III: A Burn
BY Willowfly
A/N: Well, here it is: the third installment of my pre-SAINW ficlet set. Though I don't think I have to warn you, it's rated M for a reason.
Hold onto chance
'lest we bleed ourselves
Then save for the pets
They're the loneliest
Put into jars
We'll save this earth
Put into jars
We'll save this earth
We can't both become the same pawn
That's made to fall
Oil that tastes like blood
Stole the summer scent
from me to you
You're stabbing me through you
You're stabbing you through him
And betting most of...
This world!
We'll add enough of the world…
Into jars.
Chevelle, Jars
Part I: Cold Blood and Kerosene
The air is thick with poison and the sound of dying men. From every corner, the enemy forms a living wall—a forest of guns and bloody faces scream like animals in the darkness. They've lost their humanity in my mind. My katana cut them down like jungle vines.
The scent of burning fills my lungs. I'm deafened by the sound of metal slicing through flesh, bone, organs spilling on the floor until it bleeds into a blur of movement, background noise. Every drop of blood I spill reminds me I've left my conscious behind. From the moment they took my brother, they were destined to die.
But thought is a guilty thing, the root of hesitation. Don't think, just act. Keep running, cutting, gutting. I won't look at their faces. I won't allow myself anything but this: I have to find my brother, and I'm running out of time.
Blood dries on my skin, cracks, pulls tight. I'm coated in its sickness. With every strike, my swords feed it more. But all I remember are his eyes—red-rimmed and empty, alone in the dark woods. My brother was lost so long before this. I can't let that be my last memory of him. I can't let this end before I have a chance to fix it.
The night is cold, but the tunnels are warm with the breath of the enemy. I am both a brother and a killer. There is no line between.
The building shudders, explosions rip apart the sky, the dying choke on mouthfuls of blood. It drowns the world in blackness.
My family is the only light I have. I'd sooner die than live in darkness.
So I let go of calculation, battle plans and tactics and let my instincts guide me. All I've done for five damn years is think, meditate, keep myself ignorant; convinced that nothing else mattered. Years ago, Karai let my family escape with their lives. The city was destroyed, but we were safe. That's all that ever mattered to me. But they were never content. I could see it in their eyes. My brothers felt like caged animals, and the promise was their prison sentence.
My foolish brothers, always out to save the world. I should have known they'd start a war. They never did have enough patience.
An explosion shakes the walls and leaves my ears ringing, drowns out my victim's screams. I breathe, and my throat is clogged with ashes, the smell of burning flesh and plastic. Foot soldiers stumble drunkenly through the haze, but I'm no stranger to fighting blind.
My katana are coated in carnage, threaten to slip from my hands, but I'll hold fast because I'm remembering the trees, reaching up to the Costa Rican sky.
In their branches stalk the panthers. They have a taste for man.
Thunder. I bolt awake to the sound of a storm raging overhead, racing pulse and a cold sweat. It hurts just to think of moving. Every part of me is bruised, but the sound of mortar bombs is still ringing in my brain, and my hands close around a memory, the blood-soaked hilts of my katana. Gone. All gone.
Somewhere in the darkness, something whispers, "Fight."
Muscles tighten. Panic swells in my stomach. Their faces. I can smell their blood, see the fear in their eyes as I sever heads from their shoulders. I remember the give as I cut through spine and it makes me physically sick.
I choke for air that doesn't come, terrified because I'm still covered in their blood.
I fight back the weight of rough blankets and rush to my feet, try to run, but I can't find my way. My head swims. All I know is there's a storm outside. Follow the sound of rain.
I stumble out the door, following the wall with my hands. I can smell it, but the rotten smell of blood is overpowering. I want to gag, but my determination is stronger.
Clean. I have to be clean.
Somehow, I find the freezing air, the rain, but the darkness never ends. Not even the moon cuts through. No searchlights, but I hear helicopters in the distance.
I wonder if this is Hell.
It's too much. Adrenaline fails to numb the pain. I stand with my heartbeat roaring in my head as it tears through me like fire. I try to run, stumble on the broken pavement, fall onto my knees.
The rain washes off the blood, turns my fingers numb. But the pain won't leave me. It claws inside until it rips through my throat. I collapse forward on my hands and howl into the storm until I have nothing left.
The thunder answers, but the lightning never comes.
I've failed.
(Weakness, temples pounding, iron adrenaline, blood. No air. This place reeks of death, sickness, suffering, and sweat. Old blood.)
The wind turns the rain to bullets of ice. The thunder rolls. I don't know if I'm crying.
(Numbing cold, frozen ground, shuddering fear. Rain.)
"I've failed."
The room flashes with the light of mortar bombs. Mike watches me with terrified eyes. All hope is gone.
I don't react. Too cold. Even before the ships landed, even before the sun died, I've been too much like my swords—the blade that cuts down everything it knows. I am a weapon. It's what I must become.
Hun chases him down the stairs, roaring like an animal. The bomb is strapped to my brother's back, Death following his shadow.
Part of me says it doesn't matter if I mutilate her in every way I've dreamed. The bomb will burn it all to the ground. I heard it in my brother's voice—there's nothing left for us here.
No honor, only emptiness. Mike knew it all along.
