The shaking starts as soon as Donnie eases himself out onto the ledge, seconds before the nurse pushes open the door to April's room and floods the space with sterile yellow light. He sees April wince, one hand shielding her eyes, and then he ducks down, out of the nurse's sightline, his teeth chattering.
She was so pale.
Stop it. Grit your teeth, bite your tongue, do whatever you have to do to get home without being seen.
He slides April's window closed, grateful for the wind; any sound the old rust-red hinges make will be hidden by the rattle of tree branches against the side of the building. It's getting late — or early, he corrects automatically. Four in the morning is a chancy time, even in February. His brothers are heading home from patrol, ready to nurse their bruises from two nights ago with electric blankets and Splinter's terrible, terrible green tea.
And what's he doing? He's balanced on the narrow brick ledge of a rundown hospital, the chill biting into his arms and legs, trying to stop the tremors spinning out of his stomach.
If the Foot were to find him now — but the Foot have been gone for years. Shredder is cold ash, Karai disappeared seven years ago, and even the Kraang are silent.
Donnie closes his eyes, counts to three, then jumps to the nearest rooftop. The wind in his face gives him another reason — a real reason — to shiver, and the cold shock lets him focus.
Don't think about her. Don't. Think about — think about math. Math is easy, math is black and white, math is numbers and finite variables, math is concrete.
Math tells Donnie is that the average adult human has two hundred and six bones in their body, so if April broke four bones in her fall and two more have hairline fractures, then approximately three percent of the bones in her body are cracked. Three percent, not much at all, especially when half of those bones are little, his thumbs are bigger, and -
Stop it!
He throws himself into the shadow of a water tower. The supports groan around him; he has to duck his head to get underneath.
I grew another two inches this year so now I'm pushing six foot seven and great something else to make me more of a freak, even Leo thought six foot three was tall enough, maybe I got hit with more of the mutagen, Raph always thought I was a bigger freak than the rest of them and in a literal sense it's always been true, now I'm a foot taller than April and she could barely move and her hands were so cold, they had to be freezing if I thought they were cold, they weren't cold two nights ago, she was still warm when I got down there but now she's cold and it's my fault, it's my fault —
Just before his brain skids off into a complete panic-spiral, Donnie hears Master Splinter's voice, cutting through the deluge like a blade through wheat.
"Find peace in the particulars, my son. Limit your world to the first thing you see when you open your eyes."
He inhales and holds the breath until he's ready to open his eyes. Peace in the particulars. Right. Like that's gonna work —
The first thing he sees is a nickel, tails-up, dirty with years' worth of weather and city pollution, and he stares at it until it's the only thing he sees. He memorizes every ridge, every curve, noting where time and wear have thrown the angles off and where one edge is wearing thinner than the others. It might have fallen out of someone's pocket before he mutated. Maybe even before he hatched.
When Donnie takes his next breath, the panic is locked firmly away, under his control again. His thoughts are speeding along their normal paths, steady bright filaments of reason and logic.
Nothing can be done for the sick pit of guilt that keeps growing in his chest. He might not be shaking anymore, but he almost prefers the swift blade to the slow bludgeon. At least the former barely hurts.
A glance at the horizon tells him that he's got an hour before the sun comes up, if that, so he swings out from under the water tower and faces toward home. They all know why he didn't go on patrol; when Casey texted him to say that April was awake and lucid, even Raph kept any wise-ass comments to himself.
Donnie's sure he'll walk into a few of those when he gets back.
Nothing worse than what I deserve, he thinks, cold and miserable, and doesn't let himself take a backward glance at April's blank window.
"You sure we should be doing this?" Mikey asks, for the fourth time. He fidgets, darting glances at the roof's edge, and Raph swallows the impulse to swat him upside the head. "It doesn't feel right, not without Donnie."
Leo keeps his gaze on the skyline, eyes narrowed. "We're fine. It's better that he's with April," he says absently.
"Better for him, or for us?" asks Raph, and earns himself a glare from both his brothers. "What? You two looked pretty antsy until he didn't head out with us."
"Donnie's in no condition to be on patrol," says Leo. He turns back to the skyline. "He's clouded. He's lost his center."
Raph throws up his hands. "Are you kidding me? Spare us the spiritual bullshit, Leo. We all watched April get kicked off a roof." And neither of you had to see Donnie when it happened, so shut your hole, fearless leader.
Mikey whimpers, and Raph has time to feel a flash of remorse before Leo rounds on him.
"What's your point, Raph? Let's get it out in the open."
"My point? My point is, April's out of commission for, god, who knows how long, Casey nearly got choked to death, and Donnie's losing his shit." Raph shakes his head, and balances his hands on the hilts of his sais. "Not to mention what you two did to Rahzar." He waits for Mikey to whimper again before going on, but Mikey stays silent. He softens his voice anyways. "None of us have a center right now, Leo. We should be at home —"
"And what will that do? You heard Rahzar, the storm is just beginning. We need to be out here!" Leo sweeps his arm out toward the city. "We can't afford to stay home. We need to hit them harder than ever."
