Chapter 30

"Soooo, we're not telling April and her dad about you-know-what?" Mikey whispers loudly several minutes after Mr. O'Neil and April leave the lair.

"For now it is best to keep this knowledge to ourselves. I will find the appropriate time to inform Mr. O'Neil."

They're talking about me like I'm not sitting less than six feet away at the kitchen table. I stare at the fork, the pepper shaker, and salt shaker and ponder putting them in descending alphabetical order before I actually start doing it. Tonight was horrible. I felt like fungi under a microscope as I suddenly became the object of my family's scrutiny. Despite the embarrassment and shame of being a freak show display to everyone, I still managed to keep my composure. For their sake, I need to be level-headed and stay focused on the task at hand. This could be a matter of life or death... How many more people will I kill if this mutation gets out of hand? I don't want to hurt anyone else, but I suppose it's too late for that. I tried to protect everyone and my efforts have exploded painfully in my face. Raph can't even stand to be near me—he was the first one out the lab with no reservations; Mikey hasn't spoken to me since his outburst; and it's only a matter of time before Sensei and Leo confront me about the Pentobarbital…. their disappointment will be enough to make me want to crawl under a rock and die. They'll all think I'm a basket case. My head is spinning just thinking about it. Sighing, I rest my head against the heel of my normal hand. I rub the area between my eyes…. where April kissed me. My face flushes with a warmth I feel unworthy of. I can't erase the piercing hurt in her eyes as she begged me for a reason I would hide this from her.

I thought you were dead…. all I could think about was how close I was to losing you.

I don't understand how she could still feel so strongly for me after everything I've done…. Then, I remember she doesn't know what I've done. The sewer worker's guttural screams before I ripped his throat out still echo in my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on breathing normally while my heart races. If she knew the truth, she'd be horrified and repulsed by me.

"Where is Raphael?"

The million dollar question for tonight. "He went topside to get some air," I tell Master Splinter… or at least that's what I gathered from Mikey's 'brain-stomach' explanation.

"Call him. Tell him to come home immediately. I do not want any of you topside until things have settled down with the search for the sewer worker, understood?"

"Hai, Sensei." I watch as Master Splinter looks toward the kitchen table at Donnie. For a moment I think he's going to walk over to my downtrodden brother, but he pauses and turns back to me instead.

"Please see to it that Donatello eats something before he goes to bed." He doesn't give me a chance to reply as he turns away and heads in the direction of Donnie's lab. I don't dwell on Sensei's odd behavior for long as a glimpse of orange in my side view pulls my attention.

"Hey, Mikey, could you call Raph? Tell him to come home ASAP."

"But Sensei told you to call," he pouts, inching his way to the kitchen. Glancing over at Donnie's dazed expression and hunched form, I'm not sure if he's really up for 'Mikey' levels of bonding right now.

"Mikey, Donnie's had a stressful couple of days. He doesn't need a lot of excitement right now," I hint as gently as I can. I know Mikey means well, but Donnie will only wear his 'I'm okay' mask around our youngest brother. I could see him coming apart at the seams while he put on a brave face for all of us tonight. I'm afraid he's going to break in the worse kind of way and I need to be there to pick up the pieces. "I'm just going to get him to eat something and make sure he goes to bed, okay?" I search my baby brother's eyes for understanding. Come on, Mikey, work with me.

"Okay." His voice hits a low key of disappointment as he walks past me. "I'll call Raph." Before he can completely pass me by, I rub my hand and rest it on his shoulder with a small squeeze.

"He'll be okay," I reassure him. He gives me one those innocent smiles before heading to his room. I turn back to the kitchen and see my second youngest brother hasn't moved from the table. In the kitchen, I bring a pot of water to a rolling boil before pouring in some ramen. Donnie's stillness terrifies me; it reminds me of the same stillness he held on the rooftop. Neither of us speak as I wait for the noodles to cook. Honestly, I'm not sure if he even realizes I'm in the kitchen, because his eyes haven't left the salt shaker on the table. His hands are clasped between his knees, his shoulders drawn in tension. I try not to stare as I prepare a small bowl of ramen for him. Opening a jar of black olives, I sprinkle a few over the freshly cooked noodles.

Pushing the bowl into his view, I take a seat in front of him. "Donnie, you need to eat something."