In her eyes, I see a predator's hunger. As it grows, our time on earth shortens, but revenge is a disease even death can't conquer.
I take a steady breath and feel the emptiness grow. It's better than fear. I'm accepting my fate, and that's the only strength I need.
I never wanted to save the world. My brothers think I'm some kind of hero. Sometimes, they even think I'm selfless. But that's a lie. I knew I couldn't save them from their fate, but I knew just as strongly that they were never meant to die alone.
I couldn't bear to be left behind. I couldn't bear to be forced to live knowing I didn't do enough. That doesn't make me a hero, it makes me a coward.
But I've always known I couldn't protect them forever. It was only a matter of time before my place as leader dissolved and wishes for a better world turned to actions. I realize now there's no use in hiding from destiny. A life in darkness isn't really living. Slowly withering under the weight of your fears isn't really dying.
The world is a silent film. We circle each another with hate blossoming in our eyes. She launches her attack, stone-faced, but I only watch her move. Her expression never changes as she slices the air so close I feel the currents. She wants to make me bleed, see me suffer for everything her father's sick morality has fooled her to believe. But she won't find redemption here, only hopelessness.
The battle goes on and her eyes grow colder, frozen numb like I've learned to be. I remember how alike I once thought we were. Maybe, in some twisted way, we still are.
But I'm frustrating her. Her face is twisting, muscles tightening with every strike I evade, every window of opportunity I pass up. It's almost like she's leaving them now. I know she can do better. I've seen her discipline, seen the well-trained perfection in her form. She never leans to the right, never missteps. I have a feeling she's toying with me as much as I am with her.
I wonder how far we can go.
She pushes me further down a hall that ends in a warehouse stacked with metal drums. It reeks of chemical fumes, burning with every inhale. But I'll remain expressionless because in the end, it's just a game. It's always just some sick parody of a game.
Seconds pass and I'm tired of this. I don't care if I break first, lunging forward to lash at her throat. I've lost this battle. She has my attention. She blocks it easily, a cold smile on her face.
I won't let it faze me. She's far from winning the war.
"We don't have to do this," I hiss, steel ground against steel. She knows she can't overpower me this way, but holds it. Our eyes meet and her glare deepens. (So cold it burns.) "We could run—get out of here while we still can. The base is going down no matter what happens now. This's your chance."
She breaks the hold, lashes out in an arc that feels too wide. But I'm done playing games. I move in for the kill, chakra focused behind her heart.
But it wasn't a mistake. She's cut into a barrel and the fumes are nauseating. I'm forced to break the attack and doge the falling barrels. The sound is deafening, echoing off the walls. Through the chaos, we watch each other steadily as the avalanche settles like dust.
The open barrel bleeds a caustic pool by her feet. She moves, and I ready myself for another attack.
But it's a feign. I misjudge it completely. I run out of time.
Never enough...
She dips her tanto into the poison, and I don't know what she's done until halfway through my next attack. The burning hits me like no pain I've ever known. My eyes were closed, but it eats straight through the lids. I try to blink. My vision blurs. Even tears burn like acid.
I can't drop my swords. I have to fight back my reaction. We'll all be dead soon, anyways. I won't give her the satisfaction.
My grip tightens around the hilts until my joints ache, but the poison is searing a hole into my brain. Every second it's burrowing deeper, eating more. My teeth grind like sandpaper. It's nothing compared to this.
Nothing.
"Honorless bitch!"
"You have broken your vow, Leonardo! Remember this and tell me—who is the one without honor?"
I don't need to see to fight. I can hear her footsteps, feel the shifting in the air. My head is pounding, overpowering rage I've never allowed myself to know. But I'm about to die. I have no reason to control it.
Revenge is a disease, and I'm infected with its cancer. As the bomb sends us all to Hell, my blade tastes her blood.
Then the world falls, and we are nothing.
I can't move. All I feel is burning, the rain, and the pavement biting into my knees.
I have no will to live. Silently, I pray for Death to take me.
"Leonardo."
It's a dream.
"Leonardo, you must come back inside. It is unsafe."
There's a touch on my shoulder, sadness in his voice I know is real. It's too heavy to be anything else.
I turn, sluggish with cold, and know I'll never see his face again. The thunder rolls and the darkness never breaks.
"Sensei," I whisper, "I'm blind."
"Leo…"
I don't remember falling asleep, but I still can hear the rain pounding on the roof. It couldn't have been long.
I try to crack my eyes open, but they won't budge. They're sealed hot and gluey under the bandages, and I know I should have known better. But it's hard to separate nightmares from the truth when they've become one in the same.
At least I'm not panicking. I still feel heavy, but the blood is finally gone, and Sensei is here. Alive.
I just wish I didn't feel like I'm still dreaming.
"Leo, you 'wake?"
Wherever I am, the smell of sickness and rotting flesh says Hell. My chest tightens, head pounding louder than the rain. But I know that voice. I know…
"Mikey?"
There's a rustling of fabric, a soft moan. Fear rushes through me like a cold sweat. I push off the bed and shuffle toward the sound, terrified of what I might find.
"Don't scream," he groans.
I have to keep him talking. "I was screaming?"
