His hands shook as he fumbled with the doors of the cabinet. Finally he got them open. His heart nearly exploded in relief when he saw the small orange, white-lidded plastic bottle on the top shelf.

His fingers were trembling. He needed this. He needed this now. He yanked the bottle off the shelf. Not even bothering to close the cabinet door, he scrabbled at the lid.

The bottle didn’t want to open. Panicked, he gripped the lid tighter. With a small POP the lid finally came off. It startled him; he jumped, and the lid, along with many of the small, white pills inside, went scattering all over the floor at his feet.

The teenage turtle let out a small gasp and fell to his knees. Three-fingered hands swept the floor, pulling all the pills to him. He began to gather them up, numbly shoving them back into the small bottle. The clattering of pills was magnified in the silence of the bathroom.

He hadn’t gotten them all up, but he didn’t care. He sat back on the floor, panting, and dumped three pills into his palm.

”You can’t get rid of me that way, Donnie.”

Donatello screamed and jumped, and again the pills in his hand clattered away over the concrete floor. His heart pounding, he stared with fearful wide eyes at the doorway.

The figure framed there was lanky, tall, unnatural. Bony structure. Yet covered in short, fuzzy fur. One of its crooked, floppy ears twitched.

Don shook his throbbing head. “You went away before with these,” he gasped breathlessly, thrusting out the pill bottle in his hand. Then he realized he’d dropped the other pills, and quickly bent over to retrieve them. “You’ll go away again!”

“I’m not going to go away,” the soft, demonic voice echoed.

“I’ll make you go away!” Don growled, unable to hide his fear. His green fingers closed over the pills he’d dropped on the dusty floor, and he threw his hand to his mouth and inhaled them, dust and all. He made a sour face and glared hatefully at the creature as he choked them down.

“That’s not going to make me go away. That’s going to make you go away.”

Don froze. For some reason this phrase filled him with panic. Breathing quickly, he brought the pill bottle up and upturned it into his mouth. The dry pills spilled over his tongue. He swallowed as many as he could at once.

He choked on one of them, but forced it down anyway. His hand fell to the floor, the half-empty pill bottle clutched in it tightly. He could practically hear his heartbeat in his nonexistent ears.

Suddenly the sound of thunder crashed through the room. Don’s eyes went wide. The room titled, and he threw up his arms to hold the floor back as it bounded up to meet his face. Every heartbeat began to agonize him.

“What did you do to me?!” Don yelled hoarsely, his voice low and cracking. He could feel sweat forming on his forehead, matting his purple headband to his skin.

“Donnie… Donnie…”

Don stopped yelling and pressed his lips firmly together. He felt like he was going to vomit. “W-what?” he whimpered.

“You’re dreaming, Donnie.”

“No… I’m awake… I’m not sleeping!” Don cried softly. His arms began to tremble with the effort of keeping himself up. There was a buzzing in his head. He couldn’t think. Panic clenched his heart and made it painful to breathe.

“Yes you are,” he sounded so sure, so certain, so calm. “You’re asleep and you’re dreaming.”

Don didn’t respond. With a burst of strength he didn’t know he had, he reached up, grabbed the edges of the sink, and hoisted himself up. The moment he was over it he threw up, violently, his body heaving, stomach clenching painfully. Tears fogged his eyes, and one slid down his cheek.

When his stomach had no more in it, he stood dry-heaving for a few seconds. Then he looked up, and caught sight of himself in the mirror.

He was a mess. Pale green skin was even pastier than it normally was; it looked sickly. His purple headband was askew slightly, drenched with his sweat. His tears were indistinguishable from the sweat glistening on his face. His entire body was trembling.

The room was hazy. The florescent light above him hummed louder with each second.

Then he caught sight of… him. In the mirror. Behind him. Still standing in the doorway. Skeletal face half in shadows. Long floppy ears falling down to frame his sunken face. Large, bulbous silver eyes unblinking. A permanent grin stuck on his face, sharp fangs sticking out over his thin lips. Face protruding like an animal’s. Body thin, scraggly, yet strong. Covered in gray-silver fur, with a triangular patch of white fur on his chest and stomach. Long hands with claws limp at his sides. Legs thick and ending in giant paws.

He knew him. He knew this creature. His name… His name… His name was Frank… he had said so once…

“Don’t worry, Donnie,” his mouth never moved when he spoke, yet the voice issued between his fangs. “You’re asleep. You’re just dreaming.”

Yes… maybe he was…

“Wake up, Donnie.”

“I… I want to wake up…” Donnie’s voice came out choked, strained, tired. His arms shook. It was difficult to keep hold of the sink. He looked bleakly into the mirror at the figure behind him. “Wake me up…”

The six-foot rabbit tilted his head downwards, making his skull appear even more ghastly than what it was.

Don’s eyes rolled back. His hands slipped off the sink, and the floor jerked sideways, throwing him against it. He lay on his side, trembling, stomach hurting; his body was hot, but his surroundings were cold; the bottle of pills had rolled away, and the pills had flew all over the floor around him again.

“Wake up.”

The voice got louder. The room got darker.

Don’s heart pounded in his head. He wanted it to stop. The pain. The heat. The cold. The sickness. The confusion. The terror.

“Wake up, Donnie.”

Donatello exhaled. His eyes rolled back in his head. His body went limp and stopped trembling.

Darkness… the darkness… Dark… Darker…

“Wake up.”