There's a part of this chapter which is very close to my heart. In the end, part of the reason this fandom has held me for so long is exactly what is discussed – that, in the end, the turtles are themselves without apologizing or shying away from all that it means. It's a lesson I had to teach myself time and again, and I'm still not always sure I've got it learned.

Also, just as a reminder, I'm still on the hunt for anyone who wants to do fanart for this series. I will trade spoilers and maybe even early chapters for art!

Enjoy!

Chapter 2: Curse

The next three weeks passed slowly for Donatello.

As his strength continued to return and his propensity to cough when he was exercising decreased, he began to enjoy the morning training with Leonardo more and more – which Leo insisted on holding even though it was only the two of them. Occasionally Usagi would join in, but mostly it was just Leo and Don working through their skills together.

Of all the things Leo being Heir meant, Don was often the most grateful that their sparring sessions were kept private by his order; as he stumbled through recovery, Don didn't want anyone other than Usagi and his brother to see him at less than his best. But with each day, he felt better and coughed less and found his body reacting the way he expected it to, to his great relief.

Some of his recovery came less from the training and more from his other occupation, however.

While it was true that Donatello spent many hours of each day watching over Splinter and caring for him, such enforced inactivity was like slow torture. Don was used to spending days largely motionless, of course, but then it was because he was in front of a computer or in his lab working on something that challenged his intellect and fulfilled his interests. After the day Don actually found himself wishing for another ninja attack just so he'd have something to do, he realized he needed to go find himself a new hobby.

With Leo's permission, Don approached the castle's forge and the metal- and swordsmiths who worked there. They were initially very resistant to his presence as he was the brother of the Heir and a warrior – and metalwork was a function well below the station of the samurai class. But Don persevered, asking questions and making observations until the pair of bears and the stolid bull who worked in the forge finally agreed to teach him their craft.

From that point on, Donatello spent every waking minute he wasn't tending to Splinter or sparring with Leo at the forge. It wasn't as inherently interesting as computer engineering or biochemistry, but metalwork was at the heart of most of Don's building and he found the familiar hands-on practice soothing.

Though he did miss his welding tools. Forge welding took much longer without a proper blow torch, and after two disastrous attempts, Don stopped trying to make one from feudal supplies.

On the other hand, working with the castle's swordsmiths gave Donatello a great deal of insight into weapons-craft. He had been able to approximate repairs to Leo's swords and Raph's sai in the past, but the truth was that any fix he made was sort of the metallic equivalent of holding it together with bubblegum; he'd never had the proper kiln or developed the skill to actually reforge a sword or craft the prongs of the sai correctly. When the turtles had been young, Splinter had stolen their first metal weapons for them. Later, after Don got the family online, they had ordered replacements and spares as needed for swords, sai, and nunchaku. Don's bo he always made himself with little trouble.

But now that Don could study with a master, he turned his brain and his focus into learning to properly forge all the weapons for the family. He reported to Leo one night with a face aglow with pride.

"It's one of the gaps in my skillset that could really have been a problem someday," he said. "Remember when the Shredder broke both your katana and tossed you through April's front window?"

"I'm not likely to forget," Leo had said with a raised eye-ridge.

"Well, then you remember how hard you and Raph worked to reforge them in the barn up in Northampton. But even then, they were fragile where the join in the metal was. You could use them to practice, but not to fight."

"I know. We had to wait until you ordered me a set online and got them delivered before we could take on the Foot again."

"Exactly! And with what we knew and the supplies we had, you and Raph did a great job. But with what I'm learning now, if that happened again, I could just make them. We wouldn't have to count on having enough money to buy more."

Leo had patted him on the shoulder. "Whatever makes you happy, Donnie."

And it did. Besides being interesting and challenging and fulfilling Donatello's inherent need to learn and craft and experiment, it also helped him begin to rebuild his physical strength. Every day he could swing the heavy hammer a few more times, could bend the metal when it was cooler, could feed the fire for longer. The honest sweat that ran down his plastron felt like release, as though it was washing the last effects of the poison out of his body.

Of course, the very first sword Don made was horribly unbalanced, curved weirdly to the left, and might have shattered while slicing cheese, but it still made him profoundly happy.

