Alright, we're gonna get this done ... We're in the epilogue-y part of this whole process now. I decided not to label it as such just cuz *shrug* I dunno, didn't feel necessary. But anyhow, I promise we're almost there, and I'm determined to have it finished, if not by the end of this week, then by the end of next. So, proceed, read, enjoy, and let me know what you think.

If there had been a faster way to get the food from his plate and into his body, Donnie would've taken it. His stomach, at this point, was so angry with him it growled in disapproval with every bite he took, whilst at the same time greedily begged for more and somehow convinced his brain that he wasn't scarfing his pizza fast enough. His cheeks were so full of cheese and tomato sauce he could hardly breathe. And no matter how many times he swallowed, he couldn't get the lump in his throat to disappear. He was fairly certain it wasn't a piece of pepperoni lodged in his esophagus, because it was somehow connected to the sensation that made everything he put in his mouth incredibly tasteless. But he ate it, and with gratitude, and all the while was wildly amazed that just the night before he'd been convinced he would never get to eat another slice of pizza again.

The sun had made its way over the horizon just as the Hamato family had driven away from dropping April and Casey off at a hospital. Casey had tried to put up a fight and argue that his busted nose was no big deal, but once Donatello had very firmly stated that April would not be walking into the hospital alone—because she would be going in—Casey had gone quiet and nodded cooperatively when Leo spun him a cover story about crashing his bike. And that's where they were now. The only word the turtles had gotten since then was that April had a mild concussion and Casey was going to be sporting a new facial accessory the next time they saw him. April's dad was with them now, and that was all Donnie needed to allow his shoulders to drop a fraction of an inch.

Unfortunately, the Hamato family didn't have as much accessibility to medical aid. They had rushed themselves back to the lair as soon as possible and had all immediately crowded in Donnie's lab as he and Splinter first did what they could to patch up Mikey, while Leo carefully tended to Raph's burns and any lacerations that Karai had acquired before treating his own. Splinter had allowed about as much of a fuss over his own wounds as Donnie had for himself. They had both stubbornly stuck up their noses and, Splinter at least, had refused his eldest son's insistence. Donatello, however, wasn't allowed to be as prideful. Though he would say it was less pride than it was anxiety.

He knew the danger was over. He knew the fight was done. He knew he and Mikey were free and home and safe, but no matter how many times he tried to convince himself to relax, he couldn't shake the need to check over his shoulder. He couldn't shake the way his muscles tensed every time someone moved in his peripheral vision, and he could not for the life of him get himself to stop eating.

He and Leo were the only occupants in the kitchen at the moment. Splinter had suggested that they all get some sleep, but so far none of them had managed to do so except for Mikey, who was only asleep because he'd been heavily sedated. Donnie had no idea where the rest of them were, and at the moment, he surprisingly didn't much care, as long as he knew Mikey was tucked away in his bed and not likely to disappear. So he continued to eat his flavorless food without much thought as to how many slices of pizza he'd plowed through so far, and as he chewed and hiccuped and chugged down as much water as his body could hold, Leo watched him with an unblinking gaze.

Donnie felt his brother's stare, but he didn't acknowledge it until the moment his stomach felt as though it would burst through the crevices of his plastron. This too was when Leo shifted for the first time in twenty minutes. He took his cheek out of his hand and folded his arms on the table, straightening his back, though his shoulders were sloped.

"Do you want anymore?"

Donnie shook his head and pushed another empty pizza box away from him. He felt like he was going to vomit now.

An awkward silence engulfed the room, during which Leonardo's eyes again stared straight at his brother as though attempting to bore a hole into his soul using every ounce of pity, guilt, and sorrow as possible, while Donnie did everything turtle-y possible to avoid such a gaze.

The weight of the silence didn't lift until Leo finally took a breath. "Donnie—"

"You don't have to say anything." Donnie lifted his gaze and shook his head. "Seriously, Leo."

A crease formed on Leo's brow. "But I can't …" He grimaced and exhaled, his eyes glancing off to the side. "Donnie, I can't even begin to …" He shook his head and pressed his fingers into his forehead. "This was my fault," he whispered toward the table.

Which was the last thing Donnie wanted to hear. "No it wasn't."

"Yes. It was. I should've—"

"Should have what?"

The muscles in Leo's face dropped as he looked back up at his brother, and this time Donatello stared back with just as much intensity.

"I don't know. I should have paid more attention to you. I shouldn't have been so selfish and—and stupid. I put too much pressure on you again."

The statement came out more as a question, and the blue in Leo's eyes turned sadly hopeful, as though he was searching for Donnie to tell him this was a lie. Maybe a different Donnie, a nicer Donnie, a more gracious Donnie, might have told him he was being too hard on himself, but this Donatello did not respond. Instead, he watched a greedy parasite of guilt crawl across Leo's expression and feed off of every fear he had … and Donnie didn't flinch at it either.