"Them? Who the hell are you talking about?" Raph pushes off the vent and gets up in Leo's face, forcing his brother to take a step back. He sees Mikey move tentatively toward them, ready to separate them if it comes to blows, but Raph's not in a beatdown mood. What he is is bewildered, because Leo's the one not thinking clearly, and that scares him.
"Do you have a plan?" he asks. "You know, beyond 'hit them', whoever they are."
Leo sneers at him and turns away, glaring at the street below. "I thought that kind of plan appealed to you," he says, his voice curdled. "Raph, the bruiser."
Jesus fucking Christ. Raph closes his eyes. Like a river, over stone. "Yeah, that's me," he says, wearily. "You got me all figured out, Leo. I'm the muscle. You're the leader, you do the planning."
"Exactly," Leo snaps, and even Mikey flinches when Leo turns around. His eyes are frigid, two chips of sapphire in a stiff, unfamiliar face. "So we follow my plan. Let's go."
Raph grabs his arm. "Leo, wait." His brother shakes off his arm with a hiss, but Raph grabs him again and pulls him back. "Look, Leo, I get it. I do. You're pissed because no one saw it coming."
"You're right!" Leo yells. "Of course I'm pissed! April nearly died because no one had any idea what Rahzar was going to do! No one, not one of us!"
"Exactly," says Raph, going cold all over. If Donnie had been with them, and not tearing himself apart on some empty rooftop, he'd have figured it out already.
It's wrong. Raph's not the thinker, he's not the heart, he's not the leader. He's extra muscle, a threat — he greases wheels, he doesn't make them move. So why's he got to be the one who gets it this time around?
"No one knew," he says, tightening his grip on Leo's arm.
Even Mikey's eyes go wide.
It's past sunrise. Patrol is over, all tea has been drunk, and Raph is half-dozing under his electric blanket when Donnie straggles in, barely even bothering to pick up his feet when he walks. For the time it takes Donnie to cross the lair and close himself inside the lab, Raph debates just letting Donnie be. It's what Leo would do, and Mikey too. They'd let Donnie weld and blowtorch and hammer out whatever's bothering him before they went anywhere near the lab.
But this isn't an experiment gone wrong. It's not a stumbling block. This is Donnie not even nodding along when Splinter tried to talk to him, and Donnie not eating in favor of staring at his phone for two days straight. When Raph closes his eyes, he sees Donnie seeing April fall, over and over.
It can't be Mikey or Leo. Raph's the one who figured it out. Time to take responsibility for being the brains, just this once.
He kicks off his covers and stalks to the lab.
Raph knows everyone thinks Leo's the martyr of the family, but there's a big difference between someone who's willing to take a beating for the team, and someone who's all too willing to give the beatings to themselves.
Donnie's got that on lockdown, but unsurprisingly, knowing this helps fuck-all when Raph faces Donnie over his desk.
His brother has his head balanced on his fists, his elbows on the table. Everything about his posture screams go away, this is private, you don't get to watch, but Raph steps inside and closes the door behind him.
"How is she?" Raph asks, and gives himself two points when it doesn't come out as a demand or an accusation.
A long silence blooms between them, long enough for Raph to get ready to ask again, louder this time. Finally, Donnie drops his hands to the table and lets his head fall between his shoulders. "She'll be fine," he says. "Two broken ribs, a hairline fracture in her ulna —"
"I don't even know what that is," Raph interrupts. Stupidity — fake or not — is a sure way to get Donnie to stop in his tracks, but not this morning. Donnie blows right through it, still talking in a flat, bleached voice that sounds nothing like him.
It makes Raph shudder.
"— A broken bone in her left pinky, and hairline fractures in two of her —"
Raph huffs, not quite incredulous — not after so many years. "Dude, what'd you do? Read her chart?"
"Yes." Donnie spreads his hands flat on the table. "I didn't need to, though. I was just confirming what I already knew."
Because he was there. Goddammit.
"Don, she's gonna be fine. Home in a week, back on patrol in two months." Raph takes a tentative step into the lab, and then another when Donnie doesn't look up. So long as Donnie doesn't tell him to leave, he'll keep pushing. He reaches the desk and sits down in an empty chair, leaning forward, almost into Donnie's personal space. "I'm not saying it wasn't bad, but —"
"Are you trying to make me feel better?" Donnie asks, without a noticeable change in his voice. "Because you're the last person I expected to try."
Raph doesn't even try to deny it.
Donnie waits. Of course Raph wouldn't have a retort for that — not right away, at least. Give him a minute, he'll have something to throw in my face.
