Disclaimer: Ninja Turtles belong to the ones named Eastman and Laird in the land of Mirage.

A/N: I surprised that I came out with something like this, because I've never really written anything so dark. But I have been sitting on this idea for awhile, ever since I read Pi90katana's 'Suicide' which gave me a bit of inspiration. Thanks to Pi90katana.

They'd Never Suspect the Quiet One

Donatello sat within the confines of his brother's little room, the door locked. He refused to sleep and he refused to eat, because such luxurious he would not allow himself to have. After all he would no longer be able to enjoy such things, thanks to the purple clad turtle.

The only thing Donatello had, the only thing he would permit himself to have, was a little light that came from his pathetic stump of a candle. This modest orb of white-yellow was the only thing penetrating the deep, vast darkness that surrounded him.

But he only allowed himself this light, wanted this light, so he could look at his hands. Today he was going to study his raw, cut, blistering hands. The day before and the day before that one, he had been washing them every hour. Before those two days, he had been washing them ever minute. But for some reason, to him, he couldn't get the blood off.

And when Donatello wasn't washing those hands, he was making scratch marks on the walls of Raph's room with a jagged rock he found on the ground. The scratching actually were words that cycled around in his head. 'Thou shall not kill' was written over and over and over again. Almost all four walls were littered with this inscription of guilt and grief.

Really he would have preferred paper and pen, or at least a pencil, but his family wouldn't trust him alone with 'sharp objects'. Even the food that was begged to be eaten, and yet refused, came with just a spoon. Small enough to fit into his mouth, but big enough to go no further than that.

Donatello had to laugh at his family about this strange logic they had. Them thinking he would mutilate himself with writing tools and forks. Or that he would try to choke himself with a spoon.

"If thy hand offend thee, cut it off. It is better for thee to enter into life maimed than have two hands to go into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched. And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out. It is better for thee to enter into the kingdom of God with one eye, than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire. Where their worm die not, and the fire is not quenched (Gehenna A. 9:43-48)"

Beside, keeping such things away was futile. He already had quite an arsenal at his disposal to kill himself with.

Oh yes, he had contemplated on how he could commit suicide. He thought about it between the hand washing and insane scribbling.

How easy it would be to swallow his bandana and choke on it. Or he could tie his wristbands in such a way around his neck so that he would be strangled. Then there was the possibility that he could smother himself with his brother's pillow. What about wrapping himself up in his brother's hammock and set it on fire? That would be painful, but it would also be too quick for his guilty liking.

Donatello figured that if he was going to die, it was going to be painful and long. He wanted to suffer, suffer until he couldn't take it anymore. Then, when he was on the brink of death, he was going deny himself the end.

What right did he have to such a privilege as to end to his pain with death? No matter how much he would want it, no matter how much he would beg for it, he shouldn't be allowed to have it. He was to live with what he did, because that was what his punishment should be.

And should this not be the way things go from now on? After all, he killed someone. He, the passive one, the peaceful one…the quiet one, took a life away.

How could he justify doing such a sinful act? So what if he was protecting his family. So what if he did it just to save his brother. In doing so, he took away a brother from someone else. Not only that, he had taken a son away from a mother and…a father.

But Donatello had to think about something else. He had to think about what if he didn't do what he did. If he didn't pull the trigger, if he didn't shoot the gun that was in his hand, than it would have been Michelangelo dead on the street rather than the man that had taken his place.

Tired, Donatello lay down on his side and curled himself around his ever-shrinking candle. But he wouldn't go to sleep. No, he just kept himself awake by thinking.

Couldn't there have been another way? Was death the only way? He was smart, why couldn't he have thought up another way? Why did he go with panicked reflex rather than calm thinking? Is this what it meant…to be human?

In the television area…

Leonardo paced back and forth in front of the couch. His skin was pale from lack of sunlight, bags under his eyes, and his stomach thin from not eating. Days ago, when this whole torture started, the blue clad turtle decided that he would deny the same things his brother has.

His way of thinking is was thathe could better identify with Donatello if he endured the same thing the purple clad turtle was putting himself through. But Leonardo knew there was a flaw in his logic. He had not killed anyone in his life, so he did not know of the torture one would suffer from taking another person's life. And without that knowledge, there was no way the elder brother could ever identify fully with his hurting brother.

But though he did not know the torture of ending someone's life, Leonardo did know of torment. No matter how hard he tries, the blue clad turtle could not erase the image from his mind. A man in black looming over his kid brother with gun pointed between the eyes and his tech-knowing one standing next to the man with a gun pointed to the temple. Never in his life had he ever seen such a look on any of his brothers' faces, let alone the passive one; the look of hated fear.

