience this pain, otherwise he will never embrace the joy and peace that follows.

"I'm sorry….I'm so sorry," he whimpers between hiccupped tears. "I was horrible to everyone and I'm so sorry." Holding him tighter, I listen as his chaotic emotions spin like a whirlwind from anger, to sadness, to self-hate.

"I love you, Donatello. My love for you is not conditionally based on the things you say or do. It is because you are my son and it is that reason alone." His aura clings to mine for dear life as he stops holding in his hurt and wraps his arms tightly around my chest. In such close proximity, his emotions pour into me. His pain becomes my pain, his hurt is also my hurt, and it nearly overtakes me like breakers dashing against a seashore. In the same way I feel his deepest hurts, I hope he feels my love and strength. His tremors gradually cease and his sobs taper off into soft sniffles. He shifts out of my embrace, looking into my eyes. Doubt still dwells behind his watery gaze.

"Together, we will fix all that is broken," I reassure him, bringing my hands to cup the sides of his face before letting them rest on his shoulders. My aura glows as I steady him with my confidence. He takes a deep breath, regaining his lost composure.

"I don't think we can," he starts, his voice still unsteady with emotion, "I thought coming here would fix things, but its only allowed me to observe how strong this transformation really is."

"I do not understand, my son. What is this 'transformation' you speak of?"

He sighs, reluctance weighing heavy on his shoulders. "Master Splinter, I'm sick….really sick. I've tried everything, but I can't find a cure. I'm…I'm afraid something terrible is going to happen."

This revelation initially comes as a shock to me. However, as I think back over the past few months, the bodily changes, eating habits, and aggression all start to form a bigger picture of forebodement in my mind. This confirms my suspicions that this is no ordinary dark energy, but one connected to bodily sickness. "What exactly is going—DONATELLO!"

My hands are almost not quick enough to grab his arms as he is suddenly yanked away from me. He grips my forearms just as tightly as I grip his as the lower half of his body is pulled in the opposite direction toward this dark presence. It has taken on a more dominating form as it towers over us. It obviously has the strength to consume us both, but it simply toys with us, pulling my son away with its elongated tentacles. The tentacles slither and coil around his legs and torso pulling Donatello further into its clutches, but I will not let go. Digging my heels into the ground of this spiritual plane, I remain rooted in my inner strength as I pull him toward me with all my might.

"Help me!" His eyes plead, begging me to protect him.

Why do you struggle so little turtle?...Your resistance is pointless. You and I are one and the same. The sooner you accept that the easier this will be. All you have is me.

Its dark laughter shakes me to the core, but I remain unmovable. My arms shake with fatigue, but my grasp never loosens from my son.

When you are mine, the first thing I'll do is skin your rat father alive before dining on his innards.

"No!...Sensei, I can't do this….it's too strong…It'll kill you! —"

"No! You can do this! Your mind, body, and spirit are one; you are stronger than this specter of sickness!" He has not had much time to adjust to being united with his emotions. I sense his fear and doubt as his emotions become scattered and unfocused. His hands slip down my arms as they become slickened with the black matter now creeping over his fingers. "No! Do not let go!" I tighten my slippery grip on his wrists as my heels skid against the thickening muck beneath me. "Hold on!"

"I'm trying…" exhaustion strains his voice as his grip slackens. Grunting, I take a step back heaving him with me, but for my single effort of exertion, the creature mocks me, yanking him back with twice the amount of force. Black tentacles morph into hands grabbing at Donatello's face as he struggles to hold on to me. In the time it takes to blink, I am sideswiped by a large tentacle, jarring me from my grip on my son's aura. My own aura is flickering with fatigue. I am not accustom to being in another's aura for such a long period of time and was not prepared for such a lengthy supernatural battle. With the last of my reserved spiritual strength, I lift my head in time to see my son clawing his way from the massive blob of negative energy.

"DONATELLO!" I try to push my aura to get up, to follow my son into this terrifying realm of darkness, but I collapse, drained from the emotional stress.

