Don threw himself over the table, desperate to get his body between April and the grenade. For a moment he considered simply throwing himself on top of it, but even if he did that, the blast would still be enough to kill her when it went off. So he dove towards the weapon, and his hand closed around it… if he could just throw it back through the window before it went off, there might be enough distance for the blast to not injure them…

Then a cloud of pale yellow smoke suddenly rushed out of one end, striking Don full in the face. He stumbled back a step, but was able to raise his arm over his head and fling the grenade through the gaping hole in the glass window. It vanished in a cloud of gas, and he heard something clatter down in the street below. Then voices began to shout outside, though he couldn't make out what they were saying.

"Don!" April was at his side, her fingers clutching at his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Don gasped. His lungs were burning as if someone had stuck a lit match into his throat, and his eyes were tearing, but he was still able to fight. He had to be — someone was trying to catch them.

He inched closer to the window and peered down into the cloud of yellow gas emanating from the grenade. He could see many dark shapes on the street beyond, scuttling away from the gas to avoid its effects. How many, he wasn't sure, but he spotted at least two dozen shapes moving through the cloud. His stomach sank as he saw them swarming towards the side of the building, shouting amongst themselves.

One of them ran underneath the window for a moment, and Don saw him clearly — short spiky blond hair, tattered street clothes, and a large tattoo on his bare arm. A tattoo of a purple dragon curling over his bicep to swallow its own tail.

"Shell," Don whispered, inching away from the window.

This could be very bad. Don knew he was more than a match for any individual Purple Dragon, or even a group of them, and he and his brothers were able to take on superior numbers in a fight. They had done that plenty of times. But one of them alone could still be overwhelmed by enough of them — and there seemed to be a lot in the street below.

Even worse, the Purple Dragons were thinking strategically this time. They weren't just bursting in with their blunt weapons at the ready — they were armed with gas grenades. They were prepared for this conflict, more so than their usual petty crime ventures.

He slipped a hand into his belt and pulled out his Shell Cell, dialing the first number he could think of.

After a moment of ringing, he heard Leo's voice at the other end. "Hello?"

"Leo, it's Don," he said tensely.

"Is something wrong?"

"I'm at April's. Leo, the Purple Dragons are here, and they're trying to get inside."

Leo's voice hardened instantly. "We'll be right there."

"I took the Battle Shell."

"We can get there without it, Don. Just hang on!"

Don's hand clenched around the Shell Cell as it went dead, and his eyes went swiftly to April's. She was waiting expectantly for him, her face frightened but determined.

"They'll be here soon," he said, tucking the Shell Cell away, and trying to look less unsettled than he felt.

He also tried to look steadier than he felt. His knees felt slightly weak, and his grip on his bo felt less firm than it usually was. It must have been the gas grenade, he concluded as he took another deep breath, trying to clear the burning sensation from his lungs. It must have had some kind of sedative effect, even though he had only gotten a single lungful of the gas.

On the other hand, he had managed to throw it back into the midst of the Purple Dragons, so they had probably gotten more of the gas than he had. And it might keep them at bay, regrouping, until the effects of it wore off. They didn't know he had called for help, after all.

Then he heard something heavy smashing into the door downstairs.

"They're breaking in," April breathed. "Don—"

"Get into the bedroom," Don said, holding his bo in front of himself. They hadn't broken into the shop downstairs yet, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before they did. "I'm going to hold them off."

April's fingers closed on his shoulder, and for a moment he felt her warm presence beside him, her breath on the side of his face. "Don, be careful," she said.

Another crash from downstairs, and he nearly jumped out of his shell. April's hand clutched at his arm, and he felt her nails biting into his skin. Her green eyes were wide, fearful. Without thinking, he placed his own hand over hers, wanting to reassure her that everything would be all right, that he wouldn't let the Purple Dragons come anywhere near her. He wanted to tell her that, and see the fear drain from her eyes.

But all he did was squeeze her hand and point at the bedroom.

"I'll call the police too," she said breathlessly.

He waited until he heard the bedroom door slam before moving to the top of the stairs, and positioning himself there. He could hear more crashing below — the door was probably going to give in any second now — but at least keeping the Purple Dragons on the stairs would make it easier for him not to be overwhelmed by their numbers. He could simply knock the nearest one back, perhaps throw them down the stairs.

Don glanced back at the window, wishing desperately that he hadn't taken the Battle Shell, which was still presumably parked in the alley beside the shop. His brothers would have already gotten here if he hadn't, and the Purple Dragons would definitely be history.

Of course, he still didn't know why the Purple Dragons were here, and why they were attacking April's apartment. Maybe — his grip tightened on his bo — it was because of the Turtles themselves. Maybe they were coming after April in order to get to her friends…

The sound of splintering wood came from downstairs, and every muscle in Donatello's body tensed. Angry voices rose from below, along with the crash and tinkle of things being smashed to the floor.

Two of the Purple Dragons appeared at the bottom of the stairs — one was holding a baseball bat like a club, and the other had a long length of heavy chain. Easy to get rid of, Don thought.

They charged up at him, shouting and swinging their weapons, but a few well-timed swings of his bo sent them crashing back down to the store below. But more were appearing behind them — a wiry one with spiky black hair and a small goatee, holding a knife so large it looked almost like a small sword. He seemed to be the leader, charging up the stairs with a snarl on his face.

"Get the freaks!" he shouted.

And then Don heard the crash of glass breaking again behind him — and something flew past his head. As he turned around, he saw another cloud of yellow gas wafting through the living room — and as he dove to grab the second grenade, a third cracked against his shell and skittered towards April's bedroom door, already emanating more gas.

"No!" Don cried out.

He had already inhaled a lungful of the gas before he saw the grenade, and could already feel it affecting him. His legs suddenly felt like they were made out of lead, and his joints felt as though they had suddenly turned to water. His head was spinning even as his lungs burned — he could barely stand now, and was hanging onto his bo for support.

He had to stay upright — had to keep fighting. But he could feel himself sinking to one knee, even as the ground under him seemed to wobble and sway. No! He couldn't let this happen!

"There's only one of 'em!" a voice shouted from nearby.

"Then grab it! One's better than nothin'!"

"Check the bedroom!"

Don gritted his teeth and struggled to stand, seeing faces through ugly buglike gas masks around him. They had the bedroom door open — he could hear April shouting — struggling — no, he had to get to her — couldn't let them hurt her —

Then something cracked against his shell, knocking him to the floor. He gasped, taking in another lungful of the gas, and everything crashed into darkness.