Chapter 5

"And THAT'S when I took my sword and totally demolished the dwarf army! I was like wham! Bam! Shiiiing! It was awesome–"

Donatello sighed, rubbing at his temple. It wasn't that Mikey's retelling of his gameplay was giving him a headache – his migraine had been brewing for the past two hours but refused to say anything – but the overdramatic play by play wasn't helping things.

The sigh stopped Mikey in his tracks and he glanced over at his brother. When he noticed the wrinkles of discomfort around Don's forehead, his voice dropped to a whisper. "Oh, sorry Donnie," Mikey said gently, as if that would magically make Don's headache disappear.

'I wish that's all it would take to make this headache go away,' Don thought, but he kept his snarky comment to himself.

"It's fine," he lied, his voice tight. At that moment, the shell cell in his belt beeped and Don reluctantly picked it up, bracing himself for the booming voice on the other end.

"See anything on the South side?" Don winced the violent sound of Leo's question. His brother didn't yet understand the concept of using speakerphone.

"Nothing here," Don replied in a raspy voice. " We're–"

He froze when his eyes caught subtle movement on the next rooftop over, a graceful form gliding a few meters before ducking below the lip of the building. He leaned forward, squinting to see into the darkness.

"What's wrong, Donnie?" Leonardo asked at the sudden silence on the other end of the phone, his voice filled with fear.

Donatello didn't answer right away, staring hard at the place where the figure had disappeared. Even after a few seconds, there was nothing. He gave his head a shake and chalked it up to his headache, which often distorted his vision. It must have been a trick of the shadows, or his eyes. Maybe a pigeon. Nothing to worry about.

"Sorry, I just got distracted," Don said finally as he turned his back on the rooftop. His tone all seriousness again, he continued his briefing.

"We're all clear. Mikey and I will scan the harbour area and then head back to–"

"OH SHIT!" Mikey swore loudly.

Don whirled back around to follow Mikey's gaze and he cursed, too. Emerging from the shadows on the opposite rooftop was a mass of figures with red eyes. Foot soldiers.

"Donnie? Donnie, what is it?" Leo demanded.

"Foot soldiers. At least thirty of them," Don said into the phone. He hit the speaker button and tucked the phone into his belt, drawing his bo simultaneously. Mikey already had his weapons spinning, standing between Don and the clump of ninja descending on their rooftop.

"Keep your phone on. Do what you can to hold them off. Raph and I are on our way," Leo ordered.

"Will do, Leo," Mikey answered just before he made his charge.

Then it was a complete blur. Donatello was running on instinct, his mind on autopilot. He swung his staff with efficient, calculated movements, trying to ignore his dizziness and the feeling of bile working its way up his throat. His head was throbbing steadily with his migraine, the clash of steel and the occasional battle cry from Mikey not improving the situation. It was all Donatello could do to hold off his attackers.

'I hope Leo and Raph get here soon,' he thought to himself as he took out another Foot soldier with his bo. When he straightened up, a hand flew to his head at the jolt of pain.

Crack. In his distraction, one of the ninja managed to knock him hard in the chest with the butt of his tanto. Donatello staggered back, gasping for air as his nausea worked its way to the forefront again. The hit rattled him, his vision going double and his head spinning. Unable to see straight, the next blow knocked him right onto his shell, his head whirling at the sensation.

"Donnie!" He heard Mikey cry through the metallic cling of swords and the dull sound of wood hitting flesh.

"Donnie!" He heard his name again, but this time it was Leo's voice cutting through the haze.

As the darkness flooded his vision, the last thing he saw was a blur of red and green barrelling into the fray. Then, it all went black.

-T-

"…how long has he…mrrmr…like this?"

As Donatello came around, he caught snippets of a conversation, fuzzy around the edges and cutting out every few seconds like an old radio.

"We discovered…mrmrrrmmmmr….two months…mrrrrmrr...treatment since…mrmrrmmrrr...been unsuccessful."

He recognized the low rumble of Leatherhead's voice. He frowned in his semi consciousness, trying to figure out why Leatherhead was here. The last thing he remembered was being with Mikey.

Wait…they were on a rooftop. There were dozens of shadows…no…Foot ninja. They were fighting and then he was on the ground. His vision was fading, and then…suddenly Raph and Leo were there. After he passed out, he had no recollection of what happened, but it didn't take a genius to figure out how it went down: Leo, Mikey, and Raph tore through the Foot soldiers,

Where was he now? Donatello cracked his eyelids to see where here was, and was surprised to see he was in his lab. He was lying on the cot, able to see his family and Leatherhead standing in a clump a few meters from the foot of the bed. Through his eyelids, Don made out Leonardo's form closest to his bed, his shell to Don. Leo was flanked by Master Splinter and Raphael, and Mikey gripped Raph's arm on the other side. Donatello couldn't tell if Mikey was trying to calm Raph or seeking comfort from his brother, but he could see the tension that held his brothers' shoulders tight. What were they all so worried about?

That was when Don registered what Leatherhead had said a few seconds earlier and realized they were talking about him; about his cancer, and the poor results of his treatment.

This was everything he had feared since his diagnosis: his family weeping for a death that hadn't even happened. Treating him like the disease was all that was left of him.

"How much time does he have?" It was Master Splinter's voice, his low tone barely masking the thickness in his voice.

There was a pause then. Donatello held his breath, hoping no one would notice he was awake.

"Not much longer," Leatherhead finally said. "Less than a year."

Donatello had suspected his poor prognosis, but it was different hearing it out loud. Less than a year. He wouldn't reach Angel's 18th birthday, or the next Battle Nexus Championship. He wouldn't see another 4th of July fireworks display or get to watch April walk down the aisle. He felt tears prick the backs of his eyes and his eyelids fluttered to keep them back. Mikey caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and was by his side in a flash, leaning over him.

"Hey, Donnie. How are you feeling, buddy?" Mikey's voice was low and raspy, his smile forced.

When the rest of his family realized Donatello was awake, the rest of them crowded around the bed.

"'M fine," he mumbled. His parched mouth garbled his speech. When he smiled to reassure him, it felt like his lips split open, but he tried to smile anyway. He wound up with more of a grimace, but Mikey could tell he was trying.

When he saw the moisture gathering in Mikey's eyes, Donatello made a joke to stop the tears from falling. "Did we win?"

Raph choked out a laugh that sounded more like a sob, his eyes glistening. "Yeah, Donnie boy. We won."

He reached out a hand to squeeze Don's knee through the blanket, unable to stop the tear that trailed down his cheek.

Leonardo stared hard at him, his jaw tight with concealed emotion. His hand landed right next to Raph's on top of the blanket, a firm hold tethering him to reality.

"My son," Master Splinter murmured, his throat tight. He moved closer to the head of the bed, placing a warm paw on Don's forehead. He looked like he was going to say something else, but he cleared his throat instead, blinking rapidly.

Donatello struggled to sit up, if only to avoid the infirm treatment. Master Splinter grasped his arm as he rose and propped two pillows behind him. Donatello settled back, mumbling a thank you through a muted smile. It was nice, this quiet moment with his family, but it was tainted by the circumstances: his brothers and father, all gathered around him because he was dying of an incurable disease.

He knew that the routine would grow old quickly, but Donatello was content to enjoy it at least for now. He had a feeling this would be the last fond memory he had of his family.