A/N: Yeah. Figured this should be put out, too. I got a plan, honest. xD

Forgot to mention earlier. This story will be a wee bit different from the others - chapter/story wise. Instead of my titled chapters, there are dates. This means some chapters are shorter than usual, later on. It just fit better with the story's content. You'll see. :)

Thanks for the reviews, Sciencegal and Min1981. I know the prologue had little to comment on. LOL

September 24
6:04 P.M.

Ambient candlelight flickered throughout Hamato Splinter's bedroom. At a traditional Kotatsu stationed in its center, the wizened rat sat on a Zabuton. His paws shifted through many worn letters from his son Leonardo. They were short extras, addresses to the Patriarch rather than the clan's body.

'He dated one shortly before April-chan's birthday then stopped for over three months. All those since…'

Had shown hesitance in himself, yet also assurance in those who have surrounded him in the past few months. Details were omitted. Leonardo said it was necessary, or else the tribe he now lived with would not permit his letters to send.

'The fact that my son respects their wishes so much speaks volumes of their trust. A long spiritual journey still lies ahead; however, I feel he has taken steps in the right direction.'

Splinter picked up the earliest letter, scanning its scant Kanji with heavy eyes.

Sensei,

I know you told me to write, that it would be good for me, but…I have nothing to say. I feel…empty…and this is a lot of work.

Jan 16, 2012

The master's whiskers twitched. He remembered reading the letter for the first time. While its impact no longer sunk his heart, it still ached, and he reached for another letter on the Kotatsu.

Sensei,

Time passes differently here, like it's more of a concept…

I think a lot. I don't want to, so when I face things—bad things—I turn the other way. Sometimes, I even force myself asleep, despite the nightmares. It's not like I'm in control anyway. Why not give in? But…all I really want is to leave my body…

Is that normal?

Feb 15, 2012

Sighing, Splinter rested the letter atop the last. He longed now more than ever to respond. However, one condition Leonardo had established before leaving is that no one replied. The Jonin despised conversation. He only wanted a place where his thoughts could go, unfiltered, so he sent them to April with no return address.

'There is so much I could tell him when I cannot. Upon his return, our clan will have changed.'

And he would return, even if his letters…

Picking up a third letter, Splinter cringed at what he read.

Sensei,

I did something horrible today. Blood still stains my hands. I feel so ashamed, and angry, and confused all at the same time. I couldn't control it. The memories just filled my vision and I snapped…

I think I prefer numbness. This? It's taxing. At least I can cry here, I guess. But please, don't…don't tell my brothers.

No date was written. However, the runny ink, shaky brush strokes, and red-stained parchment hinted towards an early month—perhaps February or March.

Splinter sighed, compiling the letters until he reached several recent ones. After a long hiatus, they came more steadily and coherent, although Leonardo never once mentioned wanting a return letter.

Sensei,

I wish I could tell you everything. This tribe has such rich history and people. I know you would appreciate their culture like I do. There's this connection. I don't just mean between me and them, but with someone else in our clan as well. I can't get detailed. It would put others at risk, so…all I want to say is it's nice.

Here, I'm not a leader. I'm not a Jonin or an older brother or a mutant or a Phantom. I'm just…Leo. Nothing's expected of me. For once in so many years, I can breathe. It seems odd since the situation here isn't ideal, but I won't worry about that right now.

Someone's helping me rediscover parts about myself that I haven't thought about since I was, like, thirteen. Alone, I wouldn't want to face them. Through her, though, it feels different. Maybe because what I really want is for her to think about them…

I don't know. My nightmares come back at least once every few days. Bright side? When I wake, I can go to her. She understands.

Sept, 2012

The day was omitted. Splinter suspected Leonardo no longer knew such a thing. Fortunately, dates did not matter when one is healing. So, the master would continue to compile the letters until a red alert convinced him that his eldest son needed help. Meanwhile, he would remain patient.

'Maybe I should see Nia-chan,' thought Splinter as he tucked the papers away in a decorative box. 'Perhaps she feels better than yesterday.'

Hamato Nia felt like hurling. The urge must've been apparent, too, because Donatello looked panicked when he approached her in his Lab.

"Another nausea spell?" he asked.

The artist nodded, and when her shoulder-length hair swayed around her chin, she grimaced. Why had it grown so little since June?

