He didn't feel ready.

Inside, Don still felt like something that had fallen to pieces and been loosely stitched back together, and might fall apart again if he wasn't careful. That hollow, aching feeling still filled his chest, spreading through his veins like a poisonous void. But as he stepped out of his room, he reflected that he couldn't wait until he felt ready — it might never happen unless he pushed himself. It was only a shame it had taken him two days to finally stir from his room.

Two days. Two days since April had come to his room to talk to him. Two days since she had found out how he felt about her. His stomach still twisted nervously when he thought about it, and the strange unfinished note that their meeting had ended on.

He jumped down lightly onto the first floor, and headed into the kitchen. All three of his brothers were there — Mikey was pouring kibble into a bowl for Klunk, Leo was immersed in a bowl of soggy cereal, and Raph was eating a piece of peanut-buttered toast very aggressively as if he wanted to kill it. Don stepped silently into the room, and reached out to put his hand on Leo's shoulder…

"Donnie!" Mikey bellowed.

Don nearly jumped out of his shell. With a raucous laugh, Mikey vaulted himself over the kitchen table, almost kicking Raph in the face, and landed directly in front of Don. For a moment, Don thought his brother was going to bear-hug him, but Mikey instead settled for grabbing his hand tightly.

"It's about time you came down!" he said, smiling. "Leo and Raph have been a real pain in my shell when you're not around!"

Raph lurched off the bench and smacked Mikey on the back of the head, eliciting a pained "Ow!" from him. "I'll give you a pain in the shell," he snapped.

"Raph's basically like this all the time," Mikey said ruefully. "Leo's more mopey than cranky."

Don smiled a little at the usual antics of his brothers — Mikey was energetic and spoke more than he thought, Raph was fiery and quick to smack Mikey for his behavior, and Leo was standing off to the side with a disapproving expression aimed at Raph. On the surface, everything was normal with his brothers, as if nothing unusual had happened in the recent past.

But he felt a dull ache in his heart as he saw the looks in their eyes. There was something there that he had never seen before — a kind of relief that he was back in their midst, even if he didn't feel whole. He knew they had been worried about him — Leo had been visiting him at least once a day, and his concern had been obvious. But somehow it felt even more real when they were all together. Raph was hovering over him silently, as if expecting Don to need his help — or his defense.

"Welcome back, Don," Leo said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Thanks, Leo," Don said quietly, although he wasn't sure just how "back" he was. "I was wondering… if I could do training with you guys for a little while."

"You don't have to ask permission."

Master Splinter looked worried when Leo mentioned that Don would be working out with them, but he nodded briskly. Don took his place between Raph and Mikey, and tried to steady his body as they began their exercises — kicks and punches, different martial-arts movements that forced his stiff muscles to warm up. Master Splinter called out what he wanted to see them do, his intent black eyes watching them carefully for any mistakes.

An hour passed in this way, with Don losing himself in the familiar moves of different martial arts styles. The hollow ache seemed to lessen as he tried to focus more on the moment than on the pain itself, after so many days of being immersed in it. Focus on the moment. Focus on the next kick — the next strike of his arm — focus on his stance, his position, the placement of his feet on the floor — focus on the way his body moved through the air — the way his limbs stood, bent, moved against his torso —

Then a hand touched him from behind. He stiffened, a flash of hot wild fear running through thinking, one of his hands raised over his head, ready to lash out.

"Sorry!" Leo said, drawing back sharply. "I'm sorry."

Don let out a raw, rough breath, letting his hand drop. "Y—you just startled me," he said.

"I just wanted to tell you that we're done for the day," Leo said. "Master Splinter says there won't be any sparring."

Don stared hollowly at his brother for a moment, feeling misery welling up inside him. This was because he had joined his brothers this morning — because he had lost control last time, Master Splinter didn't think he could hold it together now. Of course, Don wasn't entirely sure he could, either — a mere touch on the shoulder still sent terror through him. Even when he wasn't actively remembering the rape, his body remembered. It remembered pain, violation, loss.

"Are you all right?" Leo said, his voice growing more concerned.

"I — I need a little time to myself," Don said, turning away.

His first impulse was to retreat back to his bedroom and wrap the shadows around himself like a cloak. But he instead forced himself to move through the lair, to the topless train car that served as his lab. A thin layer of dust lay over his worktables and everything that lay on them: the half-disassembled robots, a jumble of test tubes, an empty pizza box left over from the nights before he had left it behind. He hadn't been here in almost two weeks — since the morning when he was kidnapped.

Don huddled over against his worktable, his eyes tracing the broken Shell Cell he had left lying there. Well, it was a place to start. With shaking hands, he began taking it apart.

Weeks passed, and nothing changed for Donatello.

Every morning, he emerged from his room and engaged in training with his brothers — at least an hour of moving through martial-arts forms and moves. Master Splinter didn't allow him to engage in sparring, though. He watched as his brothers took turns fighting one another, feeling the hollow feeling inside him bloom into a sense of helplessness.

When that was complete, he slipped away to his lab and spent long hours immersed in the machines and experiments there. When evening rolled around, Leo would slip into his lab and quietly ask, "Do you want to come with us on a rooftop run, Donnie?"

And Don would inevitably shake his head. Not that night. Not yet. He wasn't ready to leave his home and face the world outside.

He had hoped that spending more time with his brothers would alleviate their worries, and might lessen the hollow feeling inside him. But if anything, his continued presence seemed to worry them more, as they reached out toward him and found him still encased in his own pain, enwrapped in the memories that still haunted him. He could almost feel his brothers' hands grasping for him and coming away empty, desperately trying to pull him back before they lost him for good.

He wanted to be with them. He just didn't know how. Togetherness for them had always been a natural thing, and he found that he didn't know how to reach for them deliberately.

April and Casey came nearly every day to check on him — April in particular never missed a visit, seemingly fulfilling her promise not to abandon him. She usually slipped into his lab and sat beside him, helping him tinker with devices of his own design and going through abandoned projects and experiments. Her green eyes were always worried, but her hands were steady as she gently squeezed his arm.

She never said a word about what had passed between them. At times Don almost wondered if it had all been a dream, inspired by their forced coupling in that prison — the memory of holding her in his arms, warm and soft, her mouth hungrily clinging to his own. At times he thought it must have been. Why would April be attracted to a mutant turtle, when a beautiful, loving, intelligent woman like her could have any human male she wanted? She was what he had yearned for, so perhaps he had just imagined that she reciprocated his affections.

But then, sometimes he caught her looking at him when she thought he wasn't watching — a strange wistful expression, which she quickly covered up if he glanced her way. And in turn, Don occasionally saw Raph watching April with an unblinking stare, watching her interactions with Don like a cat observing a dog that it didn't entirely trust.

Whether he had dreamed it or not, Don thought of her every night as he waited for sleep. It was the only antidote he could think of for the nightmares that still ripped through him almost every night. And sometimes it soothed his ravaged nerves to think about her — seeing her face, hearing her voice, feeling her touch. Just as he had in the cell.