It was a whole year later before it happened again and at thirteen he was still no better prepared for it than he'd been at twelve. Enough time had passed that he'd been able to forget about it ever occurring, those terrifying memories and conjectures fading to the back of his mind. He'd also effectively been able to not think about the similar symptoms he'd started experiencing at the beginning of Spring, as soon as the weather became warmer, and this lack of foresight made it so that when the moment came, it was in the worst possible situation.

Donatello had been convinced by his brothers to sneak out that night, once Master Splinter had gone to bed, to go play in the tunnels further from their home than they were permitted to explore. Those tunnels had been flooded from the heavy rains and now that the weather had improved they were more likely to have debris that had washed up along with the sewage which improved their chances of finding something useful.

With the promise of treasure it wasn't hard to persuade Don even if he was feeling poorly. Master Splinter had been adamant they not visit that section of the tunnels until the water had receded back to normal but Donnie knew now would be the time when their chances were highest of finding something.

He'd been ignoring the dull pain in his abdomen as he walked along the edge of the stream attributing it as discomfort from something he ate. The water was still pretty high even if the walkways weren't submerged any more. A slightly stronger thrum of pain made Donatello pause and he leaned on his staff he was using to poke at the stuff floating in the water until it passed several seconds later.

"There's nothing here!" Michelangelo whined as he stepped up to Donatello and latched onto his arm.

"We've only just started, Mikey." Don answered back, distracted from his discomfort.

"But I'm so booooored!" He whined again, swinging slightly with each word, his chin pressed against Don's shoulder.

"Yeah, this isn't fun at all. This blows!" Raphael answered as he kicked an empty can into the water.

"Raph!" Leonardo chastised. "Mind your language!"

"This blooows." Mikey parroted in a sing-song voice.

Leonardo looked back at him with a "see what you've done?" face.

"Blows isn't a bad word, Leo." Raph answered defiantly but glanced back at him a little uncertainly. "Come on! Let's play follow the leader! I'm leader, you gotta follow me!"

Before anyone really had a chance to respond Raph was off, racing down a tunnel. Mikey took one look and laughed, chasing after his brother in the new game and the others followed after him even if Don really wanted to keep looking through the refuse. He didn't want to stay behind on his own, the tunnels were pretty dark even with his big flashlight.

Donatello was steadily falling behind as the game continued. Not only was he already pretty out of breath but the pain in his middle had been getting increasingly worse making his steps falter and his stride shorten. Then the first spasm of real pain hit, surprising him and making him fall to his knees abruptly with a whimper.

He wrapped his hands around his stomach, gritting his teeth until it was over. Once he could breathe again he rose on shaky legs and began to walk in the direction his brothers had run off to but froze when the memory came to him. It was happening again. It was just like last year when he'd had those terrible stomach cramps but now he was very far away from the safety and privacy of his bathroom.

He pressed a hand to the wall of the tunnel holding himself up against it and also leaning heavily on his staff. There was no way he'd be able to chase down his brothers. He couldn't even hear their loud voices or catch a glimpse of the glow of their flashlights and he was so far from home...

He could feel another spasm start to rip through him as he just stood there whimpering, not knowing what to do. If his brothers were with him they could carry him home if necessary but on the other hand, something in his brain was insisting that he needed to go find somewhere dark and private to hide, to curl up until it was time to push.

Even if his brothers were with him, he didn't think he'd be able to get home in time. He followed his instinct, didn't want to squat out in the open anyway, taking small measured steps into a closed runoff tunnel they'd passed recently and pushed aside some cardboard at the back.

Another wave of pain washed over him, this time the reprieve was much more brief and he groaned loudly before covering his mouth. Curled into himself in a fetal position, he didn't care he was sitting in the dirt, his face close to the foul smelling ground. He squeezed his eyes closed when it felt as if the pain would never subside, fat tears soaking into his mask as he gasped through his teeth.

He tipped forward, taking his weight on his forearms, his hand clasped around a wrist and pressing his forehead against his pale knuckles as he dug his fingers into his skin. The pain let up after a while and he panted. Had it been this bad last time? He thought, tried to remember what it had been like sitting on the toilet a year ago and he didn't recall it being this painful.

He was finding it harder not to scream out in pain each time. Fear of discovery was the only reason he was keeping his volume down at all. As time went on, the intermissions between cramps was almost non existent. He was squirming against the ground, his feet scraping against the grime as he writhed in pain until he was overcome with the need to push.

