The body was in his laboratory.

Leo had called it Splinter when they'd carried it in and set it across the table, pushing aside the various engineering projects and smearing one of his almanacs with blood (it was alright, he'd already exhausted the information from that one anyway).

He'd said, "We'll put Splinter in here, until we find a place to put him at rest. Donnie, do you know how to prepare him for burial?"

(For some stupid reason, Donatello had nodded, despite the fact that he had no idea how to disinfect or embalm, not to mention he had no access to any of the preservative chemicals.)

But it wasn't Splinter. Donnie had been staring at the broken body, now hidden 'neath a white sheet. Not once had it shared a tidbit of wisdom, or calmed his doubts, or made his reeling mind halt with a suggested mantra. That's what Splinter would have done.

What was in front of him now wasn't his master. It was a lifeless heap of bones and flesh. It was only a body, with no soul inside.

The pain was too much to process, like having a limb amputated, or losing so much blood that the patient went into anaphylactic shock.

Retrain your thoughts. Don't think about that. Think about what needs to be done.

Donnie rebooted the computer, holding back the nausea as he was forced to move aside the head of the deceased to reach the mouse.

Don't think about that.

Click on Chrome.

Search bar. Type in.... Japanese burial practices.

Scroll through the options.

'Although Japan has become a more secular society (see Religion in Japan), 91% of funerals are conducted as Buddhist ceremonies...'

Had Splinter really been Buddhist? He hadn't forced any religion upon his sons, but Donnie supposed the meditation techniques resembled usual Buddhist practices. Still, didn't Buddhism require particular objects, or statues, or pictures of Buddha in a household? Perhaps Shintoism was a better definition of the beliefs the rat had imparted.

Donnie had never put much thought into religion. Having the scientific mind he did, he'd always taken a more atheistic view on life. Miracles were simple wonders of science, molecules and elements reacting and combusting and combining.

Now Donatello was unsure. He believed they all had souls, but where did the soul fit into all the logical biology and chemistry? The soul wasn't made up of atoms — it was simply there.

And in the case of his Sensei, where had it gone? Heaven? Nirvana? Elysium? Had it simply ceased to exist, cast into oblivion or molecularly scattered? Or was he there with him as he researched?

The more he thought about it, the more the uncertainty of death plagued him.

Don't think about that.

'The relatives and authorities are informed, and a death certificate is issued. Held as soon as possible after death, a Japanese wake is called a tsuya (通夜 ?), followed by the cremation of the deceased, a burial in a family grave, and periodic memorial service...'

They couldn't cremate him. Not properly, at least.

They had no traditional burial site.

Memorial service? Would he have to plan that too?

Donnie realized his fingers were shaking, typing random letters into the search bar and throwing the server out of whack.

He couldn't do this. He didn't know how to handle the emotions. Emotions weren't controllable, or able to be experimented with, or predictable, especially when the primary feeling was one of grief.

Donatello buried his head in his hands, and suddenly the reality of the situation came crashing down on him. The air was thick with the scent of death, a sickly smell that mixed so terribly with the normal musk of sandalwood and herbal tea emanating from his sensei.

The stench sent him over. Instantly his stomach churned, and he stumbled out of his chair toward the nearest container, which happened to be a half-full beaker of retromutagen.

He lightly convulsed once his body had finished expelling his lunch. Now how was he gonna dispose of that? He'd worry about it later. Right now the sadness and the acid taste of bile were bringing tears to his eyes, and the door was opening.

"Donnie? Are you okay?"


April's eyes were ringed with red as she peered in. Normally he would have rushed to her aid immediately, but the crushing weight of everything was distracting him. Donnie hung his head, shaking his head slightly.

She stepped in and closed the door behind her, closing the distance between them.

"You need to get away from here. It's not healthy for you to be around this right now. You can "

He knew her eyes had wandered to the beaker of unappetizing contents, but his own orbs remained fixed on his feet.

"Donnie, say something."

He said nothing. And then her arms were around him. Embracing him. Hugging him.

Donatello never would've permitted himself to show weakness in front of the girl of his dreams. Especially after what had happened, with Casey. He felt betrayed by her. He wanted to pull away and resume the look of disappointment he'd been giving her for the past month. But sitting there next to the body that was no longer Splinter, feeling like he could melt into a puddle of melancholy in her arms, he allowed a moment of weakness. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he leaned into April, letting his sorrow spill over.

"It's alright," she assured in a whisper as he sobbed, "I'm here."

He knew she wasn't there for him, probably seeking her own comfort when Jones had left to grieve in his own way. She was lonely, and as usual, he was the one she used to keep the loneliness at bay. That's all it was. Just her own sanctuary, a mutualistic relationship initiated to weather her own emotions, not his.

However, at the moment, Donatello didn't particularly feel like being alone either.