That happiness, however, was constantly challenged by the people around him.

While the metalsmiths ultimately accepted Donatello's interest in their arts, the warriors of the castle were less impressed. Don hadn't realized how gossip-worthy his work was until he overheard something while hauling a bucket of fresh water to the inkhouse for Splinter two weeks after first entering the forge. He was just rounding the last corner when a conversation from the guards outside the inkhouse's door drifted to him. Don ducked against the wall to listen.

"The young Lord comports himself with great honor and dignity," one said. "I was concerned when they first came, but clearly at least one of them knows their place."

"Unlike the other."

"Yes. I wish he had gone away and one of his brothers remained instead. They show skill in combat and would never have debased themselves."

"Imagine a warrior grimy with soot from the forge! If the Shogun were to send an emissary, I think our entire han would die of shame."

"That the Daimyo has allowed it must be due to his own illness. In his right mind, Lord Kawauso would never permit such unnatural and unrefined behavior from any warrior within his lands, even a guest and brother of his Heir."

Donatello crept away, thinking.

Later, Usagi found him sitting against a sun-warmed wall in a far corner of the castle, distant from the keep and away from the usual patrols of the guards.

"May I join you?"

"Sure, Usagi."

"Forgive me for saying so, Donatello-san, but you seem troubled," he said.

Don sighed. "I overheard some talk today. Apparently working at the forge isn't done for people like me. Being born into a warrior family means I can't be anything else, apparently."

Usagi was quiet for a moment before he spoke, "That is true of my world, yes. One's lineage determines one's path in life and one's vocation. But I understand that it is not so in your home dimension."

"No, it isn't. Where I'm from, we believe you can be whatever you want to be no matter where you come from." He smiled wryly. "Of course, most people wouldn't apply that to a mutant turtle, but it's still how I think. Besides, it's what I've always done. Building stuff, I mean."

"Does Leonardo-san object to your work at the forge?"

"No, he's fine with it. I think he knows I'd go nuts if I wasn't doing something productive."

"But the whispers of the others trouble you?"

"Yeah…" Don stopped, leaning back against the wall. Then he said, "Well, only a little. It's not like I'm not used to being thought of as a freak. Besides us being unique in our own world, I'm also pretty different from my brothers. I guess I don't care a whole lot about the talking but…"

"It can be unsettling to be thought of as an outsider, an aberration," Usagi said.

Don glanced at him. "I bet you've got your own experience with that."

"You would be correct. To be ronin is to have little honor until it is won by demonstration."

"Is that what you think I should do?" Don asked. "Demonstrate that I can do it?"

"Honestly? I fear that will only somewhat alleviate your troubles. For one cannot be both warrior and smith in my world, nor warrior and scholar. A samurai is to have refined tastes and skills, yes, but he is not an intellectual equal to his prowess with his blade."

"You're saying that even if I make one shell of a good sword, it won't help?"

"I think if you made, as you say, an excellent sword, my people would believe that you are less of a warrior still, though they might respect you as a craftsman. You would, in their eyes, more honestly deserve your place with the artisans, but you would still be considered poorly as a warrior."

Don snorted. "Figures."

Usagi sighed. "It does seem rather a trap."

That made Donatello huff a laugh. "Well, good thing one of my best skills is breaking out of traps. I'll just have to bust my way out of this one, too. Or else quit and go nuts, and I know which I'd prefer."

"I sense you bear the soul of a rebel, my friend."

Don sighed. "Normally people say that about Raph, but yeah. I think we all do. It's the only way to keep being who we are."

"My world is not one that values defiance except against defeat. To willingly stand in opposition to the social order is cause for suspicion or even dishonor."

"Yeah. I noticed."

"Is it so difficult for you to conform?" Usagi asked.

Donatello's whole body twitched and he turned to the rabbit ronin with anger bubbling.

But before he could respond, Usagi held up a hand. "I did not mean to imply that you should, my friend. I merely wish to understand why you choose the struggle."

That took some of the heat out of Don's reaction and he forced himself to breathe a few times before answering. "I've met people from all over the universe and the multi-verse. I've met other versions of myself. But the only one out there who thinks the way I do and who sees things the way I do is me. There's only one me in any world or dimension anywhere."

