Zilla rushes to Casey's side, reaching him at the same time as Raphael. Raphael puts his guns down—Zilla doesn't recall why he has two, but Casey's is missing and she figures that's the simplest explanation. Raphael taps Casey's cheek, trying to stir him, while Zilla focuses on what she needs to do.

The wound is exactly as she expected. It seems like a normal bite at a glance, but she can feel the shade within it and wastes no time extracting it. She curses herself as she works, curses him. Why would he tackle a stag like that? Hasn't he learned by now that she can't get hurt?

"You work fast," Raphael comments.

She huffs. "It's necessary," she says. "Can you get a bandage or something? I've gotta focus."

She's aware that the snarling and honking and other animal noises have died down. She should have snapped out of it. She shouldn't be so rattled by everything that's happened, and yet, seeing Wallace like that, she remembered what nausea felt like.

The last of the shade leaves Casey's wound just as Raphael returns, followed closely by the other Hamatos. Looking at their faces, at the way their eyes droop and they breathe hard, she knows that they aren't going to stay awake much longer.

"It's over," Leonardo says. He's better at hiding his exhaustion, but even then he seems drained. "Is Casey going to be okay?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine. I got to him fast," Zilla says. Raphael tugs Casey's shirt sleeve up and wraps the wound.

Silence hangs for a second. Then, a mournful sound fills the air, low and slow like a funeral dirge. Beast Mode huddles next to Wallace's body, her chin on his stomach as she mourns. Zilla floats towards her and Beast Mode snarls, standing over his body as she glares at them with her bright pupil-less eyes.

"I'm not going to touch him," Zilla says. She couldn't. "I'm sorry. We didn't want this."

Beast Mode eyes her, then the turtles and their weapons. "Do they want to hurt me, too?"

Zilla glances back at them. "Only if they think they can't trust you."

The lioness ponders that for a second. She growls low in her throat, unthreatening. "He used what mutagen he could to help me. There is only a little bit left. Not enough to save me."

"Maybe we can find another option."

"No. I am tired, and without my master..." She mews. "I want to go with him."

"Nala..."

"Will it be quick? Like the blue one promised?"

Zilla swears she feels a lump in her throat. "Yes."

Beast Mode lays back down over Wallace's body, resting her head on her paws and closing her eyes. "Tell the one with the grey mask that I am sorry for hurting him. I was just trying to protect my master."

Zilla nods. She turns to the turtles and clears her throat. "Raph, she says she's sorry for hurting you," she says. Raphael's eyes widen a little. "Leo, she...uh...she wants to..."

Leonardo's eyes fill with understanding. He approaches Beast Mode, curled up and quiet like she's taking a nap, and makes it quick. She disappears into a pile of dark fur, covering Wallace's body in a shroud of her own making.

Leonardo blinks hard as he turns back to his team. Destiny takes him in her arms, hugging him tight and surrounding him with her wings. Donatello and Michelangelo bow their heads, Michelangelo wiping his eyes with the back of his arm.

The warehouse is eerily quiet, that grainy yellow light illuminating the now-abandoned desk and papers and the piles of shadowy feathers and fur scattered everywhere.

"We should get out of here," Raphael says. No one argues.

As they clear out, Zilla remains in the warehouse, this mismatched laboratory she called home for a while. She sends a burst of shadow that swallows up the lamplight, leaving Wallace, Beast Mode, and all those poor, tortured souls to rest.

----------

Casey wakes up feeling like a bus ran him over, or at least, something that felt like a bus. His shoulder throbs faintly, no longer numb from the cold. He feels a hand on his other shoulder before his body shakes.

"Agh," he grunts. He bats the hand away, disoriented. "I'm up, I'm up."

"Thank shell," Raphael's voice greets him.

He blinks away the fog in his eyes. Raphael squats in front of him, eye-ridge raised. They're still in the Shellraiser, although it isn't moving and the side door is wide open.

"Wait, the fight—" Casey starts.

"We won," Raphael says. "No more beasts. No more Necromancer." Raphael's usual joy at the destruction of their enemies is glaringly absent, enough that even Casey notices. "You're the only one who actually got hurt, you know?"

"Well, sorry I'm not a ninja," Casey retorts as he stifles a yawn into his hand. "I tried to stay awake."

"I bet. Come on, lunkhead. Splinter made up the couch for you."

He helps Casey to his feet and Casey suppresses a wince at the way his shoulder muscles move. Damn, that stag could bite. Raphael sticks by his side, helping steady him as they leave the Shellraiser. Michelangelo lays sprawled on one of the beanbag chairs, already fast asleep with his phone in hand, and there's no sign of anyone else. Leonardo must be giving a mission report to Splinter. The others must have gone to their bedrooms.

"I told Mikey not to lay down here, but noooo, he had to text his sweet little cupcake before he went to bed," Raphael says, making his voice all high-pitched and squeaky on the nickname. He pauses for a second. "Actually...I shouldn't talk. I promised Tay I'd give her an update."