"FATHER!" he screams. His fingers leave behind clawed grooves in the malleable muck as he is wrenched into the abyss of darkness at his spiritual center. The darkness takes on a monstrous form only found in the nightmares of demons and ghouls; its crimson eyes gazing down on me with brash triumph.

"NO!...DONATELLO!...DON—" The words are knocked out of my mouth as a force slams into me, propelling my aura completely out of my son's body.

Clutching my chest, I gasp for air. Wildy, I search my surroundings and briefly find peace in the familiar scent of lavender incense. I shake away the disorientation from my mind. Donatello is still in front of me. His breathing is harsh and his head hangs low between his shoulders as he otherwise remains unnervingly still on his hands and knees. "Donatello, my son, are you alright?" The muscles pull with tension in his arms as his breathing slows to an eerie pace. I reach for him and call his name again just as his head viciously snaps up. I should do something…anything, but I am frozen with dread as pupil-less crimson eyes stare back at me.

Disturbed by the sound of stretching and popping bones, I watch in horror as my son's jaw unhinges right before he lunges for me.

"You don't understand! He just totally went Mr. Hyde on me, dudes. It was like he wanted to hurt me."

"You're right, Mikey. I definitely can't relate to that….the Beanpole tried to grind my windpipe down my throat, but yeah, I have no idea what that must feel like."

"Guys, cool it." I glance sternly between my two younger brothers as we sit around the kitchen table. Mikey's eyes pool with tears every few minutes before for he blinks them away. He leans over the table fidgeting with his wrist wrappings—a sure sign of his worry. Raph sits stiffly in his chair, arms crossed over his plastron. There are darkening bruises around his neck, although, Donnie's thumbprints are much more pronounced around his trachea. The scowl on his face is growing deeper by the hour, but it just shows how concerned he really is. "I'm sure Master Splinter is helping Donnie through whatever is wrong. We just need to be there for him."

"Yeah, easy for you to say. He hasn't tried to strangle you or bash you over the head with glass. Whatever's going on in that egg head of his ain't gonna be easy to crack." Raph's gruff voice fades in and out through airy whispers as he rubs in throat. Donnie really did a number on him.

I huff through my nostrils at his bluntness, but at the same time I know it's true. When Donnie came out of his lab he looked really sick. His steps were shaky as he made his way to Master Splinter's room. It took everything within me not to rush to his side. I didn't want to do anything to deter him from talking to Sensei. He needs help and I'm just glad he's finally acknowledging it.

"He's been in there like forever….do you think they're okay?" I stare at the clock. It's been two hours and we haven't heard a single sound from Sensei's room.

"This has been going on for months, Mikey. I'm sure they have a lot to discuss," I try to reassure my youngest brother. I'm a bit concerned as well. What if Donnie flipped out on Sensei? I immediately dismiss the thought. Sensei can handle himself, plus we would have heard something by now if Donnie tried to attack him.

And as if on cue, there is a hard thud that rattles the cabinets. Raph is the first one up and heading toward Sensei's room and I'm right at his heels. If Master Splinter and Donnie are having an altercation, Raph's explosive nature is not the first thing that needs to go barreling through Sensei's room. Before he can raise his foot to kick the door, I firmly pull my hot-headed brother back by the ridge of his shell.

"Wait. They don't need you barging in there making things worse!" I scowl at him in a harsh whisper.

"What, you wanna wait 'til after he snaps Sensei's neck?"

I glare daggers at him, but stop short of offering a terse comeback, when I hear Sensei's voice from the other side of the door.

"Donatello….it is alright….please…don't—"

"..nuh-no..I can't…"

I feel Mikey press at my side as the three of us listen to pieces of the intense conversation behind the closed door. There are more muffled sentences from them….both of voices filled with grief and tension. The doorknob jiggles with the sound frantic scrapping. Just as I reach out for the jostling knob, the door swings back and I'm tackled by a blur of green.