Usagi nodded. "That is likely true. People, I do believe, are very unique, even across vast distances of time and space."

"You know I don't like to kill when I fight, right?"

"Of course."

"It's not just that life is important, that life matters, though it does. We shouldn't just end it. But, it's also that every life is one more piece of the diversity that makes everything work together. Every person is their own endangered species. So...if I become anything other than myself, wouldn't that be killing a part of who I am? Even potentially? Taking away something unique that the world needs to make it whole?"

"Perhaps. Though I have never heard it put that way before."

Don shrugged. "And besides, I do have to live inside my own head, too."

Usagi frowned. "I see how your reverence for life might extend to a value of your own personality traits, but I do not understand your precise meaning. Live in your head?"

Don smiled faintly. "When the four of us were growing up in the lair, before we met April or anyone, we thought we'd be alone our whole lives. Just us and Master Splinter. It's why no matter how much Raph and Leo fight, they've never actually hated each other. Because if we were all going to be stuck together alone forever, we had to be able to live with each other."

Usagi raised an eyebrow and waited.

"We made a promise as kids that we'd always be brothers. But also that we'd always try to be ourselves. Because we wouldn't be brothers with each other if we changed. If Mikey wasn't goofy, he wouldn't be Mikey, and he wouldn't be our brother. So he had to stay goofy."

"And if he did not want to be goofy?"

Don chuckled. "Never gonna happen. But if he honestly and genuinely wanted to be different, that would be okay. As long as he was being himself. We wanted Mikey to be Mikey, no matter what that meant, rather than have Mikey turn into me or Raph or some other person. Anyway, we all swore on our honor that we'd be ourselves no matter what so we could still be brothers."

"And this is the reason you resist? To keep your vow?"

"Only partly. I also made that promise to myself. And as much as I can't break my promises to my brothers, I can't break them to myself either. I'm me. I'm Donatello. And I'm not ever going to be anything but that. I don't want to be anything but that. I have to live with myself just like my brothers and I had to live with each other, so I have to stick to being someone I can live with. That's what I mean by live in my own head."

"I see."

"So, yeah, I'll fight a social construct the same way I'd fight being put in a cage. The only person who gets to decide what is or isn't right for me is me."

"There is something admirable in that fierce integrity of self," Usagi said after a moment. "Though I imagine at times it causes grief for you."

"Not that much. Raph has it worse. Raph is, like, the definition of defying the box. He hates other people's expectations and he burns them down as quick as he can so he can go back to living by his own code. But here….well."

"Such independence is not so noticeable in a warrior as it is in one who practices the arts of the mind, the ways of progress and change," Usagi finished.

"Exactly." Don tipped his head back and looked up at the sky. "The only way I stay Leo's brother, Raph's brother, Mikey's brother, and Sensei's son is to stay myself. Stay Donatello. Which means being an engineer and a tinkerer and a scientist. Which means asking questions and looking for answers. Which means not being afraid to be wrong, and not being afraid to try. If I give any of that up, I stop being myself, and I lose myself and my family."

"Which you will not do."

"Not for anything," Don vowed. "No matter what. Being myself is the only thing I can be. I'll keep on being myself if it's the last thing I do because it's the only way to live with myself. Plus, it's the last way to keep my promises. And my family understands that – and they're the only ones whose opinions really matter to me."

"I begin to comprehend better, Donatello-san. Thank you."

Don actually managed a smile. "No, thank you, Usagi. Talking about it helped remind me. No matter what anybody thinks, my job is to be myself. And if I'm doing that, I'm not alone because I've got myself for company. That makes me feel better."

"So you will again take on the world? Quite unapologetically?" Usagi returned the smile.

"If I have to. It's certainly not the first time and, with my luck, it probably won't be the last."

Usagi dipped his head. "For what it is worth, my friend, I think any world which benefits from your interference in your own unique way ought to be grateful. And I am sorry that my own people are so little receptive to you and your ideas."

"It's okay." Don climbed to his feet. "If I keep going, the worst that happens is I learn a little bit more about smithing and your people are even more glad to see me gone when we eventually return home. I can live with that."