Casey frowns a little, although there's no malice behind it. "How come you're not tired?" he asks.

"Oh, I'm exhausted. I just...wanted to make sure you were okay before I slept."

"Aw, thanks, bro," Casey teases, reaching out to pinch Raphael's cheek. "You're so sweet."

Raphael bats his hand away as he glares, barely hiding a smirk. "I'll knock you back out, Jones."

They laugh and throw a few air punches at each other. Despite how drained Casey is and despite the images burned into his brain from everything that happened tonight, he can't help but feel like things are looking up.

Sure enough, the living room bench has some blankets and a pillow set up, ripe for the taking. Casey settles down, wrapping the blanket around himself. He really should get back to his apartment sometime, but the idea of walking all the way home at this point is painful.

As he settles, Zilla materializes in front of him, arms crossed over her chest. He perks up a bit, smiling up at her.

"Hey," he says. She doesn't smile, doesn't nod, and he deflates. "Uh...sorry, you doing okay?"

"You...oh, you—" She blows out a breath. "Why the hell would you tackle a shadow beast like that? You had a gun!"

Casey blinks. "I couldn't shoot it. You were in the way."

"I would've been fine."

"Uh, no," he retorts. "If I tried to shoot through you, you would've gotten hurt. Mutant-hunter guns, remember?" Her mouth opens to refute him, but nothing comes out. "And if I hadn't shot him, Bucky would've run you through."

If she could blush, her entire face would be red. She looks away, shrinking visibly. "Would you believe that I forgot that the shadow beasts can actually hit me?"

"I don't think you forgot," he says. "I think your mind was elsewhere, so...you didn't think of it. Good thing I was watching your back."

She huffs. "Well, you still shouldn't have tackled him. What if I hadn't been there to heal that bite wound?"

"You were, and I'm fine. Moot point."

She stares at him, then her shoulders slump. "Fine. Fine. You win."

He pumps his fist and she rolls her eyes, her lips pressing together against a laugh. He sits up a little more, letting out a breath. He can sleep in a little bit.

"I know it sucks that it went the way it did, but...at least now, you never have to worry about him or shadow beasts again, right?" he asks.

Zilla sighs. "That's true." She shakes her head. "I still have no idea what I'm going to do now."

"You know what I think."

"I do."

A pause. A lightbulb goes off in Casey's head, a rare moment of a genuine good idea. "Hey, what if Donnie and Sarina made you a retromutagen?"

Zilla stares at him. "Like...what, an antidote?"

"Yeah!"

She stares at him for a second, then shakes her head again. "I don't think that's possible."

"Sure, it is! Don and Sarina are brilliant. They just need mutagen and time. They've fixed plenty of people before—this kid named Timothy, their big sister Karai, April's dad. They could do it for you!"

"Mutagen is already scarce as is, and that's the regular kind. What will they do when there's no white mutagen to be had?"

"Maybe you help them make some?" Her gaze darkens and he immediately backtracks. "Or, no, not like that. Not like Wallace."

"Give it up, puckhead. "I'm stuck like this. It's not worth the mutagen that made me to try and turn me back."

He frowns. "Seriously? You talk all the time about how much it sucks to be a shadow, but you won't take a chance on a retromutagen?"

"I just refuse to get my hopes up again for nothing."

He crosses his arms over his chest and fixes her with a pouty glare. She returns it, body language and all.

After a second, he sighs and slumps back against the pillows, bundling himself up in the blankets again. "Fine. Whatever," he says. He's tired and achy and sleep is starting to sound really good. "I just want to help."

Zilla floats closer to him. "I think we both know that some things can't be helped."

It stings to hear her say it. It stings even more in the face of their failings. Casey squeezes his eyes shut against the memory of Wallace's skull blowing open as he shudders.

"I don't want to end up like that. Ever," he mutters.

"It must have been hell for him," she agrees.

"Hey, Zilla?" he asks, looking back at her. She tilts her head at him. "Promise me that, even after I'm gone, you won't ever end up like him." Her eyes narrow. "Promise you'll look for the good in whatever future you come to."

"Forever is a terrifying thing to think about, Casey."

"Yeah, but still."

She stays quiet. He lets out a long breath and shuts his eyes, focusing on the softness of the pillow under his head. They hold a lot of silence between them and, weirdly enough, Casey doesn't mind.

"Were you serious about getting therapy?" she asks after a few poignant seconds.

He hums sleepily. "Yeah," he says. "I want to get better. What about you?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. I think...I think it's time I changed a lightbulb." She smiles a little to herself, waiting for a response, but Casey snores softly. She lets out a tiny laugh. "Sleep well, idiot."

Another phrase threatens to leave her, like a knee-jerk reaction, and she catches it before it hits the open air.

I love you.