Donatello spread his knees, his elbows still digging into the ground with his head low and bore down with all his strength, wanting to be rid of whatever was making him feel so sick. He'd probably have to look up his symptoms when he returned home, find treatment for whatever it was. Maybe they could find medicine somewhere that would help him. He never wanted to go through this again.

A wail escaped him as he felt his tail stretched painfully wide while his muscles convulsed and twisted under his plastron. Too far gone to be worried about making noise, his whole focus was on getting this OUT of him NOW. A large mass slipped out of him and he felt slight relief before the urge to push increased again, separating his feet to not touch what might as well have been a boulder coming out of him with how much it hurt.

He lost track of time, didn't know how long it had been since he started and wasn't sure what he'd find once the pain receded. He concentrated on just breathing until his body began to relax and he could lift himself up from his elbows, shuffle forward a little awkwardly on his hands and knees spread a little wide to avoid any further discomfort on his throbbing tail.

It felt like he had embers between his legs as he turned to have a look at the result of his sickness and froze. That couldn't be… right. He patted the floor beside him until he got hold of the flashlight that had been pointing at the wall. He turned the ray towards the chalky lumps in the corner and cried out in alarm. Those were… they couldn't be.

Eggs.

Five of them, white and glistening with fluid and laced with blood, about the size of oranges but long and oval shaped, sitting horizontally. Some of them, most of them, had little dents on them and he lifted a trembling finger to touch one, feeling the shell give a little.

He'd laid eggs.

It wasn't possible. He was a boy, a male. Males didn't lay eggs! And yet, there they were defiantly existing before him. Along with the shock and disbelief he felt a seething anger bubble up inside him, a sense of betrayal directed at his own body..

Why was this happening to him? He couldn't dismiss it this time, it was going to happen again, probably in another year and it could be getting worse. He was almost certain the first time they hadn't been that large or that many. There was no way he could have flushed these eggs away. What was he going to do?

He wasn't a girl, he had a penis and was like his brothers, he was just like them and he was certain none of them had gone through anything like this before. Donatello was well aware of the fact that they were mutants, different to the rest of the world, rejected and shunned by a society where there was nothing even remotely similar to them. They lived in the dark, in their garbage and among their waste and it would always be this way but in that knowledge of isolation and rejection he'd always felt some sense of belonging. There were three others just like him, in different colours and personalities but they were the same. Except now he wasn't. That feeling was being peeled away from him as he stared at the evidence that he was a freak of nature even compared to mutants.

What am I?

The term hermaphrodite hovered on his tongue, tasting bitterly. He'd seen something about snails on some documentary but this kind of thing didn't happen to turtles, couldn't remember a single word about it in the turtle books his father had given him and he'd read them over and over from cover to cover.

This isn't normal. I'm not normal. He concluded, and his angry gaze settled on the white ellipsoids that had overturned his life. His eyes shifted to his plastron, hiding treacherous organs, letting him believe all his life that he was one thing and now bringing him pain and loneliness.

He couldn't tell the others, he realised. Whether they intended to or not they'd treat him differently, like a girl, like something in between. Donatello already felt a growing distance from his brothers just for being smarter, for liking different things than them. This was something huge and it would change everything. He didn't want to see disgust and fear on their faces, didn't want them to look at what his body had produced against his wishes, what had come out of… him.

He bowed his head, still feeling a bit dizzy from the strain he'd just been through, his cheeks heating with the intense shame along with the burn between his legs, the soreness in his midsection. He tried to swallow the shame, bury it under his fury until his fists were shaking at the unfairness of it all, his breath hissing angrily through his nostrils at how alone in his grief he felt and in one sudden movement he grabbed a large piece of cardboard and smashed it down with all his weight on the culprits.

Donatello almost jumped back at how easy the cardboard has crushed what was underneath it, the soft resistance followed by a pop with a wet squelch, a tiny bit of a crunch as some of the eggs held together under his hands, separated by the creased cardboard. He began sobbing and shaking, only a warbled whimpering at first, feeling a mix of anger and guilt, desperation and fear but tried to focus on the rage.

His cries were coming out in high pitched whines hissed out with his breath through his bared teeth, his tears clouding his vision as he lifted his fists and began pounding the cardboard in fury. When that wasn't enough he stood unsteadily and began stomping on it, not stopping as long as he could still feel shapes beneath his feet, wouldn't be satisfied until he had destroyed them completely. He wanted them gone, he wanted them to have never existed but he would settle for erasing every trace of them that he could right now.