Determined once more, Donatello returned to the forge.

-==OOO==-

For ten days he worked without stopping other than to eat, sleep, and train with Leo. Even when he took his turns sitting with Splinter, he filled the notebook he had carried from home in his backpack with drawings, equations, and steel used to make katana in this world was prone to weakness unless it was heated and folded many times, and Don was trying to narrow in on exactly how many folds would make the optimal blade. Without his full lab, he could not test the iron sand that the metalsmiths made into steel for its specific properties, but he had worked often with scrap steel and iron of varying quality; Don knew he could at least ballpark the figures from what he had learned thus far.

At the end of the ten days, Donatello brought a new blade to his brother for morning practice.

"It's not as good as your katana," Don admitted, holding it out, "and there's nothing fancy about it. If I'd wanted to wait for a better hilt than the one I hammered out myself, it would have taken a lot longer, let alone doing any artistic flourishes or polishing it to within an inch of its life. But it should work."

Leo accepted the blade from his brother and hefted it, turning it this way and that in the sunlight.

It was a little longer than the paired katana Leo had brought from their home, and the blade was slightly narrower in the way of most katana in Usagi's world. The grip was leather wrapped over wood, and Leo noticed that Donatello had replicated the exact pattern of wrappings he preferred on his usual weapons. The blade was not the mirror-bright, almost perfect silver of the usual katana in both worlds – rather, it was dull and dark in color. And yet this katana was much lighter than Leo expected, and the edge gleamed with wicked sharpness.

Don fidgeted slightly as his brother examined his sword. "It's not going to be quite as strong as you're used to – no cutting through three-inch steel bolts, probably. But I made it sharper than usual to compensate."

Leo closed his eyes and began a kata that utilized only one blade rather than his usual two. As he moved from strike to strike, he settled into the slightly different balance of the blade, allowing his body to learn its shape and its spirit.

When he finished and at last opened his eyes, he smiled at Donatello.

"I'm impressed. This is a really good job for your first try."

Don's shoulders fell in relief. "I'm glad it worked," he admitted. "Swordmaking is harder than building a car, you know."

"I bet it is."

"A few more tries to perfect my process and I'll want to borrow your real katana so I can get the measurements right," Don said. "I also made one go at replicating Raph's sai, but it...didn't work out so well."

Leo raised an eye-ridge.

"Turned out looking more like a fork somebody stuck in a turbine." Don shrugged.

"Why didn't you start with something easier?" Leo asked. "Seems like you'd be able to make a tanto with a lot less effort than this took."

"I need to learn this metalsmithing while I can. When we go home, if you ever need replacement katana or if Raph needs a new sai, I need to be able to make that. I'm sure I could learn to make a tanto faster, but we don't need those as often."

"Fair enough." Leo returned the katana to Donatello who set it to the side.

They had only just begun their morning routine when a strange sound echoed through their arena.

Don froze in the middle of a block. "Is that...an earthquake?"

Leo's eyes widened. "No! It's an attack!"

A moment later, a hole erupted from the ground beside them and six black-clad moles emerged.

"Mogura ninja!" Leonardo drew his blades. "Don, don't let them catch you from underneath!"

Donatello pulled his bow, backing shell-to-shell with his brother. "What's the plan?"

"I'll hold them off. You go sound the alarm and then get to the Daimyo."

Don twirled his bo defensively to keep the Mogura back and looked over his shoulder. "What? Why?"

"Usagi will protect Master Splinter. I need you to look after Lord Kawauso. I'll be there as soon as I can." He turned just enough to meet Don's eyes. "I trust you. Now go!"

The Mogura darted forward on silent feet and there was no more time for debate. So Donatello planted his bo on the ground – hoping it would not give way underneath him – and launched himself over them. The instant he landed, he took off in a sprint, pausing only long enough to retrieve his handmade katana from the ground which he tucked into his belt against his shell. It wasn't that he was protective of it so much that he didn't want it to be lying around for one of the Mogura to find and use against Leo.

One good leap and Donatello was on the nearest rooftop. Without looking back, but listening hard to the sounds of Leo battling alone, he bolted at his best speed for the keep.

