Warning! This story contains instances of cursing and violence which may be inappropriate for some readers. This story is voluntarily rated PG for parental guidance.
Donatello woke, screaming louder than he had thought it possible to scream. He was pouring sweat as the sound of the explosion and the screams of young children rang in his ears. Why didn’t I do something? He was incredulous at his memory of the dream. I didn’t even try to stop it! The whole thing had a Twilight-Zone-like quality, now that he was awake. A dream that seemed so real and natural when it was happening, but had so many unreal qualities.
"Don?" A hand lightly touched his shoulder and he jerked away. "Don, it’s just me."
Leo. Don shook his head and tried to clear it. He felt embarrassed as he realized he must have woken his brother. "Geez...I’m sorry, Leo." He sighed. "Just a nightmare."
"That must’ve been some nightmare," said Leo, shaking his own head.
"Hey, you guys okay?" slurred a very tired Raph from the doorway.
"Yeah, Don just had a nightmare." Leo nodded reassuringly to Raph. "Go back to bed, Raph."
"You okay?" he asked Don. Don nodded. "Kay." And Raph stumbled back to his and Mike’s room.
Leo squeezed Don’s shoulder. "You gonna be able to sleep again?"
"Yeah," Don said softly. "I’ll be fine. Just need a minute....God, it was awful...." Leo waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t, asked:
"What happened?"
"I would really rather just forget it, okay Leo?"
"Sure," Leo said, surprised.
"Good." Don laid back down and closed his eyes again. He tried to even out his breathing and fall asleep again. He heard Leo pad back over to his own bed and climb in. "‘Night."
"‘Morning," joked Leo, and Don found himself drifting off again....
* * *
It was much later that morning when Don opened his eyes and sat up again. He checked the clock on his bedside table: it was past ten am. Don was surprised. He rarely slept this late...in fact, he was usually the first up! Must’ve been the stress from that weird nightmare....Don shuddered as he remembered it, and tried to bury it in his mind once again.
He yawned and made his way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. "Morning, sunshine," joked Michaelangelo, who was digging into a huge bowl of Lucky Charms.
Leo looked up from the newspaper he was reading. "Good morning, Donny. Feel better?"
"Yeah, much." Don found a pot of coffee someone had nicely made, and poured himself a cup.
Mike looked from Leo to Don. "What happened? Did I miss something?"
"Don had a nightmare."
Thanks, Leo, Don thought to himself. He had almost forgotten, too. The terror and dread the dream had inspired formed a lump in his stomach.
Raph snorted as he buttered his toast. "He was screaming his head off. I can’t believe you didn’t wake up."
"Mike can sleep through anything." Don grinned, pushing aside Raph’s insensitivity with a joke and silently wishing they would drop the subject. His ploy worked: the tension eased and his brothers seemed to forget about Don and his nightmare.
Mike sulked over his cereal. "Yeah, make fun of me, go ahead."
"Don’t mind if I do," Don said. He leaned over Mike’s shoulder and deftly picked a marshmallow out of his bowl. "Mmm, red balloons."
"Hey!" Mike swatted his hand away. "Get your own."
"Where’s Splinter?" asked Don.
"Training room, meditating. Which reminds me, he’s gonna expect us in there for practice soon. So if you want breakfast, hurry up," Leo said briskly, folding his newspaper and neatly returning it to the table.
"Aw, you waited for me? How sweet of you to think of me." Don took another swallow of coffee and poured himself a bowl of cereal as he buried his dream even further in his mind, resolving to forget it.
* * *
Don dried the last dish and neatly replaced it in the cupboard. There. All done. He smiled in satisfaction and got out a glass before closing the cupboard. He opened a two-liter coke bottle and poured some into his glass. He took it into the living room area. Splinter was in his armchair and his three brothers were squishing themselves onto the couch, listening to the television blare the six o’clock news theme.
"Our top story tonight," intoned the grave and balding newscaster. "Is the mysterious explosion outside of a New York City school today. At precisely 12:12 p.m. this afternoon, a car bomb was detonated directly behind the playground of P.S. 116." Gruesome footage of the rescue operations rolled across the screen. "Casualties have been estimated at 35 so far, but police say that several bodies may still be trapped beneath the debris on the playground. Six people are dead, and twenty-nine more are injured."
The newscaster frowned seriously. "Detectives are hard at work trying to find both the perpetrator and the motive for this shocking crime. So far, leads have been scarce. Lab tests indicate that the color of the car in question was most likely red. Police are searching for eyewitnesses, and urge anyone with information about the explosion, the car, or its owner to come forward."
With a sudden crack, the glass Don was squeezing tightly in his hand shattered. His family turned to stare at him in surprise, but he was frozen, staring at the television screen. He didn’t feel the glass slivers cutting into his left hand, or the coke dripping down his arm. He didn’t hear his brothers calling his name and asking if he was okay. The only thing he could feel was the hot air of an explosion wafting over him.
And the only thing he could hear was the terrified screaming of school children.