My head feels heavy and hollow at the same time. There are so many things I'm worried about yet I feel completely numb to as well. I blink vacantly as a small bowl obstructs my view of the table. I look up to see Leo's concerned eyes staring at me. He says something. His voice is soft, but his words don't really register. I blink again and look down at the bowl. It's filled with ramen noodles and my favorite topping—black olives. I think he wants me to eat. As if on cue, my stomach cramps with a gripping hunger pain I've tried to ignore all evening. I slowly stab my fork into the bowl. Just as I maneuver the noodles to my lips, two olives in the bowl catch my attention. Trapped air gathers in my lungs and in that moment, I no longer see two olives but the fear-stricken eyes of the sewer worker. The fork slips from my fingers, hitting the side of the bowl before clattering to the table.

"Donnie…" I hear Leo's voice but only flinch when his hand touches mine.

"I'm fine. Just not hungry," I lie as I cover my weak stomach with my hand.

"You haven't eaten anything since…. you woke up." He tries to recover his words, but he's too late and I hear the pause in his speech. 'You haven't eaten anything since you mauled that sewer worker' is what he means to say. I gaze over my brother's features. His eyes are warm with worry, yet dull with tiredness. His habitually trained and upright posture is heavy-laden by a burden even his shoulders struggle to uphold and I'm the cause of it. "You don't have to eat all of it. Just a few bites, okay?"

Not wanting to cause my brother any additional grief, I steady the fork as I spin a few ramen and olives on it. Without looking, I shovel the squiggly noodles and moist olives into my mouth. I recite a C++ code sequence in my head to keep from thinking of how much its texture reminds me of more cannibalistic and nightmarish images. I manage to choke down two more bite-sized servings before pushing the bowl away.

"Donnie, I need to—"

"I'm really tired, Leo," I interject, too afraid to face his disapproval. However, it's not a complete lie. I am tired though I can't imagine attempting to sleep at a time like this. His cerulean eyes soften with sympathy I don't deserve. I must look more haggard than I thought because he accepts my pitiful declaration without question. I sulk away to my bedroom, hoping to avoid my family the rest of the night.

Immaculate, methodized, orderly…. just a few words to describe my son's room. Pausing at his desk, I look around for the third time since entering his room. Not a single item is out of place. Everything is positioned in the most rational locations. I search for disharmony, any anomaly, but find none. My clever son has perfected the art of deception when it comes to his own well-being. This is the room of a reserved, studious, and thoughtful teenager, not the anxious and emotionally wounded child currently in the kitchen.

Looking from his desk to his bookshelf, I still have not found the deadly Pentobarbital Mr. O'Neil spoke of. I left Leonardo tending to Donatello while I searched his lab. Finding nothing out of the ordinary there, I continued my hunt inside his bedroom. There is no suspicious clutter in his room or excessive piles or stacks. Everything has its proper place, some items having specific labels. Finding something akin to a trophy display, I step closer to the hand-crafted shelves on the other side of his room. A smile twitches my whiskers as I see some of my son's most prized possessions. My eyes pause over one of Donatello's first introductions to the world of science. At the tender age of ten, he glued letters from discarded keyboards onto a crude wooden plank to create his own periodic table. There are similar creations of scientific and mathematical interest on the shelf: a completed Rubic's cube; a plastic human skull with Donatello's disjointed notes dividing it into various sections; and a small mechanical device showing our planetary system. All the items a demonstration of my son's genius mind at work over the years. Turning away from the shelf of accomplishments, I sigh as I clasp my hands behind my back.

Tonight, Donatello hid his fear by obsessively organizing his desk in front of Mr. O'Neil. I believe in a like manner he has meticulously created this spotless room to hide from us. The evenly-spaced pencils on his desk, alphabetized books on his bookcase, and even the sharp angle at which his sheets are tucked at the corners of his bed, have all been a disguise for more deeply rooted insecurities. I can imagine him through the years translating his emotional complications into a more tangible form. Cleaning, organizing, immersing his mind in books is how he dealt—or rather has not dealt—with his emotions.

After a certain age, Donatello stopped sharing his feelings and instead shared his thoughts and theories. I was ignorant to this subtle transition in my child, but if I am truly honest with myself, this behavior has always been evident, I simply did not confront it. He was my timid and quiet child; he did not pull for my involvement in his activities as greedily as his brothers. I regrettably saw this as a level of maturity and not the silent plea for attention that it was.

At the thought of my gentle son contemplating suicide, I blink away the moisture threatening to cloud my vision. Do I know my sons as well as I think I do? With a calming breath, I push my paternal doubts aside. Donatello needs me. My tears will only serve to create a deeper guilt in my son, something I will not impose upon him. Mr. O'Neil's words ring true to my spirit. I must keep communication open with Donatello. He must know I am here to support, not condemn. As I conclude my mental dialogue, the doorknob slowly turns.