"Nightmares."
(About the blood.)
It explains enough.
The room is sparse, filthy, and I find another bed against the far wall. I can hear his ragged breathing, searching with my hands until I find his face. Hot and damp, but I don't care. I'm too relieved to care. I'm not the last! My brother is alive, my father is alive, and I still have a reason for living.
"Damn you, Michelangelo." I press my forehead against his and wrap my arm around his shoulders. He's trembling, but tries to return the embrace. I'll never let go of him again. Never. "Never do anything so stupid—"
"Wha'd I do?" He slurs.
I pull away, confused. "Is that a joke? I don't think I have to explain…" I say bitterly. I don't want to explain. I don't want to talk about it ever again.
He only sighs.
I try to stay calm, but my mind is racing with my heartbeat. Panic. "I don't even know where I am. I thought—" (It doesn't matter what you think, only what is.) "Where are the others?"
He hesitates.
I tighten my grip on his shoulder. "Tell me!"
"Sensei!" He whimpers. "Raph!"
There's tears in his voice and it knocks me off guard.
"I didn't…"
Behind us, the door slams open and I turn before I remember it doesn't make a difference.
(Useless.)
"What the hell's going on?"
I can't break down again, but his name comes out breathless. "Raph."
"Hey. Sensei said you were awake." (His voice is strained and it's unnerving.) "Good ta see you back, but… what the hell'd you do to Mike?"
Everything is so unclear. All this new information, all these questions raising more questions are making it hard to concentrate. I can't find the words I need, can't find the strength to speak.
He gives up and crosses the room. I recount the steps backward to my own bed and sit, praying this dizziness won't become a migraine.
There's a shuffle of fabric and Mike sobs again. Something inside me twists.
"Hey," (His voice so empty.) "You feelin' all right?"
Mike moans, "Noooo."
And that was enough for Raph. He crosses the room, stopping in the doorway. "Master," he calls, "we gotta do somethin' about this."
Sensei enters the room. Michelangelo is still sobbing.
Suddenly, I feel like a spectator to my own life. Nothing is making sense. If Mikey's sick, I want to be there to help him. I want my questions answered before I go insane. I need to know what's going on. But I know better, so I fight to keep my patience and hope to fill the gaps as I go along.
Sensei's voice is grave. "Yes, the infection is deepening." He pauses. "Michelangelo, are you well?"
Even I know the answer to that one. Mike groans miserably and it hurts. It hurts to listen to. Hell, it's terrifying. My little brother could be dying and… and I can't even see what's happening!
Rage takes over before I can stop it. I bury my face in my hands. The burning is nauseating, but it helps pull my mind away. I clench my jaw until the dizziness finally blossoms into a headache and tell myself I deserve it.
That bitch. That bitch blinded me and now I can't be there when my family needs me…
"Hey." Raphael's hand is on my shoulder, his voice strangely soft. "I gotta talk to you. Outside."
Something in me sinks. I suck in a breath and to steady my nerves, but the headache won't go away that easily. Still, I have to act as strong as possible. I have to be as strong as possible. I get to my feet without a hint of pain. "Sure."
But I don't think I'll ever have the strength for this. Outside the room, Raph closes the door and a knot grows in my stomach.
"So I guess you already know," he says gravely, letting the statement hang until I realize I'm supposed to answer.
"I feel like I just woke up from a coma. My life's moving on without me…"
I don't realize I'm rubbing at my headache until it's too late. He grabs my wrist and leads me to the far side of the room. "There's a cot. Sit down before you fall down."
I don't question him, sitting with my head cradled in my hands. "Something terrible has happened. I can feel it."
The cot creaks as he sits beside me, defeat in his voice. "Yeah. A hell of a lot of terrible things."
"But I was prepared for this," I almost growl. I don't know where this anger is coming from. "We were prepared for the worst."
"Yeah, but preparin' for shit and experiencin' it are two different things."
I hang my head again. "I know."
Silence sits between us for longer than I'm comfortable with, but I know he's biding his time.
"You sure you're ready?"
I answer honestly. "No, but it's not like I have a choice."
"Yeah." He breathes, swallows hard. Every part of him is tense. "What I was tryin' to say is you probably know about your eyes."
Anger bubbles up again. "That's kind of obvious, Raph. I don't want to talk about it."
"How'd it happen?"
"I said I don't want to talk about it." Again, I stop myself. "Just start from the beginning."
"All right, fine," he says tiredly. "The beginning…"
Pain. Color, smell, and every sensation bleeds together and it all amounts to pain. A fire burns in the distance. The building moans on wrecked foundation. Blood and burning flesh, the distant sound of gunfire, footsteps.
Survivors and the battle-weary comb through the rubble. They mourn their dead with inhuman screams.
The pressure above me shift, and I'm finally freed, but the pain won't let me move.
I'm dreaming...
Someone lifts me out of the wreckage, but I'm standing somewhere outside my body. Darkness. Cold. Disoriented.
I'm dead…
Grief is laced in my father's voice: "He is breathing." (Both a statement and a question. He has hope that's seen too much ruin to be burning. But it does. It burns.)
Somewhere in the distance, April's cries join the mourning. Casey Jones is dead.