But then time keeps passing, its flow unbroken by either of their voices, and Donnie realizes Raph isn't going to say anything at all.
"I have work to do," he lies, and spins his chair toward his computer. "Get some sleep, Raph."
"You're really gonna do this? Sit in here and beat yourself up over what happened to April?"
Donnie can't say yes, at least not out loud, so he settles for ignoring Raph. His brother sighs, disgusted, and shoves his chair back; Donnie nearly sighs with relief. Finally, he can sit, and let his brain unspool, and he can —
"You know it wasn't your fault," Raph begins, and Donnie snaps.
"Yeah?" He grips the edge of his computer desk, willing himself to stay sitting. "If not mine, then whose?"
"Uh, Rahzar?" says Raph, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "He's the one who kicked her, Donnie. Not you. And listen, Donnie — "
No. No. It's not that simple. It never is. He's Donnie. He fixes everything. When he was twelve he built a laptop out of trash and guesswork. When he was fifteen he built a robot and a mobile battle unit and he saved the world from aliens. He created the retro-mutagen.
He was supposed to catch April. That's what he does. He doesn't let anyone fall.
Especially not her. He's never let her fall before. Always there, always ready — that's Donnie.
I'm so sorry, April. I love you and I let you down. He closes his eyes. The crack straight through him can't be hidden anymore; all his dark spaces opening up, wide and bleak and hungry. He kept hoping, on the flimsiest chance. But love is a hardier weed than hope, and it grows even when the soil is dry gravel. Donnie would have kept on loving April without evidence, without hope.
So what if he saved her? She shouldn't have needed to be saved to begin with.
"One step, that's all it would have taken." Donnie lets go of the desk and heaves in a breath, lungs smarting. "And then she'd be here, not in the hospital, and I wouldn't have had to hide from nurses to see her. And Leo and Mikey wouldn't have had to kill Rahzar, and then maybe we'd know what's coming. One step. That's the difference! Just one, and I could have caught her. Or maybe one step meant it would have been me going over the edge, and I'd have been fine." He's so close to yelling, but this is venom in an old, old bite, and he's finally drawing it out. "I couldn't even look at her, without seeing…"
"Is this what it's like in your head all the time?" Raph's face is a horrified mask. "It's awful."
"Tell me about it!" Donnie shouts, as something inside his chest snaps. "It's exhausting. But it's got to be me. Right? It's got to be me that fixes things. At least that's what I always thought."
Raph's hand falls on his shoulder, and Donnie's too tired to brush it away. "You are," says Raph, in as gentle a voice as Donnie's ever heard him use, and when he squeezes Donnie's shoulder, his hand is warm and steady. "But it doesn't mean it's your fault when things get broken, dude." He clears his throat, awkwardly, and pulls his hand away. "Wow, that's pretty much the sappiest thing I've ever said."
Donnie sighs. The moment, if there was one, is gone. "Yeah, pretty much," he agrees, so tired he can barely keep his head up.
"Hey," says Raph. "I was just joking. I'm sorry." Before Donnie can register that this is Raph apologizing, and to all appearances sincerely, Raph leans against his desk, a wry smile creasing his face.
"Besides, you're missing the most important thing."
Donnie summons up the energy to raise an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Nobody knew what Rahzar was going to do," says Raph, and his smile widens when Donnie just nods.
"Yeah, and?"
"Nobody," Raph repeats, and it hits Donnie, cold water to the face.
Nobody knew. Not even April. Oh, he should have seen this, he should have known, but he can't even be mad at himself, because he's too amazed that it was Raph who figured it out.
Donnie blinks, and stares open-mouthed at Raph. His brother squeezes his shoulder again, his smile still a dry twist.
"So don't beat yourself up, Donnie. She's gonna be fine." He nods at the seldom-used cot in the corner of the lab. "Get some sleep. We've got a storm coming, and a lot to figure out before it gets here. Gonna need that brain of yours." He gives Donnie one last, awkward pat on the shoulder, along with a yank on his bandanna, and leaves.
Donnie watches Raph walk out of the lab, and for a few minutes, he doesn't feel guilt. He doesn't even feel angry. Just pure, sweet gratitude, toward the brother he least expected.
He sits at his desk until he dozes, one arm propping up his head. He's deep asleep and dreaming — dreaming of April smiling, her face turned toward the sun — when Raph comes in with a blanket and throws it over his shoulders.
The doctors told April she wouldn't be able to walk for more than a week, but after three days in bed, stubbornness forces her onto her feet.
Something's been niggling at her since she woke — since she really woke and could think in more than two consecutive sentences − and she needs to know.
The window opens easily, thanks to Casey unlocking it whenever he visits, and the icy air feels heavenly on her skin. April closes her eyes, and reaches out with her mind.
Nothing. She doesn't feel a thing.
Not one.