In the thirty seconds it takes him to notice my presence in his room, I see his shattered countenance, an aura of melancholy that immediately fills the room upon his entrance. However, as soon as he sees me his emotional blinders are once again in place.

"Sensei? ...Is something wrong?" He cannot hold my gaze for more than a second before his eyes meet the ground. His obvious shame outweighs my disappointment. The doorknob wobbles under his nervous grip as he awaits my response.

"Donatello, please sit. We need to talk." He nods as he closes the door behind him. Even with his height competing with my own, he looks nothing more than a fearful child waiting for punishment as he sits on the side of his bed. There is an unnerving quietness before I calmly speak. "I know about the Pentobarbital." His hands wring together, tossing and turning over one another.

"I'm sorry... at the time I thought it was the most viable solution and I—"

His words stir an indignant flare hurt within my chest, but another calming breath brings it back under submission. "Donatello, I simply want to know where you have hidden it."

There's a hint of disbelief of my intentions as he stumbles for an answer. "I, um, i...it's in my desk drawer….in the lab."

I slowly shake my head. "No. I have already checked. It is not there. Did you take it with you when you left the lair?"

"No... No... I'm certain it's in my drawer. I'm telling you the truth!" his heightened voice pleads with me, making my ears twitch and my heart ache. I want to believe he is telling the truth, but my parental need to protect him makes me leery of his honesty in his current state of mind.

"Calm yourself, my son. A lot has happened, you simply need to think. Try to remember where you placed the drug."

"But I do remember! I promise you, I put it in my lab desk drawer!" His voice raises to an almost tearful desperation. I have no doubt now he is being truthful, but it does not take away my concern that there is a misplaced vial of death somewhere in our home.

"I took it."

Surprised by the new voice at the doorway, both my son and I look toward the open door where Leonardo appears holding a small vial between his index finger and thumb. Staring at my eldest son, I wait for the explanation that had better come quickly.

"I found it in his lab desk after we returned from the spiritual plane. April told me about it earlier.… and what it was for." Leonardo pauses, glancing over to Donatello. "I was holding it for safe-keeping… I mean, I was going to give it to you, Sensei, but with all that's happened I could never find the right time."

"Now is as good a time as any, Leonardo." Turning my palm upward, he nods before quickly depositing the poisonous vial into my hand.

"I'll just be… out here." With a weak reply, Leonardo excuses himself from the room, closing the door behind him.

Donatello and I are once again engulfed in painful silence. Such a delicate situation… should the wrong words be spoken, the damage will be irrevocable. He visibly tenses as I sit beside him on the bed. He watches me as I roll the small vial within the palm of my hand.

"This vessel could have delivered you prematurely to Death's door," I state the obvious, before collecting my words. "You thought this was a viable solution?"

"At the time, yes."

"My son, do not humor me a fool. You and I both know that is not the truth…. not the entire truth," I interject when I see his lips ready to protest my claim. He settles with a sigh which only confirms my words. "At some point, you no longer trusted us to help you. You lost faith in the love of your family."

"No." His insightful brown eyes widen as he shakes his head sharply. "The radiation caused paranoia and other psychological issues. It affected my cognitive thinking."

"Yet you still managed to maintain the cognitive skills needed to determine this was a viable option?" I ask him, gently poking at the holes in his poor explanation. "The poison created nothing. It merely manipulated thoughts already present and uprooted emotions you hid from yourself." Even now as I break down his logical defenses to allow him room to release bottled emotions, Donatello struggles to find words to express his insecurities.

"It's just... sometimes I…. it's hard to…." With a furrowed brow, I sympathize with my son's emotional difficulty.

"Why did you feel this," I hold the vital in his view between two fingers, "was a solution?"

He pauses several moments, before a slight breath leaves his lips and he finally speaks. "My decision was based on the option less likely to cause additional…." He swallows before speaking again through strained vocals. "It wasn't worth the risk. It would have been a humane alternative…. completely painless." He disguises his words to appear reasonable and beneficial to his family, but I see my son's words for what they really are—he does not think his life has value.

"There is nothing painless about this alternative to your family, Donatello. Do you not see that?" My voice softens as a fear from a darker, unforgotten place makes itself known.