"Leo! Damn it!"
He's shaking me violently. It drags me back into consciousness with a jolt. My lungs scream for air, and my headache's twice as bad as before. I realize I'm curled up so stiffly my muscles ache. The pounding in my skull makes me nauseous. When I sit, I hang my head again and quiet my breathing.
But Raph won't calm down so easily . "What the hell just happened?"
I wince. "I just remembered something."
"You went all psycho on me, then you stopped breathing! Give a guy a heart attack, why dontcha!?"
"Raph," I groan, "calm down."
"Man, if you're having flashbacks like that, somethin's seriously wrong."
"You think?" I grit my teeth and try to ignore the constant pounding in my skull. "You've always been so great at pointing out the obvious."
"Well can ya blame me? Shit." He gets up off the cot and starts pacing to calm himself. "What did you remember?"
"After the blast, someone lifting me out of the rubble. And April was crying."
He stops. Silence.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, "he was a good friend."
My brother doesn't move, swallows hard. "Yeah," he says stiffly, fresh pain in his voice.
There isn't anything else I can say. I never knew Casey well, but I knew how close they were. Casey was the only human I think my brother ever trusted. But I... I learned not to trust anyone a long time ago.
So I change the subject.
"What happened to Mike?"
He sits on the back on the cot. When he speaks, the emptiness is there again.
"We found them under where part of the ceiling collapsed. Case was gone. Mike got away with a busted arm… lucky bastard."
He pauses. I can feel the anger inside him. Burning. For a second, I'm not sure exactly who he's calling lucky.
"But he was real bad off. The bone was stickin' right through the skin and he was losin' blood, so we brought him here instead of followin' the others. Sensei patched him up best he could."
"And exactly where is 'here'?"
"The old base. After we took care of Casey, April went all commandin' officer, said it'd be safer if we moved someplace new. But I couldn't think straight. All I knew was there's no way Mike coulda made it that far. It's like she snapped or somethin', wouldn't listen to reason. I just told her I don't care no more. All I cared about is Mike bleedin' out in my goddamn arms—"
He stops, swallows hard, but when he breathes again, it shudders. Mutters, "Aw, hell."
"You did the right thing. These are dark days, and family is all we have. All this blood and destruction isn't helping anyone. It only causes pain."
"I told her she can have her army," he snarls. "I don't want nothin' to do with it. I'm done playin' war games. It's fucking personal now."
The rain still pours outside, a leak in the roof. (Drip. Drip. Dripping.) The puddle grows. Our anger deepens. Revenge is a disease, and we're infected with its cancer.
"Sensei said he could die from this, you know."
The words hang like taught wires. Desperation. A bone-crushing silence. Raph takes a ragged breath, and the world crumbles around us.
"We can't let him die. Not after this. Not after Don—"
He stops. Something in me clenches. The world is dead.
Emptiness, a void. He's seen too much, and unlike Splinter's hope, the fire goes out. I shiver. The room is cold and lonely. "We couldn't find his body."
"No…" I squeeze my eyes shut tight, lights a fire in my brain, makes me want to scream. But it won't come. My throat tightens, strangles me. "No. No, he can't—"
I can't comprehend this. Emptiness. A wound. Bleeding out 'til I'm empty, until the pain and distance stretches on and on and on…
But somewhere deep, there's a carnal rage calling for an end. It screams "Light the world on fire. Go insane. Gut every living soul that dares to stand in the way. Tear their flesh with your teeth. Feed the disease."
But I can't. I'm too weak, I'm too empty...
Too blind…
I can't. He can't. It can't be true. Not Donny. Not my brother.
"No." Repeat. Repeat again until it means nothing.
I've never wanted to touch him more, hold onto him like we did when we were kids. Cold winters, his warm breath, sleeping. I'll never hear his voice again. I'll never see his face early mornings, smiling. We'd talk about the better times. Even when I lost hope, he never lost his patience when I stayed in bed for days. Always smelled like gasoline. Always. He could have done so much for the world. He could have saved us. He could have been something amazing.
He already was. Amazing.
My little brother… oh god, my little brother's dead.
"What the fuck are we supposed to do now?"
His voice is deadpan, a vestige of calm that feels demented.
He waits, but I have no answers. Can only stare into the darkness and remember the night I froze to death in the rain. It was only hours ago. It feels like decades.
Raphael shuffles toward the cot. Comes close, rough skin brushes skin, so close our shoulders touch.
But there's fire in my veins, a bomb tearing through my chest. I grit my teeth, nails biting my palms, and let it fill the void.
Rage. "I… I'll kill them all."
"We will," he vows gravely. I can hear his wicked grin. "They think we're monsters now…"
He wraps his arms around my shoulders and squeezes hard. The embrace is brief and fierce. But it's enough, enough to run my hands over his shell and remember every scar.
His words are full of venom. "Just wait."
They'll pay for everything they've done. The streets will run with blood. Together, we'll carve out our new destiny. We'll live this nightmare bound together by one vow broken and another made.
The cancer spreads. Revenge is a disease.
Time passes until it manages its own type of monotony. I spend hours wandering through the abandoned tunnels, feeling their memories. Their hunger. Endless rows of cots and tables, clothes and books and all the things like children's dolls that collect the dust and say, "We are abandoned".