Seeing that look in his brother's face made Leonardo wish that he had never followed Donatello from the lair. He wished that he wasn't curious as to why his brother left right after his youngest brother announced that he was going to go for a walk. But he went, and though it was good that he did for his family needed him, the action really did not justify the ending means.

In his room…

Michelangelo was the complete opposite of his older brothers in the eating department. Ever since Donatello locked himself in Raphael's room, the orange clad turtle had been eating constantly. Sure he was a snack-a-holic before all this, but now he was a complete glutton. Even when he was not hungry he was eating something. It was like he was trying to eat enough for both his starving brothers. And perhaps he was eating out of guilt, guilt that this was all his fault.

He could have used self-control, he could have told himself 'no', but he didn't. Instead, he let his addictions dictate his actions. Between bites from his gigantic sub sandwich, Michelangelo kicked himself. It washe who broke curfew, it was he who disobeyed Master Splinter, and he knew that Bishop was out there relentlessly looking for them. But the youngest of the turtles had to have the latest issue for his comic book collection.

The young turtle thought he was being slick, sneaking out of the lair under the ruse of going for a walk in the sewers. It wasn't supposed to take more than two minutes to be up in the comic store and back into sewers with his prize. But what Michelangelo didn't know, what he couldn't know, was at the same time Bishop's small army was combing streets and that they were coming down the same street the store was on.

Just as his head pass the opening of the manhole, a hand seized his shell. "Ah, Michelangelo." A familiar cool voice said as the hand pulled him out. "How nice of you to come by." A gulp escaped the young turtle's lips as a half dozen gun muzzles pointed at him.

His frighten gaze go from the large glasses of the man who held him to the hypodermic needle, filled with something to knock him out, coming toward his arm. But before the point could touch Michelangelo skin, a wooden Bo staff flies from out of nowhere and knocks it out of Bishop's hand.

In the dojo…

Raphael's muscles cry with excruciating pain, yet he ignored it as he could continue to exercise. This was his out, his way of dealing with what had happen. But for some reason he could not figure Donatello out. Why was his quiet brotheracting this way? Taking Bishop's life was the only way to save Michelangelo. Now, thanks to Donatello pulling that trigger, they were free of another menace to them and another threat to their way of life.

Doing something like that for the good of the family should have made the purple clad turtle proud of himself. And yet his brother is doing the exact opposite of partying. Right now, the turtle Raphael use to call 'uber geek' was now lock in his room, leave the red clad turtle with no place to sleep.

Had he been in his brother's place, having to make the same choice he did, Raphael was sure that he wouldn't have hasted to pull the trigger and he would have been proud for doing so. But it wasn't he whothat shot the guy, and now Raphael was working off the strange guilt he carried. Maybe he felt guilty, because he thought there was something he could have done to save Donatello from torturing himself.

One night, days ago, Michelangelo said that he was going to go for a walk. About two minutes later Donatello said that he was going to go for a walk. Not long after that, Leonardo told Raphael that they should go too. Welcoming the excuse to leave the lair and not bothering to ask as to why the red clad turtle gladly agreed.

By the time they caught up with their brother, they only saw his lower half standing on a ladder and his upper half through a manhole. As they go to find out why he was heading up to the surface, they see him launch his staff before jumping up onto the street.

"Unhand my brother." Donatello announced.

"Two for the price of one." Bishop said in a gloating tone. "Seize him."

Without hesitation both Raphael and Leonardo brought out their weapons as they jumped up through the manhole. Men with guns fall back on their rears as they see the two turtles fly up into the air like they defied gravity. This gave Donatello time to snatch up this Bo staff and take a swing at Bishop. But the man in the black lab coat jumped away from the wooden weapon while still holding Michelangelo captive.

At that spilt second while Bishop was in the air Raphael had a shot with his Sai. With a calculated throw, his three-pronged weapon could have hit the shoulder of the hand holding his brother was attached to. Had he not hesitated to throw, had he just taken the shot, Michelangelo would have been able to get away.

Instead Raphael took out a couple of men with guns with Leonardo, leaving Donatello to faced Bishop on his own. The next thing he knew he was watching the man toss Michelangelo onto the ground and draw a gun from under his lab coat,pointingit at his youngest brother. From there the three turtles were told to drop their weapons. Obediently they did as they were told andthat washow Donatello got the gun. It was in dropping hisstaff that he spied a gun at his feet.

Bishop smiled with triumph, he wasn't going to let Michelangelo live any more than he was going to let them live. So in one fell swoop Donatello bent down, snatched up the gun, and jumped at the evil man.

Back in Raphael's room

The light from the candle goes out, leaving the purple clad turn in the dark. That was the last thing he wanted, because being in the dark meant seeing things he didn't want to see.