"I have lost many things in life—my wife and child, my human form…" I turn my hands over thoughtfully. "The night I was changed by the mutagen, I thought myself a cursed man. I felt as though I truly lost everything, but instead I gained so much more." I offer my son a knowing smile. He knows this story all too well, but I feel he is in need of hearing it again. "You were all so small, mere babies in this unforgiving and cruel world. There were so many cold winters, and never enough food or medicine. I did everything in my power to protect you, care for you, to love you. I swore on my very soul I would protect you and your brothers at all cost. It is a promise that still holds true. Even if it means protecting you from yourself." It is hard to express the ever-growing fear of a father to a wounded child without appearing angry or overbearing. My words may seem like a lecture to Donatello, but this discovery of planned suicide makes this conversation all the more necessary.

"But I didn't. I didn't take the Pentobarbital."

"But the fact you even conceived such a notion, that you were so quick to make this decision, it…. scares me." His disposition is more attentive as I acknowledge my fear. "You so quickly decided you were not worth the love and concern of your brothers…. of your father. Look at me. Please." When he does not comply, I twist my torso more to face him and place a sturdy hand on his shoulder. "I love you, Donatello. If you doubt this for a second, I will remind you over and over again, as many times as it takes for as long as it takes. I fought for your survival all those years ago, and I will fight for you even now as you struggle to fight for yourself."

I can see the reflection of my love through the glistening pools of his eyes, but I can only hope he truly accepts my words. When a set of tears break free from their translucent barrier, I sweep him into an embrace. He does not return it, but he does not pull away either. A tight smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I feel his weight shift slightly towards me. "I know you are burdened with grief for the life taken in your poisoned state and fearful of the near future, but take comfort in this single truth: you are loved, my son. You. Are. Loved." I emphasize my words by pressing his teenage mass snugly against my chest. There are surely other things I should be, could be telling him, but it is the first thing whispered into my spirit to say. Perhaps it is appropriate; love is after all the foundation of which all else is built. "It is when you are hurt the worst that love truly heals; it is when you need it the most. Love from others, as well as love for yourself."

"I know. It's just… hard." His timid voice is muffled against the fur of my neck, but he makes no effort to right himself so I flex my ears to better hear him. "The way I feel… I never bothered to… I just didn't think they were…." I rub a soothing circle across the scutes of his shell as he takes a deep breath through his tears, turning his face from the crook of my neck to speak again. "Recognizing these emotions is like moving a muscle I haven't used in years." I nod with understanding but say nothing more at the moment. Donatello has never been one for platitudes. He always makes spoken words count with an intended purpose and I know admitting this is very difficult for him, because he is also admitting his lack of intellect and understanding of himself.

I hum softly in a deeper thought. "Yes, exercising an unused muscle can be a painful ordeal, but with repetition and a determined mind, it will become easier."

We sit in silence aside from his occasional sniffling. His body slumps against me, and it is a weight I am grateful to bear considering how things could have ended last night. He takes a stuttered breath, releasing it in a heavy sigh. I know there is much Donatello desires to express and his brothers wish to make amends as well, but his sluggish motions remind me how much sleep my son no doubt lost over this vexing time span. Any additional conversations will have to wait. "Sleep now. Things will look better in the morning." Keeping my voice to a light whisper, I gently pull away.

His despondency is an unfortunate godsend as no protest leaves his lips. With half-lidded eyes, he lies across his bed as I unfold a lavender blanket at the foot of his bed and drape it over him. Tucking the blanket over his shoulder, he blinks several times as my hand rubs over his head before succumbing to a much needed sleep. With a final glance, I leave the door ajar behind me.

"Wait, lemme get this straight….. Don's mutating? ...Dude, that's so metal!"

"Casey, you're a moron. There's nothing 'metal' about this!" Raph barks, his arms waving madly at his sides. For a minute I think he's going to slug me, but instead he grinds his teeth as his fists slam down on either side of his legs making the couch beneath us squeak its protest at the abuse.

My hockey team had an epic semi-season win tonight. I just came in from a bangin' after party to find Raph's gargoyle butt planted on our kitchen counter. Nearly gave me a freaking heart attack. My dad's working a night shift and my little sister's at a friend's house, so it's all good. At first I thought he wanted to hang out and bash up some thugs, but when he flopped down on our tattered couch with a growl, I knew something was up. That's when he told me about Donatello and the radioactive mutagen.

I always miss out on the cool stuff! I haven't been around the lair for weeks…. been pretty busy with hockey and trying not to repeat physics—again. Not to mention those Purple Dragon scum that keep wheelin' and dealin' in my hood… I've had to grind their faces into the sidewalk more times than I can count. Either way, Raph's about to blow a gasket because Don kept his mutation on the DL. I don't get why he's so mad… I mean, he should be looking at the golden opportunity that just dropped on their laps.