Without my sight, the emptiness goes on forever.
Day by day, I'm silent. Raphael and Sensei take turns watching over Mike, changing bandages and swatting rats and roaches from his infected wounds. As he gets sicker, the infection deepens in me.
It's only a matter of time.
Slowly, I'm being consumed. But it allows me to feel the world in ways I've never known. The world is a membrane of water and the ki, the life energy, is the ripples. They bend and flow, push and pull, collide and bleed out every scent, taste, and color.
This is how I see the world. This is how I'll relearn to be a weapon.
On a frigid night, Sensei finds me cleaning my swords in the empty cavern of what once was Donatello's workshop. I don't think he knows how much time I've been spending here. It's where I feel the emptiness most.
Silently, he kneels beside me.
Fighting blind is easy. But the little things are still so foreign. Homemade sword oil smells orange, like kerosene and wax, sometimes a burning field of flowers, too much cheap incense.
I remember diesel fuel, semi trucks. Don smiling, afternoons fixing up the Battle Shell. Grease and gasoline.
I never thought I was happy then. I was such a fool.
The cloth runs down the shaft, tracing the scars, remembering the battles again and again and again as the emptiness fills the voids in me. I'm getting to know the darker places of my mind and my imagination. It fuels the fire I will use to burn this ugly world.
Kerosene tastes like blood.
"They will never be clean, my son. Not this way."
I know the moral of this lesson already. I move on to the second sword without hesitation. I've cleaned it twice today.
Fire burns in the eternal midnight of my mind.
He tenses. I can imagine his expression. I've spoken little, and he's worried, so he'll try to force it out. He thinks he understands me better than myself, and before, maybe that was true. But now, he knows nothing. I'm not the fool I once was.
Now I'm just a weapon.
"Why do you let this consume you?"
I answer him quickly. I've been prepared.
"Because it's my purpose…" (Battle scars, time bomb, blood and kerosene) "to avenge my brother's death."
Darkness.
Again. Again. Again.
His voice is even, but I feel my words strike him like a blow. "This is not a path you want to choose."
I stop. The blades are clean, but I'm still dirty. I gather them quickly, stand, and turn to leave. He doesn't move to follow me. There's bitterness on my tongue, kerosene burning in my stomach. "You know nothing of what I want."
"And what of those who live? You will so readily turn your back on your family?"
"Raphael can learn to live without me."
"And Michelangelo? His condition worsens. I fear if nothing is done soon, he will be lost to us as well."
Lost or found. Alive or dead, there is no difference. There will always be a hole.
"His destiny is his own. I'm prepared to avenge one death or two."
I don't look back. I have no reason.
I'm startled awake. Still, I haven't gotten used to not being able to open my eyes. I lie there in a panic and tell myself that nothing's changed. This is how I am. This darkness is a part of me.
But something's different in the air. It's still the small hours of the morning, and I'm left heavy and unsatisfied. But as my mind clears, dread overcomes exhaustion.
I pretend I'm asleep. From across the room there's a sickening sound—retching, sobbing, Raphael speaking in soft tones, worry in my father's voice. The air is humid and reeks of vomit, sickly sweet rotting flesh.
And I hear my brother's voice, so unlike what I remember. He croaks, "I wanna die."
Raphael, anger masking other things. "Why's he keep saying that?"
Sensei, his voice is flat. "His fever is very high."
The trickle of water, wringing out a cloth. (Drip, drip, drip.)
I feel dirty, think about death and freezing rain, kerosene. I should clean my swords.
"N-no." He coughs. "No…it hurts. The bees hurt…I can't get a f-fix. Jus' wanna die."
"Mike! You ain't dyin'. Nobody's dyin'."
There's a lethal pause, then Mike starts sobbing uncontrollably, "Donny! Donny! Please jus' let me die. Why'd he… How could you leave us? NO! Just let me die."
I'm lost. This darkness will never end, but one death is enough. I won't cry. I can't. My eyes are too damaged. But that doesn't stop the pain, only makes it harder, only makes me colder. There's an emptiness I will never fill. Something inside me snaps and I know I'll never be prepared to avenge the death of one brother, never less two.
I give up pretending and crawl out of bed, following the voices. When I approach, I say nothing and they do the same. But Mikey is different. I can feel his sickness, his desperation—a hard and painful gray, callused like stone. A wall no one can climb, an endless maze of blackened tunnels. A blinding white I only know as fear.
I flinch when his hand grabs my arm, squeezes tight until I feel my own pulse under the skin.
"Please," he begs, "Y-you know what I need. You know who—"
I stand unmoving as he tilts forward and heaves. My own face pales as he vomits, some of it splashing on the floor. He trembles. The fever burns like hot iron around my wrist, his grip grinding the bones together. And I know this pain is killing him. I know he's seen his death.
He's only looking for an escape. I can forgive him that. I must.
"What's he talkin' about?"
I try to take a step back, shaking my head, bewildered.
"He knows," Mike repeats, tightening his grip. "Angel's got some…new stuff. Big bro, I don't wanna remember. Please."
Raph lurches forward, full of spit and anger, forcibly breaking me loose. I stumble backwards out of reach.