"Hey!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Leo's under attack! We're under attack by mole ninja!"

From his vantage-point running from roof to roof, he could see the alarm spread, and only seconds later the loud bell was sounded that caused guards and samurai to spill from everywhere. But Don could also hear the sounds of rumbling and guessed that the Mogura could move pretty fast even underground.

At the last roof from the keep, Don jumped to the ground. "Lock the doors and get ready!" he yelled. He dove through as the guards on duty obeyed him. Once inside, he checked the heavy beam.

"They're Mogura, Leo said," Don explained. "Whatever defenses you have against ninja coming from under the floor, better put them into use. I'll go up to the Daimyo's chamber."

And then Don found himself on the stairway again, alone again, heading for the Daimyo with threat hanging in the air. Unlike last time, however, now he sprinted and jumped rather than walking sedately – though his heart beat no less quickly. At the top, the guards stood with their weapons out before the Daimyo's bedchamber.

"Mogura ninja," Donatello repeated. "Leo sent me to help protect the Daimyo."

"You will stay out here," snarled one of the guards.

Don actually blinked at him. "Are you serious?"

But before he could get into an argument, the Daimyo's own voice sounded from the room beyond. "Let him pass."

Donatello rolled his eyes when the guards paused and just leaped over them. "You guys picked a shell of a bad time to decide not to trust me," he muttered. But he kept an eye on them; thankfully, the guards did not try to prevent him and he entered the Daimyo's room and closed the door behind himself.

"What is happening?" the Daimyo demanded. Donatello didn't bother to bow even though Lord Kawauso looked no less regal for being flat on his back in the middle of the imposing room.

"Mogura ninja have entered the castle. Leo's fighting them. He sent me to guard you until he can join us."

The Daimyo nodded. "Very well."

Don's blood was singing with adrenaline and he had stopped caring about rudeness, so he asked, "Can you tell me anything about these ninja? It might help."

"The Mogura are a ninja Clan like the Neko who offer services to those who pay for them. However, the entire Mogura Clan very rarely moves at even the highest price, so likely Nezumi only bothered to hire one small force."

"If their specialty is moving underground, we're probably pretty safe up here."

The Daimyo frowned. "Nezumi is clever. He knows the Mogura cannot reach me within the keep."

Don's eyes widened. "So he'll send a second attack when everyone's distracted!"

Don drew his bo just as the clash of fighting sounded in the hall outside the door.

"Here." Don took his katana and handed it to the Daimyo. "It's not perfect, but maybe it'll help just in case."

The Daimyo struggled to sit up, gripping the katana tightly.

Don set his bo to spinning, readying himself, and the act likely saved his life an instant later when a dart pierced through the paper walls aimed straight at his chest. The bo deflected the dart, and the next that followed it.

"I'm starting to see why you think all ninja are dishonorable around here!" he yelled, adjusting his angle to put himself between the Daimyo and where a good-sized hole in the paper revealed a Neko ninja with a blowgun.

After two more darts, the Neko reached to its belt and drew something larger than another dart.

"Oh crud," Don said, his heart sinking. He had a good guess what that was.

"Hold your breath!" Don yelled.

The Neko tossed a small packet a few sizes larger than Don's own smoke pellets. The instant it hit the floor, it exploded and a sickly green gas began to fill the room.

Donatello charged for the packet. Even though it meant leaving the Daimyo unguarded, this was the most dangerous threat in the room and he couldn't leave it there and fight effectively.

Of course they had to come when Leo and I were training so I don't have eighteen layers of cloth to use this time, he thought with resentment. However, even in training, Don always had his belt and its usual tricks.

Good thing I only used a little on the katana.

Don pulled out a small tin that had once held gum but that he liked because it was flat and sealed well and fit in one of his tiny belt pouches. He'd carried everything from cash to chemical samples in it, but this time it had been filled with a thick, pitch-like glue – the same he had used to bind the leather wrappings on the experimental katana.

Crouching over the packet that continued to spill the green smoke, Don upended his tin of glue. He smeared it all over the packet, and in moments he had effectively created an airtight seal. Of course, the air was tinged green now, and he was going to need to take a breath sometime, hopefully without exposing himself to yet another poison.