"Wha—" Don stopped himself, used trashcan in hand. "Are you crying?"

"I'm not crying!" But when Nia touched her cheek, it was wet. "Shut up, Donny. I just noticed my hair again."

"Enough to make you wanna—"

"It wasn't the softest or most well-cared for, but I loved it being long! So did Raph! Even if he did swallow it sometimes…"

Was she still crying? Is that why Donny seemed frozen in place?

"Okay, calm down." The purple-masked Chūnin handed over the trashcan, whose pungent scent caused Nia to choke back a heave. "We aren't here about your hair. Remember?"

"Yeah," Nia muttered, hunched on a leather chair.

"We just gotta wait on the blood tests. They should help us figure out why you've been feeling this way."

"Could it be the Anemia coming back?"

"Did you feel this nauseous when you were Anemic?"

"N—not to this extent. Maybe it's an aftereffect from what happened at Oswald. Or…" With a long sigh, Nia set the trashcan on the floor then hugged her aching belly. "September's about over."

"Yeah," said Don in a slow syllable. "Mel's birthday was just last week."

"Which she hated Mikey for bringing up. That—that has nothing to do with this."

"I know. But you were sick then, too."

"I've felt off all month. Things just got worse after Miss Flemming started ordering Halloween decorations for Warner-Frost."

The genius formed a silent 'Oh' with his mouth. Stillness then filled the Lab, broken by Nia only after she had a chance to regain her bearings,

"It's, uh, been about a year…"

"A year since you traded yourself for Raph."

"People are talking about the Hallows' Eve Demon, and I just…I…"

Panic. Simple as that. October marked a drear time in Nia's life, and the peace she had gained after Oswald had started to slip away, one dream at a time.

"Have you talked with Raph?" Donatello asked.

Nia shook her head and refused to glance up when her brother stepped forward. "Well, sort'a. After nightmares, it—it can't be avoided. But I don't tell him everything. H—he comforts me, which I'm thankful for. Deep down, though, his blood is boiling."

"Guy puts enough stress on himself as it is. Still, you should talk with someone. Keeping it inside could be what's making you sick."

"Maybe…"

Don sighed, which brought Nia's gaze forward. "Trauma anniversaries are hard," he said. "We understand what that's like. I mean, for three years after Mikey was taken by Bishop, he couldn't even look at a calendar."

Nia knew just what he meant; today's panic episode had stemmed from a simple word she noticed when coworkers started planning a Halloween party. Memories of it dug her fingernails into her meaty sides, despite the pain.

"July"—Don caught himself with a curt sigh—"it was hard then, too."

"None of you freaked, though. Or had nightmares…right?"

"Not really."

"Why?"

The genius smiled under Nia's furrowed brows. "Because your birthday comes right after that anniversary. Means there's something to look forward to rather than angst about."

"My birthday helped you though it?" Nia sent a skeptical look, except Don never stopped smiling.

"It helped me. Probably Raph, too. I know it made Mikey happier since he got the plan something fun. And if Leo were here…"

"How…how much longer do you think he'll stay away?"

"According to his letters?" Don sounded almost bitter. "Years. He just doesn't want to be here…"

Beep! Low and steady, Donatello's machine signaled it had finished screening Nia's blood samples. The purple-masked Chūnin held up a finger for patience as a printer lit up with life and sounds. By the time he reached it, two pages had already printed. He scanned them before it spit out more papers, but something in the information already given had tensed his Chi like a brewing storm.

The string struck the back of Nia's mind then its center. Fear. Anxiety. Confusion. What had the results determined?

"Don," Nia said.

The mutant remained silent, looking over the other papers.

"Don, I know what you're feeling. Say something."

Despite the artist's thin tone, Donatello ignored her. He rushed to his Lab computer then opened a program that looked like gibberish to Nia.

"The hCG levels," he said towards his cluttered computer. "They can't be right. This…this is crazy. Impossible. Or if anything, unlikely."

"What are you talking about?" Nia jumped off the chair. Her own anxiety mixed with Donatello's inside her chest, wrenching it. She considered toting around the trashcan, but instead neared the computer hands-free and gripped the swindle chair's backrest. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing wrong, per say," Donny replied. Well, wasn't that cryptic?

