Miracle
by KC
Disclaimer: Ninja Turtles belong to someone else. Not me.
Other info: This first appeared in the Turtlecest online zine (locked to members of turtlecest earlier this month.
Summary: Raphael, Leonardo and Donatello can't remember how they got home. And where's Michelangelo?
()()()()()
Precious seconds wasted as they gathered up their spare weapons, and Leonardo struggled not to pace as they waited for Donatello to grab another bag of tricks. He watched Raphael stalk back and forth around the open door, but he held silent. Raphael hadn't run off on his own.
A small miracle when Michelangelo was missing.
Finally Donatello came running, another duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and without a word they all ran out of the lair and into the tunnels. Without Splinter, the lair felt too quiet and still. Without Michelangelo, it felt like a tomb.
At the first manhole cover, they came out onto the street, not caring if anyone saw. Recklessly crossing under streetlamps and heading up old metal fire escapes, they moved as if they were all alone in the world. Leaping over alleys, vaulting over wide streets, they moved not with the confidence of years of training but with the desperation of no time left.
In the back of his mind, Leonardo wondered at the lack of cold he felt. He barely noticed the falling snow, and when he ran over patches of ice, he didn't feel the chill. His breath didn't seem to fog and the wind—there had to be wind, he could see it pushing the snow—didn't touch him.
The cars below were silent. Lights occasionally flickered, but he heard nothing of the city's pulse. The carols on the radio, the horns, the voices, the birds, dogs, cats, humans, all of it mixing together into a cacophony—none of it reached him. He felt as if he was underwater, and every sound was muted.
They reached the bridge faster than they should have. Leonardo didn't understand how they moved so quickly. The city blocks blurred and then they were at the twisted wreck of cables and pavement that used to be the middle of the Manhattan bridge.
Part of it still stood, but as they passed the abandoned cars and the people who strangely didn't scream as they ran by, they saw that much of it was held together only by a few cables and strong supports that were already beginning to buckle. The old construction was solid, but it had never been designed to withstand alien armaments.
They were in luck. They'd arrived before any ambulances or police cars. Stepping over foot ninja that had been blasted to pieces, they picked their way through the broken rubble made slick by blood and ice. As they reached the center of the blast, the bridge sharply dropped. Both levels of the bridge had been destroyed. Long slabs of concrete and rebar slanted and disappeared in the water, surrounded by floating debris and chunks of steel as big as islands.
"There," Raphael said, but he didn't have to say anything.
Michelangelo stood out like a flame in the darkness, drawing their look. Sitting sprawled on one of the floes of concrete, he stared at the mass of twisted steel without moving. Snow covered most of his body, making him blend into the ice.
Raphael called out, but Michelangelo didn't turn. He took a step towards the edge, about to leap down towards him, but Leonardo touched his arm. Raphael stilled and glanced down at him.
"You're too heavy," Leonardo said softly, examining the lay of the water. "Too much weight could make all of that shift."
There was no argument. Over the past few years, Raphael had enjoyed a few more growth spurts, more than the rest of them. Leonardo had not. When it became clear that the eldest would end up being the smallest, any teasing had stopped. It wasn't something they even talked much about. Strange that Leonardo felt nothing as he said it.
Donatello tied the rope around his waist and gave the other end to Raphael. Both held tight as Leonardo made his way down, sliding over the wet concrete and splashing the icy water swamping one of the slabs. It tilted slightly underfoot, and he waited until it steadied again before moving.
Stretching out on his stomach, he spread his weight as evenly as he could and crept to the next slab, using the jutting rebar as a handle to draw closer to his brother. He called out again, but Michelangelo didn't move. He felt no fear that his brother was dead. He simply felt a need to reach him, to touch him.
When he reached the end of the next debris, he slipped into the water and swam a few feet to the last bit of concrete between him and Michelangelo. He felt a touch of confusion as to why he didn't feel the cold leeching his strength, but he reached his brother easily and climbed up onto the slab with him. It tilted, but not enough to send him back into the water.
"Please," Michelangelo whispered. He showed no signs of noticing Leonardo. "Please bring them back. Please, please, please. I need them. Please. Please. Please—"
"Mike?"
He touched his brother's shoulder, and the world snapped back into place.