Don was so focused on cutting off the smoke that he didn't see the Neko loading the blowgun again until it was almost too late. He dodged to the side in a panicked dive, so the dart only scraped along his arm rather than puncturing his neck.

Immediately, Don's vision began to swim and he stumbled backwards, sliding helplessly to the ground.

-==OOO==-

Donatello woke up in the inkhouse with a splitting headache.

"What...happened? Ow..."

"So you live."

Don blinked to clear the fuzziness from his eyes and sat up. Seated against the door was Sato Takeko.

"Uh...yeah?"

She scowled. "The Heir will be pleased."

Events came flooding back. "Leo! The Daimyo! Are they okay?"

Sato's scowl deepened. "They are, though you bear little responsibility for it."

"What do you mean?"

Sato rose and grabbed something from the floor. She tossed it in Don's direction; he caught one piece in midair but the other thumped into the floor beside him.

"Your blade broke in Lord Kawauso's hands." She sneered. "If not for the arrival of the young Lord, he would have been slain by the Neko."

Don gulped. In his hands was the hilt of the katana he had forged. But the blade only extended for an inch or so before it ended in a jagged break. Donatello spotted evidence of a sharp cutting edge that had struck a weak point in the steel.

"If the Daimyo's Heir had not saved him, you would have been executed where we found you senseless on the floor."

Sato rose, her jaw tight and her hands almost shaking with rage.

"You are no samurai and you barely deserve the title of ninja. And you have proven to be an inferior metalsmith as well. Had I the authority, I would banish you. As it is, if you have any honor in your soul at all, you will cease your efforts anywhere but here with your Master. No one should rely upon such a poor warrior for their safety."

Don tried to swallow but could not manage it.

"I will tell the young Lord that you are well." And she swept from the inkhouse without even glancing at him.

Don's eyes fell on the blade of his katana that rested beside him, winking accusingly in the room's low light. He picked it up, his fingers running along the break at its base.

I...I really screwed up this time.

Before long, Leonardo and Usagi both burst into the inkhouse, the former dropping to his knees before Don and gripping his shoulders, worry in his eyes. Usagi spotted the broken katana at Donatello's side, but said nothing.

Donatello answered Leo that he was fine, that the dart had only knocked him out, that he wasn't hurt. And Leo sat back, relieved, and told him about the fight and how Leo had only barely made it in time.

"It was wise of you to give your katana to Lord Kawauso," Usagi said then. "Without it, he would not have been able to defend himself long enough for Leonardo-san to arrive."

And Donatello shrugged and looked away. Usagi noticed but let it pass, knowing well for himself that sometimes a warrior needed to come to terms with a perceived failure on their own. He was confident the purple-banded turtle would soon realize that even a broken katana was better than none at all.

Usagi was surprised, however, when Leonardo did not comment on it at all, nor on Donatello's silence. The leader of the Hamato brothers simply continued on, explaining what he had done with the prisoners and that he had sent a messenger to find Michelangelo and Raphael and inform them to be on the lookout for more Mogura. And then someone knocked on the door requesting their young Lord and Leonardo gave Donatello orders to rest and asked Usagi to join him.

Usagi thought it was odd for his friend to miss the obvious distress in his brother, but Leonardo was rather in the midst of a crisis and he thought certainly the pair would have time to talk later. Therefore he resolved to keep his silence and to let Leonardo handle things in his own way.

Much, much later, Usagi would wonder – if he had intervened right then, would everything to follow have changed? Or was it already too late? Had the seeds of tragedy already taken root in the ground and now nothing would cut them down before they bore their final, bitter fruit?

-==OOO==-

For four days, Donatello barely left the inkhouse.

"I really am okay," he told Leo when he asked to put off returning to their morning training right away, "but I think I'm still dealing with some residual grogginess from whatever they put in that dart. Probably this is my body telling me I'm still a little weak and if I push too hard now, I'll be in trouble."

Leo shrugged. "Whatever you need, Donnie."

"Thanks for understanding."