He seethes through his teeth. "I know you're sick, but don't you dare fuck with me."
"Raphael," Splinter snaps, "control yourself."
Raph makes an angry noise in the back of his throat, turning his frustration back on me. "Don't lie to me, Leo. You lie to me and I swear to god…" He stops himself with a frustrated sigh, speaks again with a bit more control. But the venom's there. The emptiness is there. "Tell me the truth. Did Mike ever buy drugs from Angel?"
I don't know how to react. Helplessness—it makes me want to tear my own skin off. Even without my sight, I feel his glare, the tension of his aura boiling with tendrils of black sorrow, red rage.
Sensei murmurs something to Michelangelo, but his words are lost.
And I'm remembering my promise all those nights ago. I can't make my brother's decisions for him. I say nothing, guilt sitting like kerosene in my stomach until Mike's fevered confession shatters everything.
"I'm sorry!" He yelps. "I jus' wanna forget. Please, please just let me forget. I hate this. I HATE this!"
The feeling deepens. Shame. It's shame.
"I knew it," he growls. "I fucking knew it!" Raph tears himself away, howling a string of curses that leaves Sensei's second warning unnoticed. But I recoil into the darkness and say silent. Always silent. "You know what? This family's gone to hell. Everything's gone to goddamn fucking hell and I'M SICK OF IT!"
There's a deafening crash that echoes long after he slams the door. When the quiet settles, Mike is whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
Sensei says nothing, only dips the cloth in water again. (Drip, drip, drip.) It isn't worth the time.
With a sigh, I settle on my bed and start to clean my swords. (Again. Again. Again.)
Then suddenly, the air changes. Danger is ice and forged scrap metal, red hot and lethal white. It burns the world with a blistering cold. Smells like blood and battles not forgotten.
The security alarm blares and the air is seared with fire.
"No...they're here," Mike shudders. "I knew they'd find us."
Sensei moves to the door with a speed I'd forgotten him capable of. "Stay quiet, Michelangelo," he orders, and I move follow him down the hall.
Behind us, I hear my brother's fear. "Leo…" He shudders. "Don't leave!"
I freeze in the doorway and Sensei moves on without me. The alarm blares the color of panic, but my feet are cemented to the floor.
"In the woods, y-you said… I'd never be alone."
I stiffen.
"Then… then where's everybody gone?"
The alarm is killed. The world is silent. Bitterness burns my throat like acid. I don't speak because I can't bring myself to answer. But I know the truth. Our family is gone, and there is no turning back.
Voices rise from down the hallway and panic says I have no more time.
"So you think you can just WALTZ in here, set off our security alarm, and think everything's gonna be just PEACHY?"
"Raph, please! We're here to help!"
"And YOU!"
Raphael bellows like an animal, rabid in his anger. I sprint down the winding tunnel, heartbeat thrumming in my ears, feeling for the familiar hilts of my swords. They're aching for a battle like lungs starved of air.
"Raphael! That is enough!"
Sensei, a scuffle of bodies, and quickly, flesh meeting concrete. Raphael's furious roar as his sai clatter on the ground.
I stumble into the narrow side entrance, cursing my lack of grace, but still prepared for an attack. Raphael snarls, breathing through his teeth.
"It is all right, Leonardo," Sensei soothes. "We are among friends."
I lower my weapons, confused, but trusting Splinter's judgment.
"She ain't my fucking friend! You got my brother hooked on drugs, you selfish whore!"
The others shift, but stay quiet, huddling nervously against the far wall. Raphael growls as Sensei pushes him harder into the hold.
"I'll break her fucking neck! Let me go!"
Sensei waits. No one says a word. Raph struggles until he tires himself and his breathing begins to slow.
"Raph, man, I'm sorry." Angel. Angry pinpricks rush up my spine and I know the reason for his anger. I instantly forgive Raph his dishonor. "I've been clean since the raid and it's been hell. It's been what, two weeks? I made a lot of mistakes, but man, I promise I'll never touch that stuff again. I'm helpin' April with the New Resistance now. I swear!"
Raph's breathing steadies, and Sensei lets him go. As he gets to his feet, his sai scrape against the concrete. "'New Resistance'," he sneers, "is that what you call it? Pretty fancy name for a death cult, if you ask me."
"What's that supposed to mean?" April, voice harsher than I remember.
Raphael's anger slowly drains back into defeat, sorrow, emptiness. He sighs. "It means you can't save the world, Ape. Don'cha think we lost enough?"
"What else do I have to lose?"
Silence. She sighs heavily.
"Come now," Sensei says, almost a whisper. "This is not the reason for Miss O'Neil's visit. Several days ago a small boy was sent to deliver us a message. He had told me the others had arrived at the new location alive and undiscovered."
"Yeah, I was there," Raphael mutters. "Was pissed you'd send a kid out there to do your dirty work."
"The Foot Police aren't looking for kids. It was the safest way," April retorts.
"Then you ain't heard the stories I have," he snaps.
"If I hadn't sent the message, I wouldn't have known about Mikey. I brought a doctor and medicine." She hesitates, and when she speaks again, there's something strange and lethal in her voice. "Is there anything else you'd like to say to me, Raphael?"