The young woman grimaced, stomach high as her brother twisted in his seat. He opened his mouth, leaned forward. Then, a blaring alarm sounded. It startled Nia to her knees. She glanced around at the whirling red lights that seemed to come out of nowhere while Donatello leaped from his chair as if gravity didn't exist.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

"Don?"

No answer. With a gulp, Nia forced herself up. She followed Donatello into the living room. It seemed like he would enter his father's room until he veered towards the primary computer he used for work.

"What's with the wailing?" Michelangelo questioned. He and Raphael abandoned the sofa in order to stand beside Nia.

"I—I don't know," the artist said, jittery. "D—did you know there were red lights installed around the Lair?"

Red Alert! Red Alert! Red Alert!

"And apparently an automated response lady," added Mikey. He glanced over his shoulder towards the brick niche, where Donatello's fingers danced furiously across his keyboard. "Did you tell Mel you were cheating on her with another cyber chick? For shame!"

"Genius!" Raph kept Nia close and yelled over another wave of alerts. "What the hell's goin' on?"

The television wall clicked to life as if to answer in Don's place. They showed grainy security feeds from all integral points outside the Lair. Culverts and tunnels. All looked peaceful, save one. Two figures marched through the underground, and they moved without hesitation.

"Oi, Don," Raph said, "wasn't the purpose 'a yer upgrades ta stop people before they reach our front door?"

"They're scrambling it."

"Scramblin' what?"

The feeds flickered into white noise then silenced.

"Uh," Mikey pointed at the white and gray pictures, "that's not good, is it?"

Don left his station. He made quick work of stuffing some unknown material into a duffle bag then ran into the living room. "We have to leave. Now."

"Donatello, my son. What has happened?"

Donny continued to add a few DVDs from their collection into his large bag, not facing his father at the kitchen table. "Sensei, go and get Master Yoshii's picture from your room. Raph, grab the family portrait. I'd hate for that to burn before Leo gets to see it."

"What's this all about, Brainiac?"

Anxiety neared overwhelming now. Nia felt paralyzed and clammy where she stood, her vision whitening as the Lair's lights flickered.

"I can't grantee anything, okay?"

Raphael backpedaled when his purple-masked brother shoved him. He braced a foot when the computer voice repeated her alerts and Don bypassed him to guide Splinter towards his bedroom.

"We could fight them, but that may be pointless," the genius added. "Something's screwing with my system. If the wrong censor's tripped, this whole place will collapse."

"Collapse?" Nia croaked.

"I designed it as a last resort in case Bishop found us. I—I don't think those are EPF soldiers, but we have to get away as soon as possible."

"Y—you set up the Lair to self-destruct?"

"Nia, please! If there's anything valuable you want, get it now!"

Melody. Pez. Klunk. They were still upstairs.

"I—I'll be right back!" the artist cried. She sent her husband a quick nod then headed for the stairs.

"Nia!"

"Raph"—Don's voice almost drowned under the alerts—"the painting!"

"I'll go, Raphy Boy!"

No sooner did Nia reach the stairs' top, did Michelangelo land beside her. She had little reason to stop and thus darted towards Melody and Donatello's room. She swung open the door, vaulting ahead with a numb power that made her feel like she was gliding.

"Melody!" The artist shook the unconscious cyborg. "Come on, wake up!"

"This is what she gets for not sleeping for three days," Mikey said. "Let me try."

The mutant took the lead, mainly because Nia's strength began to fade. She slid off the bed, eyes burning as her orange-masked brother slapped their sister. Melody twitched, but her following assault on Mikey fell on deaf ears when Nia noticed two small figures dart into the room.

"Pez! Klunk!" Nia cradled the critters against her chest the moment they sought refuge with her. "Don't worry; you're coming too."

"Michel…angelo?" Sleep slurred Melody's deep voice. She blinked before the alarms outside lit up her face. "What's that?"

"D—Donny-niichan told us to get out," Nia said. "The Lair, it's—"

Too late.

A fierce rattle rocked the bedroom. It threw Nia against the floor, displaced objects from shelves, and downed Michelangelo and Melody as a coppery taste filled the artist's mouth. She glanced up when a faint crack reached her ears. A dark line ran above, like an invisible marker streaked across the ceiling. Then, the stone split.