Donatello remembered one of his brothers, Leonardo (…or was it Raphael?), knocking out one of the army men and their gun slid right into his foot. When Bishop told them all to toss downtheir weapons, he looked right at the frightening weapon. Then he looked back up at Bishop, noting the man's face as he looked at Michelangelo.

Donatello knewdeep down inside that Bishop was going to kill them all. So why wait until later when he could do it now? The man was going to kill Michelangelo right before them, without hesitation and without remorse, if the tech-knowing turtle didn't do something.

It took only a second to go from where his was standing to being right next to Bishop with a gun muzzle to the temple. "Drop the weapon." Donatello said in a cool tone.

"Or you'll what? Shoot me?" Bishop asked in the same cool tone. "I know you, you wouldn't really do it."

"Wanna bet?"

Television Area

Leonardo thought about how his heart pounded with in his chest. His brother wouldn't do such a thing. He was just buying some time so that the elder turtle could take up his twin katanas. With them in hand he was going to cut end off Bishop's gun. All he needed was a second to get there.

Michelangelo's Room

Michelangelo remembered squinting his eyes shut, waiting for the deathly bullet to enter the back of his skull. His hands rested in the nunchuks he had in his belt. He just had to bring them out and knock the gun from Bishop's hand, but he was so frozen with fear. All he needed was a second to wise up.


Seeing Leonardo grab his katanas made Raphael jump for his Sais. If big brother couldn't get there in time to cut the gun or the hand that held it, than it was going to up to Raph to knock it. All he need was another second to calculate.

Raphael's Room

Donatello had seen Leonardo's katana blade touch the side of Bishop's gun, he saw Raphael ready to throw his Sai, he saw Michelangelo start to pull out one of his nunchuks, and he also saw Bishop's finger start to press the trigger. It was within that short moment that Donatello realized that he couldn't hesitate a second longer.


Blood splattered all over Donatello's hands and bits of brain matter hit him in the face. Bishop's dead body, with the look of utter surprise imprinted on his face for all to see, fell to the side in slow motion. After it hit the ground everyone stood froze in their positions, like someone had pressed paused. Leonardo's katana in mid-swing, Michelangelo holding a nunchuk, Raphael with a Sai aimed, and Donatello with the gun out in front of him.

Absolutely nobody, not even the army men that was with Bishop, dared to move for a least a minute. Eventually one of the army men found the nerve to collect up his gunand point it at the purple clad turtle. "Freeze, murder." The man ordered.

Without wasting a second, Raphael gave the man a smack with the end of his Sai and the man collapsed onto the street. Then he ran over to Michelangelo and tries to pull him up, but young turtle was still in such shock that his legs couldn't support him. "We need to get out of here." He pulled his kid brother up onto his shell.

Leonardo nodded in agreement. He grabbed one Donatello's wrist, pushing down on it so that the gun was pointed at the ground. "Let's go." The elder turtle whispered.

There was no emotion on Donatello's face, he was completely blank. It was like the actions that just happen before had not sunk in. He did not know that there was blood on his hands or other such things on his face. In fact, he had just forgotten that he was still holding a gun.

Realizing that his brother was 'lost', Leonardo pried the gun from Donatello's grip and placed it within his belt. Then he guided his silent brother towards the manhole, picking up the Bo staff along the way.

Not one of the army men tried to stop the turtles from fleeing. After seeing the deadpan look upon the purple clad turtle's face, they all feared for their lives. If he could kill Bishop with no remorse what made them think that he wouldn't kill them too.

In his room…

Master Splinter was trying his best to meditate in hopes that he could figure out how to help his guilt-ridden son. The recollection of how his four sons came home was still fresh in his mind, though he wish they were as old as the memories he had problems recalling.

He had come out into the lair to find it empty, something that he knew would equal to no good. His tail whipped the ground in anger for he distinctly remembered telling the turtles that it was too dangerous to venture out and that they should not leave the lair.

Knowing exactly how to scary them when they have done bad, Master Splinter took a seat in his usual armchair and clapped the lights off. He was going to sit there and wait for them to come home, then clap the light back on to show with his glaring face that they did not get away with anything. But a shocking surprise waited for him when heard the front door to their home open and three pair of footsteps came thundering in.

"I'll get Donnie cleaned." Leonardo said in his authority voice. "You take Mikey into the kitchen and see if you can get him to drink some water."

"Alright." Raphael answered obediently.

(Clap!) The lights flash on, catching two of the four turtle by surprise.

"S…Sensei." Leonardo and Raphael stuttered in unison.

Master Splinter looked at his eldest son and second oldest son with a disapproving glare. Then he spied a shocked Michelangelo, his color almost drained from him, on the back of Raphael. Anger is forgotten and parental worry takes over the elder rat. "What has happen sons?"


