Some of you appear to be guessing my storyline thus far, though I won't say who's correct about what. It's exciting to get so much interaction, though. It really helps me get the right feeling for the story and I greatly appreciate it. I hope you all can tell how much it means.

So, once again, thank you all for the support! I cannot thank you enough

TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, and LeatherHead © Mirage Studios
story © Turtlefreak121

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Chapter Four: Stirred

As much as he stared at it, Don couldn't help but feel like the light wasn't real.

It wasn't as if there were spots to his vision, just the light – one, singular – like a movie projector shining on his face. It penetrated his gaze unlike anything he had experienced before.

Even with his eyes screwed tightly shut, the light remained. It was still there. He felt like he was being eclipsed by the light, and he swore he could feel it warming his chest as it bounced through his body.

He was being interrogated by his own mind – he'd never had a hangover but he couldn't help but think that this was what one was like.

It'd explain why he couldn't remember a single thing about the previous night.

Struck by the terror of yet again not remembering, Don stirred from his thoughts and dreams and sat stock still on his bed.

For some reason beyond his comprehension, his stomach churned and he inexplicably decided that all of this nonsense was his brothers' faults. Someway. Somehow.

"How? Why?" he demanded of himself, only able to linchpin that burning anger toward his family once he questioned its very existence.

Where did that come from?

Letting the emotions run dry, finally Don was filled with a soothing relief.

He rubbed his head and took deep breaths, not realizing how much his skull had been throbbing until it had stopped.

He could trace his lucid memories at that time and almost immediately–

"My keys."

The words emerged from his throat before the thought had ever crossed his mind.

It honestly felt like someone else was in the room to say it – the voice, the urging tone, it didn't even feel like his own.

But once the thought was there, Donatello couldn't bring himself to ignore it.

Around those two words was an emerging ball of stress and horror, twisted and moving deep within his chest. Something that had been there below the surface for longer than he could remember.

How long had it been since he lost those keys?

"Doesn't matter," he retorted at the thought. The turtle got up and walked into the very dimly lit room, stumbling on the few objects in the darkness as he reached the door. "Doesn't matter when I lost the keys because I'm going to find them now."

The first step into the hall was blinding, blazing. He could barely keep track of how intense the light versus the darkness had become since he woke up.

At last, the phase left and the turtle was left blinking in the hall, standing dumbly. The door shut behind him and he found that he could barely remember why he left his room at all.

The moment was lost until he felt that tightness in his chest again.

Like a lightbulb turning on his head he felt a thought appear.

The living room.

Donatello knew, just knew, that the keys were somewhere in the living room! The concept made so much sense as he thought it over. He had never checked the living room the day before, even though it was common knowledge throughout the family that anything missing just had to be between the couch cushions.

It only made sense.

In a blink, Don was on his knees in front of the couch and the cushions were thrown back onto the floor.

There were no keys in sight. Don shook his head.

"Where are the keys?" he growled at himself, shutting his eyes.

Almost immediately, another white flash crossed his vision.

Ordinarily this would have seemed like an odd occurrence, one that was simply not right. But once the flash was over, the importance of it faded from his mind. Instead he was wondering where his keys were, if they were between the cushions.

"You were searching for something, my son?"

Spinning around, Don was shocked to see that his master was standing behind him, a worn expression on his face. Master Splinter gripped to his walking stick tightly, his ears slightly back and his brows noticeably furrowed.

"I just…" Don paused, thought over his last few minutes of searching. "I'm just looking for my keys," he explained as precisely as he could. By the time he was satisfied with the answer and looked to his father, Splinter's expression was quite anguished. "Something the matter, Sensei?"

The gentle father sighed and shook his head. "I sincerely hope not, my son. However, I would like to speak with you privately in my quarters.

That sounded like being in trouble. With a quiet pick up of his heartbeat, Don forced a laugh. "Sorry, Master, but… that sure sounds like something's the matter."

The elder rat shook his head with the slightest signs of a smile battling to form. And failing.

When Splinter turned to leave, Don knew better than to avoid joining him.

Within another blink, he was on his knees, looking at the table before him. He blinked a few times, unsure if the indescribable flash had been at fault again or not. The thought passed as the gentle rat turned from the corner and sat tea on the table before Don.

Had he missed something?

"You do not recall the night before then?"

Donatello stared at his father as if some foreign language had escaped his lips. He felt as though he had just walked into the middle of someone else's conversation.

In a sense, he had.

Excuse me?" he asked.

"Do you not recall the night before?" Splinter asked again quietly, a suspicious glare in his eyes.

Slowly, the turtle shook his head. The feeling in his stomach brought attention to itself through another icy touch. And yet Don felt like it had been simultaneously the first and second time it had happened since he sat there.