"Donatello, wait!" I hear my father's voice as I shake the confusion from my head. From the floor, Donatello backs away from me, his eyes wild with fear. He scrambles to his feet, madly dodging my other brothers as he jumps over the turnstiles and disappears into the sewers.

"What the shell…?" Raph mutters. I accept his hand as he pulls me to my feet.

We all turn to Sensei, who's leaning heavily on the doorframe. "You must find your brother…." His command loses its force as his body starts to sway. I immediately attach myself to his side and put his arm over my shell.

"Take it easy, Sensei. Mikey, go make some tea." Before I can utter his name, Raph is already at Sensei's other side as we lead him to the kitchen chair. "You don't look so good, Master Splinter. What happened in there?"

With elbows on the table, he cups his head in his hands taking deep breaths. My stomach is doing backflips. I've never seen Sensei so shaken up before. Mikey places a cup of tea in front of him before taking his place beside Raph and me. Sensei looks down at the long strip of purple fabric that makes up Donatello's mask.

"Your brother is in grave danger. I fear in his current state of mind he may hurt himself or someone else. You must go, now." He finally looks up at us leveling his gaze at each of us. "Your brother is hurt both physically and emotionally. You must approach him with caution, his mind is not stable."

"Are you going to be okay, Sensei?" I scan over his body looking for any visible wounds, but find none.

"Yes, Leonardo. My spirit is merely drained from the energy used to help your brother in his meditative state. I am otherwise fine. It will be best for me to stay here in case Donatello returns. Now hurry! Go find your brother!" With a final glance over my shoulder at my sullen father, I grab my katanas and t-phone and head for the sewers.

"Dudes, did you guys get like a kazillion missed calls from April?" Mikey asks as he comes up on my right side, swiping through his t-phone.

"Same here." Raph chimes in occupying my other side. Grabbing my t-phone, I also see a string of missed calls from our friend. I hit the call button, hoping we don't have another crisis on our hands.

"Hey April, is everything—"

"Oh my God, Leo!...Where have you guys been?! I've called you for the past hour and—"

"April, is this an emergency?...Because we're kind of busy…Donnie's missing and we—"

"It's about Donnie." We both say Donnie's name at the same time, which makes me stop in my tracks. My brothers skid to a stop as well, looking at me in confusion. "He stopped by early tonight to get supplies from the animal clinic I volunteer at." I'm a bit surprised at this information, because as far as we knew he just went for a sewer walk earlier. He said nothing about going topside. "He was nervous and paranoid and he kept talking to someone who wasn't there."

I keep my voice level and composed as I try to calm down our panicked friend. "Okay, April, we're out looking for him now, I'll call you back when—"

"Leo, wait! I'm not finished! He said he just need supplies, but he just used that as an excuse. He stole a bottle of Pentobarbital." I remain silent…I have no idea what that is. "It's a drug the clinic uses to put animals to sleep…permanently." My heart drops into my stomach. With Master Splinter's warning and this new information from April, my worry-meter just shot straight into panic mode.

"We gotta go, April." I don't have time for niceties as I end the call. "Guys, we gotta move, now."

"Where?! He could be anywhere by now, Fearless!" Raph snaps.

I don't have the heart to tell my brothers what April thinks Donnie is planning to do. "We'll go topside…start at the places Donnie usually goes to be alone." Raph is already climbing up the closest ladder to reach the manhole cover. Mikey's been incredibly quiet in the last few minutes. I look around the dank sewer and find him staring down a dead end tunnel. "Mikey, c'mon!" My harsh tone makes him jump and he looks back at me with eyes too bright in the dreariness of the sewer.

"I…I thought I saw something…" He sounds distracted, which is the last thing we need right now.

"Everything's going to be alright, Mikey." I soften my tone as I give his shoulder a squeeze. "We'll find him, but I need you to stay focused, okay?"

"Yeah…okay," he replies with a wobbly head nod. Taking up the rear of the ladder as Mikey climbs up, I take one more look around the sewer before heading topside.