Leo's eyes found the table again and he hunched his shoulders, this time staring at his hands as he curled his fingers around themselves. He swallowed. "How bad was it?"

Donatello was now the one who stared, his mind numbing itself over and going blank the way it never did when his brothers asked him questions. He had no answer, and he had no desire to give an answer, and so he didn't until Leo looked back at him with a crease to his brow.

"I'd rather not say," he responded, his expression and tone alike as flat as he'd ever made them.

Leo frowned. "Sorry. I know you're probably …" He exhaled before screwing up his face and asking, "Is Mikey going to be okay?"

Donnie shrugged. Again, he didn't know how to answer such a question. He wasn't even sure if he himself was going to be "okay." Physically he wasn't too badly damaged—exhausted, sick to his stomach, with a few bruises and cuts here and there, but he could stand on his feet. He'd live, but the weight of grief and panic that had still yet to completely disappear was unnerving and sat behind him like a ghostly shadow waiting for him to turn around. Sure, Mikey would live too, but if he'd suffered any amount of the emotional toll that Donnie had, the purple-donning turtle couldn't definitively say whether or not he'd be "okay" either.

This lack of response didn't seem to pacify Leo, but he didn't ask again.

"Can we talk about something else?" Donnie said.

Leo nodded and gazed back at his hands. "I screwed up."

Donnie exhaled through his nose. "How?"

"I stopped appreciating you," Leo said, picking at a blister on his palm. "I stopped acknowledging how much you contribute to the team, how much I need you—as a brother. I forgot to say thank you." He looked up again.

Donnie's stomach twisted into a knot as he watched a gloss coat his brother's eyes. Leo didn't shed any tears, and maybe that was more discomforting because he didn't blink either, and Donatello felt a little suffocated by the desperation in his eyes.

"I took advantage of you and didn't recognize how essential you are. And when you were gone … I couldn't do anything. I didn't know what to do. I forgot everything I knew. I couldn't lead, and that's why we lost Mikey too. It was my fault."

Donnie wasn't sure Leo fully understood what he'd meant when he said he'd rather talk about something else, but he didn't feel mean enough at the moment to dismiss his older brother's gratitude. Though, he didn't feel nice enough to try and repeat that it wasn't his fault either. A part of Donatello was just a little bit bitter with, not just Leo, but Raph, Karai, and Splinter too, for not getting it until he and Mikey were hanging by a thread. Did he blame them for what happened? Not outright. But a tiny bit of him definitely wanted to put all responsibility in their hands. Maybe it was his own fault for going to the surface when he knew his safety was an issue, when his father had told him no. But whose fault was it for keeping him cooped up in the lair to begin with? And who was driving him so far up the wall that he ever felt the need to get out? They hadn't kidnapped him. They hadn't tortured him and dangled Mikey's life in front of his nose. But they had demanded as much from him as the Shredder had, and he was reluctant at the moment to be forgiving of that.

He stayed quiet.

Again, Leo seemed disturbed by his silence, as though he knew what was going through Donnie's mind. "I'm sorry, Donnie."

"I know."

Leo bit the inside of his lip. "Is there anything I can do?"

Donatello pinched his lips together, turned away and stood. He stretched out his limbs and stared toward the far end of the kitchen, taking his time to respond, mostly because he didn't know how again.

"Take care of Raph," he said after a while.

When he looked back at his brother, he finally caught Leo blinking. Acceptance filtered through the older turtle's expression, and Leo stood as well, marking the end of the conversation. "As long as he lets me."

Donnie felt a knot of tension release at these words, one that had been throbbing in the recesses of his stomach for months. He exhaled through his nose again, this time not as heavily, and placed a hand on Leo's shoulder.

"Thank God."

Leo mirrored the gesture. "You were right."

"I know."

"You always are."

Donnie cocked his head. "That's mostly accurate … Just don't ever put me through that again."

Leo's lips slanted, and the crease came back to his brow. "I won't, Donnie."

Donatello nodded, now very aware of a migraine beginning to form at the back of his skull. He leaned forward as Leo wrapped his arms around him and hugged his neck. A confused mix of emotions rose up to join the knot in Donnie's throat and he suddenly felt hot, but he didn't want Leo to let go of him. Buried beneath everything else was a sense of relief he didn't want to lose. It was faint, and yet somehow still had the umph in it to pull on his chest and make the world the saddest place to live in. Overwhelming was not a word he would've used, but it was the only one that fit. He curled his arms more securely around his brother's waist and let the sorrow finally flow out of him in a mess of tears that he had no control over.

He knew his brother so well, he practically felt Leo's grimace, but that was all the reaction Leo gave, and Donnie was okay with that.