Leo squeezed his shoulder. "Not a problem. Do you mind if I borrow Usagi for a while, though? Since you'll be here anyway? I think I want him to stick closer to Lord Kawauso in case Nezumi sends somebody or one of the ninja Clans tries to get revenge. It shouldn't be more than a couple of weeks before we hear from the Shogun."

"That's fine. I'm glad you'll have Usagi watching your back."

So Donatello spent four days largely alone. Without Usagi swapping shifts with him, Donatello saw only the healers a few times a day when they delivered herbs and checked for any change with Splinter's condition. Leonardo intended to make a point of coming by to pull Donatello to dinner with himself and Usagi – but after the first day, he forgot.

On the second day, Don took enough food at breakfast to hold him for the day so he didn't have to go eat in the common areas alone. There were too many eyes looking at him, too much blame and scorn for him to bear.

Eventually Donatello remembered Usagi's warning that his exposure to the poison might make him emotionally vulnerable. He was grateful that he was not suffering a proper relapse, and otherwise he accepted his feelings of shame and failure as the price for the broken katana.

"I'm sure if you were awake, you'd be telling me not to be so hard on myself," Don said to Splinter on his fifth day in virtual isolation. "I...I know it isn't my fault that the ninja attacked, and I did the best I could with the katana. But...it's just so hard."

He sighed. "It's bad enough there's an entire castle of people here who think I'm pretty much worthless. I'm not sure if they got that idea because we played me up as last in the Clan or not, but by now they believe it. They don't even seem to remember that I'm the one who saved the Daimyo anymore. I'm just the idiot who made the sword that broke while he was in danger."

Donatello closed his eyes, reaching out to grip his father's wrist as though it could anchor him and offer him solace.

"Remember what we were talking about before you went up to see the Daimyo to ask him to spare Shuo Katsu's life? That I didn't feel comfortable here? Well, now I definitely don't. I mean, nobody needs a computer engineer in a world without computers, right?"

A familiar, dull ache started up in his chest.

"I'm not much use here, not with everybody treating me like a pariah. I'm just...too different from them. I...I wish you were here, Master. You always know what to do. And with Leo so busy and Raph and Mikey away...I could use some company, I guess."

With nothing else to do and his heart feeling heavy, Donatello sank into his own mind. Images, feelings, memories – they swirled in a whirlpool that held Donatello and kept him from reaching the peace of meditation.

The broken katana.

Sato Takeko's harsh words.

Jurou's poison coating Master Splinter's fur.

My son.

Sensei! Is that you?

I am here, Donatello, though my spirit is weak.

Master...we've been so worried. You've been sick for so long.

And I will be sick a great deal longer, I fear. But I am with you, my son. I am easily found if you seek me. I sense great sorrow in your heart, Donatello. It calls to me like a beacon.

I'm sorry, father. Things...have been hard for me lately.

Do not let adversity claw away at your courage, my son. Despair is more dangerous than any blade. If it has claimed a place inside your mind, I fear for you.

It's...it's okay, Sensei. It's my own fault anyway, mostly. But it does me a lot of good to know you're still in there somewhere. It's...been hard watching you be so sick.

I imagine it has, my son, for all of you. Tell me – are your brothers well?

I think so. Leo's working double-time to protect the Daimyo. There was another attack. And Raph and Mikey are out patrolling the han looking for Nezumi's forces. The last report said they weren't having any troubles except annoying each other as usual. At least that's what I got out of the frowny face Mikey drew.

Your brothers have stalwart souls. Though the world changes around them, they remain as ever. As do you, Donatello.

Yeah, but I…

Which is why this world is so difficult for you. You do not suit its rules.

Pretty much.

I have faith in you, my son. I know you will find a way to live with yourself no matter the pains that weigh upon you.

Thank you, Sensei.

Now, I grow weary. I must continue to gain my strength that I may return to my body sooner. But tell your brothers to seek me that I may find them. And Donatello?

Yes, Master?

It is tedious to linger here with nothing to entertain my mind but my own thoughts. When you return, bring with you a story to tell.

I will. I promise.

Go, my son, but without fear. I am with you.

Donatello's eyes flew open, his heart beating fast and alight with joy.

"I'm with you, too, father." He squeezed the wrist he held, then jumped to his feet and ran for the door. The guard outside blinked at him in surprise.

