They came for Don again a few hours later.

April flinched as she heard that steel door opening, creaking on its hinges. Her stomach twisted itself into a tight knot, and her fingers closed tightly around Don's limp ones. With a tremble, his fingers brushed against her palm, a caress that slowed her heart and breath, trailing softly over her skin like the touch of the wind.

He was looking at her with those dark eyes, a strange expression that she couldn't identify rising in their depths. It was something she had caught a glimpse of occasionally — something so warm and bright that his eyes nearly glowed, but also something painfully melancholy. Now she saw it in full, and it made her heart hurt. She wanted to grab him, to squeeze that sadness from him until nothing of it was left…

"Ready for round two, freak?"

She stiffened at the sound of Racer's voice. He was leaning against the bars, a wide, toothy smile crossing his face. As she looked up at him, he licked his lips and let his eyes roam over her breasts in their thin T-shirt, her legs in their shorts.

Don must have seen it as well, because he suddenly heaved onto his side, clutching at the mattress with nerveless hands. "Don't touch her," he said breathlessly.

Racer shook his head slightly, his smile fading and a gleam entering his dull black eyes. "I'd've thought you'd have figured out how it works already," he said, his voice becoming cold and quiet. "No talking back. No orders. I make the rules here, not a worthless freak like you."

Don stared back at him defiantly. April could feel a tremble pass through him, and she wasn't sure if it was only the effort of trying to move, or whether part of it was fear. And after what Racer had done to him… the sight of the rape was burned into April's memory as if the Dragons had branded her. She still couldn't believe that had happened. Where were the other Turtles? Why was it taking them so long to get there?

She slipped her hand over his, feeling the tendons tensing as she touched him. His eyes went to her briefly then, and she saw something in their depths that frightened her — a raw, hollow look that had never been there before. Her heart ached at the sight, and suddenly all she wanted to do was fight Racer and the other Dragons, protect him from being hurt ever again.

The cell door squeaked as it opened, and Racer moved inside with the same three Dragons as before. April crouched down beside the mattress, her fists clenched, ready to lash out the moment they touched Don.

"April," the Turtle whispered. "Don't…"

His hand darted out and grasped her wrist, pulling her back. His eyes were pleading with her, and that hollow expression had intensified.

"Don't fight them for me," he whispered.

"Listen to the freak, lady," Racer smirked. "Darts, grab her. Keep her away."

Suddenly April felt a heavy hand grabbing her neck from behind, lifting her from the mattress like a rag doll. She lashed out with her legs and fists, only to feel a thick, ropy-muscled arm curling around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides. Twisting and jerking, she tried desperately to get free, her eyes following Racer.

"Please," she begged. "Please don't hurt him!"

"Well, he didn't learn his lesson last time," Racer drawled, grinning at her. "So he's going to find out what happens when he tries to tell me what to do. You're lucky — you get to watch the whole thing."

His bony hand seized the knot of Donatello's mask and yanked his head back, a ragged breath coming from the Turtle's throat. April's hands itched to grab Racer and tear him away from Donnie, to rip at his face with her nails, to beat him to the floor with her fists. But Darts's arms were like iron bands holding her in place, and all she could do was twitch against him, feeling hot tears forming in her eyes.

"Put him up against the bars," Racer demanded, his hands already busily unbuckling his belt.

April winced as Don's body was hauled upright and thrown against the prison bars, his plastron scraping against the steel. She could see his hands gripping the bars loosely as Mace and Eye held him immobile, his head resting forward so that he was staring at the floor. He couldn't even fight them, not even a little bit.

Not again. They couldn't be doing this to him again…

As if hearing her thoughts, his head turned slowly, haltingly, his dark eyes fixing on hers. And she remembered her promise to him, to look away when it happened, until it was all over. He had made her promise, no matter what.

Racer was already behind him, that savage grin on his face as he whispered, "I ain't gonna be gentle this time, freak."

April closed her eyes, feeling her tears squeezing through her eyelids and coursing down her cheeks. She knew Donatello didn't want her to cry — he had told her as much — but she couldn't help it. The thought of what he was suffering, the way he was trying to be brave for her sake, tore at her heart like steel claws. All she wanted was to protect him, but she couldn't even do that much.

Though her eyes were closed, she couldn't plug her ears. She knew that it had happened when she heard Don gasp — a painful, ragged gasp that he normally would have not uttered — followed by a bestial grunt from Racer. She knew what those sounds meant, and it made her stomach churn. Then there were other sounds — the sound of skin scraping against skin. The hollow metallic thud of Don's body being pushed against the bars, over and over again, faster and harder each time. Laughs and snickers from the other Purple Dragons as they mocked Don.

"I think you need to go harder, Racer. He ain't made noise yet."

"Yeah, make him scream. Then you'll know he had a good time."

Racer laughed at that, and Don uttered another broken gasp.

April ground her teeth as she tried desperately not to hear Don's gasping, his struggles not to cry out, the sneering voices of the Dragons. He didn't want her to hear, to see. He had made her promise not to. But a raw, wild part of her, deep inside, wanted to look just to punish herself — if it hadn't been for her presence, he wouldn't be suffering this way…

Then came the dull thud of a fist striking flesh, and Racer hissed loudly, "Scream, you miserable freak. I'll keep doin' this until you do."

But Don remained stonily silent, his heavy breathing the only sound he made as he was raped.

Then Racer's voice purred, "Make some noise, or the woman's next. I'll make you watch, knowin' you could have saved her."

And Don made a sound — a raw, painful moan that wrenched at April's heart. She strained against Darts' immovable arms, aching to get to Don, to shield him from all that pain.

"Good boy. Good freak," Racer said, his savage grin audible in his voice. "Maybe I'll actually leave her alone. For now."

Another clatter of Donatello's plastron against the bars, and a grunt that ended in a gasp. April squeezed her eyes shut even harder, squirming against Darts as she listened to Don's harsh breathing. How much longer could this go on? How much longer were they going to torture him?

It felt like hours — days — before she heard Racer groan, followed by the dull thud of fists meeting flesh, and then the sound of a shell crashing to the concrete floor. Without thinking, she opened her eyes. Racer was just zipping his pants up, a wild gleam in his eyes. Don was sprawled at his feet, his hands clutching desperately at the bars, his sides heaving, pain written across his features.

"Don!" April struggled against Darts again, and this time he let her go.

She dashed to Don's side and rolled him onto his shell, against her body. She felt him flinch violently as her fingers touched him, but once he realized it was her, he clutched at her for support. She cradled his head against her shoulder, propping up his torso and wrapping her arms securely around him, holding him as close as she could. In return, she felt three-fingered hands resting against her arms, digging fingertips into her flesh. She could feel hot tears burning their way down her face, before trickling over Don's head.

"Next time," Racer said, "you'll shut up and do what you're told."

April ducked her head down as the cell door swung shut again, pressing her cheek against Don's. She waited until the footsteps had faded away to ask faintly, "Are you all right?" She already knew the answer.

"F—fine," Don murmured.

But she knew he wasn't fine. She heard the faint quaver in his voice, saw the raw expression in his eyes. Swallowing back more tears, she held him tighter against her, whispering empty words of comfort.

Where were the other Turtles? Why was it taking so long for them to rescue their brother?