"No, check it…. just hear me out for a minute, yo," holding up my hands before he dismisses my awesome scenario. "So what if Donnie does mutate? He'd be, like, bigger, stronger, and look wicked cool! Dude, he'd be like Don-zilla, the Kraang-annihilator!"

"Shut up, Casey! You think this is funny?! My brother doesn't need another mutation, he's fine the way he is. Do you hear the crap that spewing from your mouth? ...You have no idea what you're even talking about!"

I shake my head trying to get him to listen. "No, man! You're not getting what I'm saying! He'd be like Slash, yo! You've seen the way he clobbers the Kraang with that mace like he's playing whack-a-mole! Imagine what Don could do if he mutated again!"

"It doesn't work that way! Don't you remember what happened to Dogpound? Or maybe you forgot about the jelly mold of guts, aka Timothy, that's in Donnie's lab? You can't pick and choose the good mutations over the bad ones… they just happen! You weren't there when Spi—Slash mutated. He nearly killed my brothers…. He wasn't himself. His mind was…" His face goes from angry to broody within seconds as he swallows back whatever it was he was going to say. "Look, just drop it, okay? It was a mistake coming here." He gets up to leave, but I grab the cuff of his shell and grunt as I pull his fat butt back down on the creaky couch.

"Come on, Raph. Don't be like that. I'm just tryin' to be optimistic, ya know? I mean, you just said Don was pretty sure there was no way to reverse this and your bro is like a genius…. he would know, right? There's a chance Mr. O won't be able to reverse it. Maybe you guys should start thinking about the 'what ifs'…. just saying." April always says I have a bad case of 'foot-in-mouth syndrome.' Don-zilla sounded like a good idea in my head…. Maybe I should have just kept my big mouth shut.

His belt pocket buzzes for tenth time since he's been here. The scowl on his face eases up a bit as he looks at the screen of his phone. Placing the phone face down on the cushion between us, he sighs and scrubs his hand down his face.

"That Mikey again? Maybe you should call 'im back and—"

"I was horrible to Don." Okay, angry Raph has left the building and angsty Raph is in full swing. "I thought he was just being an oversensitive wuss, but I didn't know." In the dimness of the room, his eyes are bright and wet against the glow of the TV screen and low light of the bargain store lamp in the corner. "He was hearing freakin' voices in his head and I just kept pushing him and pushing him. Gah, I'm such idiot."

"Dude, voices? You didn't say anything about Brainiac hearing voices." My eyes widen wanting to know more. When Raph started ranting and raging about his 'idiot' brother, he never mentioned Don was hearing voices. Sounds like some 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' stuff to me. "Is he alright, man?" Don and me have our differences, but this is starting to sound kinda serious. Raph immediately looks away. I'm ready to harass him for details, but his head snaps up instinctually toward the sound of the TV. I follow his gaze to the news anchor chick reporting the eleven o'clock news.

Public service worker Frank Vass was reported missing last night while performing sewer maintenance. It was previously believed Vass was injured or lost in sewer tunnels below; however, this evening a floor manager at the County Water Treatment facility informed authorities of a body found in one of its treatment tanks. Forensics confirmed the body is indeed Frank Vass. They described the body as being mangled and preyed on a by large unknown animal. Vass's co-worker, Ricky Hernandez, has other speculations in mind.

The screen cuts to a Hispanic guy with a blue jumpsuit uniform and a hard hat on. He looks pretty skittish and paranoid like he hasn't slept in a few days.

I'm telling you, this ain't no ordinary croc in the sewer story, whatever did this to Frank was some kind of monster… or… or alien! Crazy crap like this been happening since those glowing green bottles fell from the sky. This crap ain't no joke, I'm telling you, man!

When 'Raving Ricky' pulls the camera to his face, it cuts back to the news anchor.

Monsters in the sewers... What do you think? Like us on MyFace and tell us—

"Dude!" I exclaim turning the volume down. "Have you guys been holding out on me? ...Are there mutant monsters in the sewers?!" He ignores me, still staring at the TV screen. The silent treatment; now I know they fought a monster down there. "Aww, man, can't believe I missed out on that…. I bet is was so metal! So what kind of mutant was it? Did it have six arms and pus-filled boils all over it? It was probably super—"

"Gotta take a leak." I barely catch his hurried reply as he beelines for the bathroom before slamming the door shut.