"Ya see…"

Donatello began to stammer. "I…I…" This is the first he had spoken since coming into the lair.

Master Splinter looked over at his second youngest son, seeing him for the first time. He saw red on the young turtle's hands, bits of pink on his face, and something white was kind of impaled in the turtle's right cheek. "What have you done Donatello?" The elder rat asked in hesitated fear. He picked the bit of white out of the turtle's cheek, it was bone. Too thin to be from an arm or a leg.

Donatello's face showed he was stunned, but thinking. "I…I…"

Master Splinter grasped his son's shoulders in order to make the turtle look at him. "Tell me what you have done?"

Donatello's face started to show that things were starting to sink into, that whatever actions he did were finally making way into his mind. "I…shot…someone." He whispered. "I shot Bishop."

"You what?" Master Splinter asked in disbelief.

"Oh man what have I done!" Donatello cried before putting his face into his hands, only to yank them way and see the blood. "My hands, I need to wash my hands." He began wring them together. "Father, I need to wash my hands."

"Alright, alright." Master Splinter said in a strain calm. "Come with me and we'll get them clean." He led the young turtle to the bathroom.

At first it was the elder rat who washed the young turtles hands and face. But when they were clean and when he went to lead Donatello away, the young turtle rushed back to the sink. "My hands are not clean yet." He said.

"But they are my son." Master Splinter told him.

"No they're not,look." Donatello held his hands up to the elder rat. "Can you not see that they are still covered inblood?"

Master Splinter saw nothing. "There is no longer any blood on your hands."

"Yes there is." Donatello dashed his hands back into the running water. "I don't know how you can not see it." He soaped them up, rinsed them off, and soaped them up again. "I got to get them clean." The young turtle muttered while he took up the bristle brush used to clean grease off of fingernails and began scrubbing his hands vigorously.

"That is enough my son." Master Splinter said in an ordering tone. "You'll damage your hands with all that washing."

Donatello pushed his sensei away. "THEY ARE STILL NOT CLEAN!" He bellowed and then went back to scrubbing his hands with the brush.

Seeing that he was not going to be able to get his son out of the bathroom until he was convinced that his hands were clean, Master Splinter wandered out into the main room of the lair.

Leonardo spied his sensei instantly and jumped up to meet him. "Is he going to be ok?" He asked.

"I…do not know." Master Splinter looked at his eldest. "Tell me everything that happened."

Raphael's Room

Donatello remembered what happen when his brothers tried to force him out of the bathroom. He lashed out at them in a frighten rage and with absolutely no effort he was able to best them all. Before anyone could get back to their feet, the young turtle made a run for his brother's small room. He felt that the little room would best serve him as a sanctuary.

For days after his family tried to get him to eat something, or to at least drink water. But the food push through the door was left to sit and rot while the water was use to wash the hands that still did not seem clean.

Michelangelo's Room

Finishing the last of his sub, Michelangelo played back out he came out his dazed state with one of his hands tired from grasping his nunckuk. He was sitting on a kitchen chair while Raphael coaxed him into drink some water and waved potato chips under his noses. That's probably where the nonstop eat originated.

His face went from dazed to confuse to stun when he found out that his quiet brother killed he that threaten them. That's when the guilt rose up in him and suddenly he felt a never ending hunger that would not be satisfied till everyone was back to normal or close to it.


As it happen many times before, Raphael's muscles finally cried 'enough' and he was forced to stop his insane workout. Sore from top to bottom, he staggered out of the room and towards the many T.V.s

Television Area

Leonardo looked up to see his brother come towards him and collapse on the couch. "Body can't take any more?"


"You know I won't eat until he does."

"Den ya know dat I won't stop until he comes out."

Michelangelo slowly came out of his room and looked down at his brothers below. "Do you think that today he'll be better?" He asked.

Leonardo rested a hand on his head. "I dunno."

"Th…things…" A hoarse voice slowly came to their ears and the three turtles turn to see the door to Raphael's room cracked open. "Things will never…be the same…again." They rushed over to the door and see two eyes, squinting from the light, peer through the opening at them. "I…have not…accepted what I have done…nor do I think I ever will…" The three turtles mash their faces, each one trying to get a look at their hurting brother. "But…I can learn…to deal with…the pain…so long as I have…all of you." Donatello knew that there was always on thing he can count on, family. All he needed to do was ask, "…help me?"

"You bet." His three brothers said in unison.

A door made of paper slides close and a relieved smile crawls across the face of Master Splinter. "He'll be alright." The elder rat told himself. "He'll be alright."

A/N2: I know the end seem kinda abrupt, but I figure that this was the best finish. I didn't want to seem like it would drag on forever.

Anyway, thanks for reading.