My chest burns like a gasoline-soaked rag tossed into a burning flame, but I keep running. I can't stop…I'm too close to them…I need to run faster, run farther, because I'm not safe. My mind flashes to a mere ten minutes ago when my canines were inches away from ripping my father's jugular out of his throat with my outstretched jaws. If he hadn't fought back, I would have killed him. His self-defensive blow knocked me into the opposite wall, clearing my head long enough to realize what I almost did. I was terrified by my uncontrollable behavior and ran. I ran past my brothers, out of the lair, and into the maze of sewer tunnels. My brain doesn't make sense any more as other thoughts consume my logic and reason. As I turn a corner, my feet slide on sewer grime causing me to scrabble for purchase on all fours clumsily rounding into another tunnel. I skid to a stop, crouching wildly on hands and knees, craning my head slowly at the sound of feet slapping against the damp sewer floor.

They're coming for me.

The urgent voices of my brothers grow louder as they echo through the tunnels. A very simplistic urge to flee overtakes me, but the dead-end in front of me prevents the action. The light from a lightpole shines dully through the grates over my head. If I stay here, they will see me , and if I backtrack…

I will kill them.

My body overheats with a mixture of adrenaline and something else as I push myself against the dead-end wall. With nowhere else to look, I stare down at my feet. Quirking my head slightly, I frown and do a double take. I almost thought my feet disappeared until I wiggle my toes. At first sight, my large feet blend perfectly with the grayish sludge color of the sewer floor. I look at my torso then at my arms and legs and realize they too have changed colors to match the wall I'm pressed against. It almost looks like a—

Camouflage…need to hide.

I listen to the instinctual part of me and remain perfectly still, allowing my body to completely melt into my surroundings. Cautiously, I listen to my brothers talk. Mikey's not paying attention though…..he's staring straight at me. Any minute I'm sure he going to give me away and then I'll have to—

Defend myself and slaughter them.

My sense of smell is suddenly overwhelming and the stench of filth around me is almost too much until a subtle but deliberate scent hooks my nostrils. Its smells like…

Sweat and sugar.

The sweet aroma churns my stomach with hunger as I swallow back a pool of saliva forming my mouth.

Like cinnamon and candy…

My eyes widen when I realize the scent is Michelangelo. Oh, God…he's my brother, why am I even thinking about…oh, God. I close my eyes when I hear him take a shuffled step closer toward the deadend I'm camouflaged in.

"Mikey, c'mon!" my younger brother stops staring at me when Leo grabs his attention. They talk for a moment, before finally leaving through the manhole above. I sigh with deep relief, not sure what came over me and why I was eying my brother like a dessert platter.

The mutation. The realization and fear hit me at the same time. This primal urge, these instinctual notions, they have to be part of this deplorable mutation! I don't have time to dwell on my growing mutation as another scent catches my attention. My eyes feel cloudy and numb as they automatically widen at this new savory scent. No….this feels wrong, but..but…

I'm hungry.

This two-worded thought is more prominent, more demanding of my attention and actions. So with that final coherent command, my sentient thoughts fade without me even noticing, giving way to a more basic need as I let the predatory voice within guide me to hunt my next meal.

TBC...

A/N: And so the suspense continues! I really tried to pour out some heavy emotions in this chapter so let me know what you think! Reviews fill me with happiness and joy! :D

After a bit of debating with myself, I've decided to leave a small teaser for next chapter...Enjoy:

My feet splash noisy against the damp ground, but my footfalls are being quickly washed out by the sound of something with larger footsteps steadily catching up to me. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I skid to a stop. A dead end. The lantern stick flickers leaving me in semi-darkness. Whatever is chasing me comes to a silent stop too. The lantern dies on me. Slowly turning around, my breath catches in my chest at the thing behind me. I can't see it face or nothing, but the backlight from the tunnel entrance lets me see its odd shape. It rises from its crouched position standing upright. That definitely ain't no squirrel...

Alright, that's all you get! Until next chapter, catch ya later!

Poetique