"Weird," I mutter to myself, scratching an itchy spot on my head. Three short buzzes from Raph's phone pulls my attention away from my moody friend. Curiosity trumps any death threats Raph may spit at me for snooping through his cell as I pick up the shell-shaped phone. There are dozen missed calls and a stream of texts I don't hesitate to read.

Mikey: ...leo made me call. sensei put us on lair lockdown. Better get home dude

Mikey: u wit casey?

Mikey: bro where r u?!

Mikey: sensei not kidding bout lockdown…. they found the body… leo is pacin hole in floor…. D is… idk :(

Mikey: raph? jus lemme kno ur ok

Mikey: please

"What the shell are you doin' with my phone?" My fumbling hands nearly drop the bulky phone at the sound of Raph's booming voice.

"Crap, man. Don't do that." Within seconds he's in front of me snatching his phone back scrolling through the texts I've just read. "What is Mikey talking about? ...what body—" I may not be the sharpest tool in the box, but it doesn't mean I'm a slow leak either. "Holy crap…. holy crap… the news. The sewer worker that was mauled…"

"Casey… don't," Raph warns, his eyes narrowing into green slits. But I can't stop because something keeps tugging at the back of my mind. I can't keep the horrible thought from creepy its way to the front of my mind.

"Raph, what the heck happened down there? What kind of mutant freak—"

The rest of the words are knocked from my windpipe as my body is slammed against the wall. Black spots circle my vision until they fade into a much more horrifying image of my best friend's sai against my throat.

"Don't you ever call my brother a freak. Ever." His gravelly tone is dangerously low.

"What the frick, Raph?! I was talking about the killer mutant you guys fought in the sewers… What are you talking about?" Raph's eyes widen with an 'oh, crap' expression plastered to his face and in that moment of realization a hard cold truth drops into the pit of my stomach. "You said Donnie was mutating." The back of my head collides with the wall as the sharp metal presses against my Adam's apple. I've seen this look on his face before. It's that murderous look Raph has when an enemy injures one of his brothers. I start talking fast. "Dude, would you chill?!" I squeak trying to force words out of my constricted throat. "Raph, come on man. You know me. I'm on your side!"

"Jones, if you breathe a word about this to anyone…"

"I'm not! ...I won't!" He glares at me and I scowl at him. "Would you put the fork down already, you meathead?" The insult seems to bring him back to his senses. He lets me go and my feet hit the ground awkwardly… I hadn't realized he actually lifted me off the ground.

"Sorry, Casey. Things have just been hitting the crapper like crazy these past few days."

"Literally."

"Not funny."

"Sorry." Foot-in-mouth syndrome never fails. "Things are pretty bad with Donatello, aren't they?"

"Now you see why Don mutating would not be 'metal.'" His sarcasm is full of bite but the way he spins his sai around his wrist, I know he's freaking out about his brother. If he killed that guy and he's only part-mutated, I don't even wanna think about a full-blown mutated Donnie. "It's getting late. I better head home before I get Hashi." He doesn't look at me as he heads toward the window.

"Raph, wait!" He doesn't turn around. His hand lifts the window pane, then he pauses. "You know I got your back, bro. Whatever I can do to help." A shiver shakes my spine at his stance and for a minute I think he's gonna scoff and slap away my help with bitter sarcasm, but he doesn't.

"I know….. thanks. Just keep your mouth shut, Jones." And with that he drops soundlessly out of my window, vanishing like misery into the night.

TBC...

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading! Decided to try my hand at Casey's POV, who personally is even harder to write than Raph, lol.

And to the anonymous guest: Yes, yes! I'm talking to you! :D Noooo, I do not have fans! Having fans makes me think of some hot-shot celebrity (which I'm not). I'd like to think of the people who read my stories as awesome people who enjoy tmnt fanfic as much as I do :)

Oh, on another note "Logic of the Soul" was nominated in the tmnt fanfiction competition for: Best Donatello, Best Horror, Best Multi-chapter & Best Overall Fic! "Tough Love" was nominated for: Best Raphael & Best Short Work/One Shot. I'm completely floored. I can't believe people nominated this amateur story in four categories! All I can say is thank you to those who nominated me. It is truly an honor just to be nominated for this competition. I really feel unworthy of this nomination. Be sure to check out the other nominated stories...a link to the website is on my profile page.

As always, thank you, thank you, thank you for reading and if you have a moment, I'd love for you to leave a review :)

See you next chapter!

Poetique