"Go find Leo. Tell him I need to talk to him right away. Master Splinter is going to be okay!"

-==OOO==-

Two weeks after Splinter's first mental connection with Donatello, he opened his eyes to find all four of his sons gathered around.

"My...sons…" he croaked, his voice weak and thin from disuse.

Four cries of "Master Splinter!" filled the small inkhouse.

Michelangelo couldn't help the sniffly sob that gathered in his chest, so he dove forward to hug his father. Beside him, Raphael was wiping at his own beak, his hand locked on Splinter's and gripping the familiar fingers as though they were the only real thing in the world. On the other side, Leonardo bowed low enough to tuck his face against his father's cheek, breathing out a shuddering sigh.

Donatello appeared around his brothers with a cup of water. "Here, Sensei. Drink slowly."

He had to wait until Michelangelo gave up his hug and until Leonardo leaned back, and it was Raphael who maneuvered himself in position to lift his Sensei's head enough to drink.

The cool water was a relief and Splinter sipped it gratefully. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you all. It has done my heart good to touch your minds as I healed."

"It helped us, too," Leo admitted. "Being closer to you again."

Because of their ability to communicate with him while he was healing, there was little news that needed to be shared. Leo had called Raph and Mikey back the same day Don told him he could reach Splinter's mind, and the four of them had been taking turns settling into meditation to reach him. They'd told him about his illness, about the attacks on the Daimyo, about the day-to-day activities that kept them from boredom.

But as Splinter looked at each of his sons, he could begin to see what they had not been telling him as well.

Michelangelo, usually open with his emotions, had a new sort of energy and seriousness about himself. Splinter had guessed that he had been the most frightened that his father would never actually wake, but he had expressed that fear openly in their connection. What Michelangelo had not stated – but others of his brothers had – was how much he had been smitten with the cat named Mitsu in a local village. Splinter had been told that Michelangelo was still journeying back and forth from there every few days, and now he could see the result of that growing affection. His son's eyes held a kind of distraction that meant his mind was not entirely on affairs before him, not when the person who held his heart was not present to share them.

Raphael, Splinter considered, had been perhaps the most honest with him while they communicated. The hotheaded turtle had been frank about his frustrations, from his constant annoyance with Michelangelo to his discomfort with some of the things he had overheard from the guards. Raphael might not have admitted as much aloud, but Splinter sensed in him a restlessness in the face of this world of strict rules of conduct. It was not that Raphael chafed under them in the same way Donatello did, but Raphael chafed under all rules eventually, and this staid and regimented society was beginning to wear on him.

Donatello's own emotions were carefully concealed, but Splinter knew his son too well; even the bright smile of relief could not hide his grief. Splinter had learned of the broken katana from Leonardo, who had not understood the depth of his brother's shame, but what Splinter saw now before him was almost more worrying than the original distress he had sensed in meditation. Donatello's heart had always been gentle and easily harmed, and it seemed his alienness in this world was eroding his fragile confidence.

Leonardo, however, worried Splinter the most if only because it was in Leonardo that the greatest physical change had been wrought. Where the Leonardo Splinter saw in his mind stood straight and true as always, this Leonardo's eyes were lined with deep circles and his brow was furrowed with stress. The burden of being Heir had been one Splinter thought his chunin could bear, and he had, but it was clearly wearing upon him more than he wished anyone to realize.

"My sons…" Splinter said, then coughed.

Raphael was still behind him, holding him up, and he tightened his grip slightly. "Easy, Sensei."

"The coughing will last for a while," Donatello said with commiseration. "It does get better if you don't fight it, though."

Splinter let his body cough until it was exhausted. He could not argue with Leonardo ordering Raphael to tuck him back into bed and all four to leave him to sleep.

"We'll be near, Master," Leonardo assured him. "But even Don had to sleep for the better part of a week before he was on his feet, and he was only down for a matter of days."

"I am grateful to be awake again," Splinter said even as his eyelids dragged at him. "Even if I must sleep, I hope...to wake soon and for longer than a few minutes."

"We hope so, too, Sensei," Michelangelo said.

He slipped into sleep, confident that with his sons united and at his side all would be well.