He swallowed dryly and glanced at his father, then the table. His fingers fiddled in his lap.

"Not what you're talking about," Don replied carefully, pretending to be alert to the conversation at hand. He glanced up and saw immediately that Splinter was too alert for it. He panicked slightly. "I mean, last night was a little cloudy."

The alley formed again.

His eyes shifted, following the couple that walked by him. She was in a black dress and heels. He was in a brown overcoat and shiny dress shoes. They passed him. Were they from a movie?

Her head of hair turned, he almost could see her pale cheek.

There was a blaring light, like a movie projector.

"You remember nothing?"

Don looked at his father weakly. The visage of the couple was gone. "No," he replied.

His hand raised up to his temples and he rubbed feverishly. The pain was splitting, whatever it was. He just wanted to crawl back into his bed and go to sleep. This was all too painful. Whatever it was.

"Take this, my son," Splinter's voice coaxed after an immeasurable amount of time.

Whether Don was willing or not, a warm broth made its way down his throat. He looked to his father, relieved at the warmth reaching his throbbing head and how it chased away the icy pain of his stomach.

"Thank you," Don muttered as the cup was taken away from his lips. He glanced at his father, the fear that was so easily masked usually was riddling ever wrinkle. It scared Don. He could not focus on it or it would eat him alive. "What was that? It really helped."

"A herbal remedy," the rat responded gently. He rested in his seat again, touching his chest as if to check his own heart. Don questioned whether or not the episode had been worth the scare. "Do you need this soothing more often, Donatello?"

Slowly, he nodded. "Yes, Master."

It certainly couldn't hurt…

Leo was surprised with himself and his lack of practiced diligence that morning. He usually expected better of himself.

Master Splinter had, of course, made the right call with not having training that morning. Especially after the shock to their systems that had been the scare with Don. And Don himself definitely could use the extra sleep.

But Leo was the leader, the example. He had no excuse for stopping even when the rest of them did. Leo had to be completely on top of everything he could be to maintain some control.

For some reason, though, Leo found himself uncharacteristically sleeping in.

Maybe it was exhaustion from dealing with the craziness of the night before. Maybe it was a fluke. As Leo set up for his belated training session, he honestly didn't know which felt more likely.

And in truth, self reflection was low on his priorities when the question of what was wrong with Don was eating him up.

Privately, Leo wished for a fight or a skirmish. A physical challenge he could see all the way through, overcome, and lead his brothers through as well.

He knew what to do with a fight. He was hopelessly drowning when it came to whatever was going on with Don.

He paused his cleansing ritual momentarily as he reached for the dojo's candles to light them and found them to have been freshly burnt. A tell tale sign of Master Splinter's recent presence usually. But that morning it seemed to be less so.

Splinter rarely burnt new candles while the old still had wicks.

Confused and curious about the development, Leo stepped further toward the hall where the tatami mats Master Splinter kept for meditation were kept. And, furthering Leonardo's level of surprise, he found one of his brothers already there.

"Raph?"

Raphael wasn't meditating but he did sit on the mat usually designated as his own – a contemplative and even worried look on his face. There was no telling how long he had been sat there in thought.

When Raph finally scowled Leo's ay, he snapped, "Piss off, I'm not leaving."

"Wouldn't ask you to," Leo replied, stepping further in before leaning back against the wall. "I'm just surprised you're up already."

Making a face, Raph crossed his arms across his chest. "Who are you? My mom?"

"No," Leo said almost too easily. "Just your concerned brother. Trying to look out for you."

There was an almost wry twist to Raph's lips as he stared back at Leo. "Is it bad that I feel like that's almost worse?" he asked.

Leo didn't share in his brother's bemusement, too focused on the puffy rings around Raphael's eyes, or the slump of his brother's shoulders.

The other turtle hadn't slept yet at all, it wasn't that he got up with the promptness Leo had thus far lacked that morning. It was enough to make Leo sigh and take his usual mat by Raph.

"Why didn't you go to sleep?" he asked, leaving no room for Raph to protest the truth.

"Maybe I'm a masochist and like the occasional sleep deprivation," Raph countered in his typically scathing way.

Taking a breath, Leo leaned back. "I'm worried about all this mess with Don, too."

"No one said that's why I'm up!" Raph growled. "Stop projecting."

"Oh, shut up," Leo rolled his eyes. "You're worried. You have feelings other than bitter, everyone already knows it. Get over it."

"What's there to be worried about?" Raph demanded. "Everything's fine!" He paused, huffing heavily before turning a distinguishably worried eye to Leo. "Should I be worried?"

He was so genuine, so open for once – Leo knew Raph need to hear it was all good. That they were all good.

But Leo couldn't lie.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "But I think… maybe we should be a little worried."