The rush of sound and feeling overwhelmed him. He pressed his hands over his ears and bent over, pressing against the pavement. The river flowing around him, the sirens coming closer, the winter water soaking him to the bone—he shivered and found himself caught in warm arms.
"You're alive," Michelangelo whispered, clinging to him so tight it hurt. "Thank you, thank you, thank you…"
A moment passed before Leonardo heard Raphael's distant voice calling back from the bridge. He looked up in surprise. It hadn't seemed that far when he came down. There was a sharp tug on the rope around his waist, and then Michelangelo kept a strong grip on him as they both went into the water.
The cold stole Leonardo's breath. How had he managed before? He struggled to pull his own weight, keeping his head out of the water until they could climb up onto the next bit of debris. The way back still looked insurmountably long, and he closed his eyes so he didn't have to see as they moved.
Long minutes passed. He didn't feel the snow landing on him anymore. He was sure that he couldn't feel the river and the bridge beneath him, that his legs had stopped working, but he only realized that he was being pulled up with Michelangelo when they hit the edge. Rough concrete scraped his skin and he winced, but at last they were safe.
Someone picked him up. Their hands felt like fire and he winced in pain. Their touch hurt worse than the water below. He forced his eyes to open and spotted Raphael hefting their little brother. Michelangelo looked battered and tired, but Raphael was smiling.
Between them, over Raphael's shoulder, Leonardo spotted something. He narrowed his eyes, and as Donatello stood up, for a brief moment Leonardo saw it clearly.
The hilt of his sword jammed between two slabs of concrete. Something red fluttered near it, the ends of a bandana disappearing under tons of steel.
He stared at Raphael again to make sure his brother was there. A second later they were running again, heading back home out of the cold. He heard Raphael breathing, saw the breath fogging out of his mouth. Donatello slipped a few times on ice, nearly sending them tumbling, but the pavement underfoot was rough and saved them from falling.
Silent, cautious, they clung to the shadows and disappeared back into the underground through a storm drain, staying out of the water when they could. As dark as the tunnels were, the air stayed warmer and kept out most of the ice. Home took a long time to reach, but by the time they did, Leonardo could walk as long as Donatello kept an arm around him.
The strange feeling of disconnect, of hearing things like a blur, faded completely. Michelangelo beside him on the couch, Donatello kneeling in front of them to towel them dry, Raphael coming back with a heavy blanket that he dropped on top of them…all of it felt real. Painfully real, as he felt his legs warming up and aching.
"Dumbass," Raphael muttered, rubbing his arms and legs. "Yeah, you weigh less. Didn't you think that'd turn against you in the water?"
"Didn't feel it at first," Leonardo whispered. His voice scraped his throat.
"And you," Raphael said as he turned toward Michelangelo. Now that his little brother was all right, he felt like hitting him. "Why'd you stay put? You should've come home. We had time to come here and back."
They all paused. Michelangelo looked up at him, his eyes hollow and tired. In the silence, they had the luxury of taking time to think about the night's events. One by one, they each frowned and looked at each other hoping to see some kind of understanding in their eyes. Unease settled in their stomachs.
"Guys," Donatello whispered. "I don't remember coming home the first time."
Michelangelo reached forward and grabbed his brother's hands, holding them not for comfort or warmth but to reassure himself that Donatello was there.
"I saw you disappear under the water," Michelangelo mumbled. The weather had made his voice razor thin. "Your staff floated for a couple seconds, and then it disappeared."
"I…didn't touch the water tonight," Donatello argued. "I was dry when we got back to the bridge."
"Mike," Leonardo said. "I saw my sword in the bridge. Next to Raph's mask."
"The bridge collapsed," Michelangelo said simply. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. "When I looked up, I was alone."
Silence. Donatello climbed up onto the couch next to him and pulled the blanket tight around them. Raphael didn't fit with them, but he took his usual seat on the floor and leaned in his lap, not saying anything. The lair felt quiet and still, fragile. The slightest noise could tip it precariously into darkness. The whole world felt frozen, and only this little spot of warmth felt alive.
"Mike…"
Leonardo's whisper felt like a shout. Michelangelo barely looked out of the corner of his eye at him.
"Mike, when I reached you, I heard you praying."
A nod, almost imperceptible. Michelangelo might have been shivering for all he moved.
"Who were you praying to?"
Michelangelo's eyes widened as he realized what Leonardo meant.
end