There's a tense silence. Raph is growling low in his throat and it's obvious he can't think of anything. Or maybe he's just holding back. Finally, he grunts and mutters a defeated "No."
"Miss O'Neil, everyone…" Sensei begins. The heaviness is creeping in again. "I am sorry. We have had enough hostility for one lifetime, and our patience is running thin. Michelangelo has not been well. We are extremely grateful for everything you have done for us."
"We'd do it again a thousand times," April says. "We owe you guys so much. When the survivors heard about Mikey, everyone was so eager to help find anything he'd need. They risked their lives for you guys."
"Is that so?" Sensei muses.
"Yes… yes it is. Your… sons, they're Freedom Fighters. Without them, I'd still be working in those horrible labor camps." I don't recognize the voice. His footsteps shuffle forward. "I'm Dr. Messner," he says kindly, sounding shaken. "I spent, ah, twenty years as head of orthopedics at Mount Sinai long before all this. And you…" He laughs, giddy and breathless. "I'm sorry, but you—you three are unbelievable. I've heard all about you, but meeting you person is… is another thing entirely."
"So I understand," Sensei says. "But our appearances aside, do you believe you can save my son?"
"Ah, well, I'd have to take a look at him before I could tell you anything. Is… is that possible?"
"Yes, of course," he obliges, and I can hear their footsteps coming closer. Raphael mutters something under his breath, but otherwise, they're silent.
So much tension. So much bad blood.
"Leonardo," Sensei asks, "escort us to your brother, please."
I say nothing, only sheathe my swords with a nod, turn and lead the way. When we enter the room, I stand in the far corner, a spectator once again.
It's appalling how Mike greets Angel, like water to a man dying of thirst. He moans when she softly refuses him, pleading for an escape. But I know there's no escaping from this. Reality is undeniable, no matter how harsh. One must accept. One must bend to the changes, even when they threaten to crack your bones.
He yelps like a hurt dog when the doctor examines him, and the pain blinds him from everything.
(Pain itself is an escape. I know this well.)
Then I feel someone approach. April. By the way she lays a hand on my shoulder, I can tell she worries she can't trust my instincts.
"I'm sorry," she breathes, "For everything. I know it wasn't your idea and… no one ever meant it to be this way."
It wasn't her fault. She knows it wasn't her fault. My brothers plotted their own ruin, and they paid dearly for it. I can't accept an empty apology.
I take a step away. She doesn't try again.
"We'll need to amputate," the doctor says gravely, much less nervous with a patient to distract him. "If we don't, I can almost guarantee you he won't fight off this infection."
"So he'll die if we don't," Raph adds bluntly.
"Yes, I'm afraid so."
"Then take it off," he spits. "I don't care. Just take it off."
"Raphael, this is not your decision to make," Sensei reminds him. "It is for Michelangelo to decide. My son, do you understand?"
Silence falls. The last question was directed to Mike, but I'm not sure what's happening now. I hear him whimper, and Raph makes a defeated sound. He leaves the room.
Realization sinks in with unwelcome heaviness. A world where Michelangelo would not want to live is a world that should not exist. Now I know all hope is gone.
"Mike…" Angel. This time, nobody stops her. She moves toward him, painful concern and caring in her voice. "C'mon, please." Silence. She speaks again. "Do you think I could maybe talk to him alone?"
"Like hell," Raph snaps from the hallway.
"Please. I just need to talk to him for a sec."
Raph's in the doorway again, making threats. "You even touch him and I'll break your fuckin' neck. I wasn't kidding about that."
Splinter's warning goes unnoticed for the fifth time tonight. "Raphael…"
"Raph, I promise."
"You won't touch him."
"I promised I wouldn't, didn't I? Geez!"
"All of you, that is enough!" Splinter finally snaps. "If Angel believes she can help Michelangelo, we must grant her that. Whatever she wishes to say, she may do so now."
"But I—" she starts.
"We will stay and you will listen, or you will not speak at all."
There's a pause, then she sighs. "Okay, fine,"
I hear her settle closer to Mike, then it's silent again. No one speaks. I can hear her breathing.
Then an odd shift in the air settles like an iron curtain. A feeling in my stomach I can't quite read. An awkward pause. The doctor excuses himself, softly, under his breath, and April follows. Sensei hovers apprehensively by the doorway.
I'm oblivious until I hear her the tears in her voice, barely a whisper, and the realization hits me like a sudden heat.
"Mike… I love you," she murmurs. A love far different than caring for a brother, a friend. There's tenderness there, intimacy, and somehow, it feels out of place in this world of war, pain, and fear. "All those times when we got high, out in the woods when you—"
She stops, swallows hard before continuing, a tremor in her voice. "—when you fucked me," she whispers with a heavy dose of horror. "I lied to you. I was wrong. It didn't mean nothing. It meant everything. I-I'm sorry. I thought...I thought it'd never work 'cause..."
I feel Sensei stiffen behind me. Raph grunts in disgust, turns, and leaves again. A stifling wave of embarrassment makes my palms sweat.
"'Cause..." She swallows nervously. "you're an animal."
"I know." Mikey, finally. His voice is thin and full of gravel.
