The old, well-worn desk chair creaked as Donatello sat down in it; as usual, he ignored the noise his chair made - there was nothing wrong with it other than the fact that no matter how much he oiled the metal, it insisted upon squeaking.

The genius opened up his internet browser and quickly found the page he was looking for. His shift started in about five minutes, but it never hurt to be early. Who knew how many people he could help in that timeframe? Sure enough, his line started blinking red within seconds of his logging on. He switched on his headset immediately.

"This is the Suicide Prevention Hotline. What can I do for you?"

A sniffle, then something rustling near the receiver. "I'm just...I'm lonely. I needed to know that-" There was a pause, like the girl's voice caught in her throat, and then she continued. "I needed to know that I'm not really alone. That someone cares."

"You're not alone," Donnie assured her. "I'm Donnie, and I'll be here for as long as you need me to be."

"Raya," the girl whispered back, sniffling again. "And thank you."

Thirty minutes later, the purple-banded turtle hung up the call with a promise to email Raya later in the week and check up on her. He sighed and took a sip of formerly-hot coffee, glancing at the clock. His shift wasn't even close to halfway over - not that he minded. Saving people - heck, even letting people know they weren't alone - was worth every second he spent.

The second call he took was much like the first, barring the fact that the caller never spoke a word. Fifteen minutes went by in near-silence as Donnie sat there and listened to quiet sobbing from the other end of the line. The caller hung up shortly before the twenty minute mark. But that was nothing new to Donnie. He frequently received calls like that; he'd asked a coworker before, and it had been explained to him that sometimes it was just enough to know that there was someone listening for you.

The third and final caller that Donatello spoke to that day was unexpected and not wholly unfamiliar. "You've reached the Suicide Prevention Hotline. What can I do for you today?"

There was a moment of silence and a noise like footsteps on a metal fire escape. "Just...be there, I guess. Try and talk me out of it."

"Out of what?" The turtle didn't really need to ask; he knew just by the caller's tone of voice.

"Suicide." The caller laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "I hate that word. It's fitting though." A few moments of silence went by before he spoke again. "Y'know, I don't even think anyone will miss me if- when I leave."

Donnie frowned, already pulling his map up to try and pinpoint the location of the caller. "Why do you say that?"

"They hate me." The words were said so quietly, but they ripped at Don's heart. "They blame me for a lot of things. Horrible things."

"Did you do the things they're blaming you for?"

"Not directly. But if I'd payed more attention to detail, then I could've prevented them."

Something about the caller's voice gave the genius pause; he actually stopped typing for a moment as his brain tried to pinpoint what that something was. The voice was young - he couldn't have been more than twenty -, thickened with tears and filled with sorrow and a sort of acceptance, but there was still a familiar edge to it. Maybe...maybe he knew this person?

As quickly as the thought appeared in his mind, he banished it. There was no way. Yes, he was apparently from New York - at least according to the information the teen put into the system himself - but New York was also a massive place, and there were millions of people there. Statistically speaking, there was absolutely no way that Donatello knew him. But even still...

His fingers flew across the keyboard again as he worked to find out exactly where the boy was calling from. "Sometimes we can't prevent bad things from happening," Don murmured into his headset, hoping that it would serve a dual purpose: calming his caller down, and stalling for enough time to locate him. "Sometimes all we can do is try to pull ourselves back together afterwards."

"...do you have brothers?"

"I do. Three of them."

"Do they hate you?"

The purple-clad turtle bit his lip, turning his thoughts inward for a second. "If they do they've never told me to my face."

"Do they hate each other?"

"Sometimes I think that my older brothers do, but that's only natural. They're very close in age, and both of them are stubborn as mules." City located. Manhattan, New York. Maybe I do know this kid.

"My younger brother hates me the most. He actually told me he did today. I mean, I always had a feeling that he did, but hearing it spoken like that...it hurt. Everything hurts."

"What's your name, kid?"

He could hear it: the irritation of being called a child when you were nearly grown. But the teen sighed. "...Dave Vince. Everyone calls me Vince."

"Alright, Vince. I need you to do something for me. I need you to tell me where you are so that I can get you some help, okay? Can you do th-"

"I don't need help!" Vince snapped. "I need it to stop!"

Shit. Donnie had definitely said the wrong thing. He typed even faster, knowing that his time was running out. "What? What needs to stop?"

"I...everything. Everything needs to stop. I'm trying, all the time, but it's just too hard. I wish I could just fall asleep and not wake up."

"Vince-"

"Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I shouldn't have called."

"Vince, listen to me-"

"I'm done listening. I'm just...I'm done."

"Wait! I'll come to you."

There was a long pause where the teen said nothing at all. Then: "What?"

"I'll come to you." His face had paled and his heart skipped a beat and oh Kraang why did I say that? But Vince had actually stopped moving, and silence came from the other end of the line, and then...was he laughing? "I appreciate that, but I don't think you'll actually want to see me."

"Why not?"

"I'm not exactly a normal person."

Donnie chuckled a little, thinking about how not normal he himself was. "It's okay. I'm not very normal either."

Vince grew quiet again for a long minute. "Why do you want to come and see me?" he asked, so softly that it was almost impossible for Don to hear.

"I don't want you to be alone."

"Oh. Well...I-I'm at the top of the Byerly Building."

"I'll be right there," the genius told him. "Give me five minutes."

"Okay. ...hey, what's your name, anyway?"

"I'm Donatello. My family and friends call me Donnie." There was another pause, then a quiet "Oh. Oh, no." Donnie's pulse shot upward and he reached for his keyboard again. "Vince, what's wrong?"

Click.