"But you're not," she gasps. "You're not. Mike... you can't die. I can't let you."
"But in th' woods… Enrique…"
"Died in the raid," she chokes, breathes raggedly. "But even if he didn't… it-it'd never mean the same. He was nothin' like you. He was… kind of an asshole."
"You're kinda an asshole too, yanno," he wheezes, almost a laugh, and that little ray of light cuts through most of the tension.
"You know what I mean," Angel snorts. Then the room falls to silence again. Weary. Confessions sink into the walls like ink.
She sighs, continues. "Gettin' clean makes you see how messed up your life really is. Makes you feel guilty about stuff you never gave a shit about before. When I heard you were sick, I couldn't just sit around. I know you gave up tryin' on us, but… I had to tell you I wish you didn't. Before, I was just bein' an asshole, like you said. I'm just… really stupid and I never meant to drag ya down with me. You didn't deserve that."
When she trails off, I hear Mike moving, groaning under his breath. Then he speaks, and the defeat in his voice tears me to shreds. He takes a shuddering breath and whispers, "M' just… tired, Angel. What d' you want from me?"
Then something snaps. All of this is wrong. Before, in Don's workshop, I said it didn't matter, but I was so damn wrong.
"So you're just giving up?!" My throat is raw from disuse, but I don't care. "We're all tired, Michelangelo. We're sick and tired of this war but you. You lived. Don gave his life for you. Don't you ever forget that."
"Leo, I—"
"And this girl risks her life just to tell you she loves you. April risks her everything to find you a doctor. You think you're so alone, Mike? Damn it, we love you! Things have changed, but you're our family. Nothing can change that."
When I run out of words, I'm standing in the center of the room, hands balled into fists, panting for air. The others appear in the doorway, whispering to one another. And Mikey… I hear him breaking down again.
Pitiful. I grit my teeth. But I let him cry, let Angel coddle him and whisper she loves him. Kiss him again and again. My anger flairs, blistering hot, and I fight the words, 'Get a grip. Just get a fucking grip.'
"T-then why…" he stutters, "why won't you t-talk to us?"
Instantly, I regret everything. My expression falls, my hands fall limp at my sides. "Mike…"
"I-I'm dying, bro. B-but you—"
"Were wrong," I interrupt stiffly. "And I'm sorry. I've been so wrapped up in thinking about what happened, I lost sight of everything. But that doesn't mean I love you any less. And it doesn't mean you should stop fighting. Never stop fighting."
My words hang in silence. In my veins, adrenaline hums with the fluorescent lights. And I think of Don, just for a moment. Enough for the memory to squeeze my chest. Just enough pain.
"But…But I'm…" He shudders. His voice is thick with tears. "I'm scared."
In the darkness, I reach out and touch his good shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "I know, outouto. We all are. But you have a chance. Why not take it?"
He swallows thickly and nuzzles my arm with his wet cheek. I feel him trembling—fear, fever chills, and sobs. "Okay."
"He said okay?" Raph chimes in from the hall.
He swallows hard again, nods. "Yeah. Do it."
"All right," I hear the doctor say, stumbling in from the hallway with an air of well-practiced urgency. "Michelangelo? I'd like to get you a little more stable first. Get that fever down and… um, what exactly is your normal temperature, anyway?"
"It fluctuates," Sensei answers. "You may use Raphael or Leonardo to measure the difference, yes?"
"Right," he notes quickly. "We'll, ah, have to get a way of reading that. Also, April was kind enough to bring some antibiotics and IVs from the old hospital. Unfortunately they're three years expired, but it's all we have. We'll do those tonight and try to slow the progression. I'd also like to perform an arthrocentesis to draw some fluid out."
"Like, needles?" Mike shudders.
The doctor only says, "I'm sorry."
"Even if you're gonna...?"
"Yes. I want to try to save as much as I can. If I don't treat you, even the amputation won't be enough." Mike doesn't respond. The doctor continues. "But I'll need to visit the hospital myself for more supplies. I'd like to treat him for a couple weeks before we do anything, but, um, that's only if I can find enough antibiotics. Once that's set, we'll be ready to operate."
"You mean we're doin' it here?" Michelangelo gasps, sounding more terrified than ever.
"I'm afraid so," Messner answers.
As the doctor busies himself setting IV lines, Mike's literally shivering with fear. He stiffens under my hand. I can hear his teeth chattering, whimpering miserably when he moves to inject his infected arm. By the time the doctor moves to drain out the fluid, he goes silent, only lies there stiff and trembling. It's disgusting, the smell and sound of it—thick and wet, gurgling, stinking of something I've only smelled on dead bodies.
When it's through, I'm sure he's gone into shock.
Angel never lets go of his hand, and I'm beginning to be glad she's here. Raph stalks over, hovering by my shoulder. "He don't look too good," he whispers, and makes the worry churn even harder in my stomach.
"I know."
"But it'll get better," he assures himself. The stiffness in his voice says he's just as scared as we are. "It's gonna be okay, bro," he promises. "We're here for ya. We'll always be here for ya."
A/N: So yeah, this was supposed to be a oneshot, but will wind up being a two-shot in the near future. I've been working on this since July, and it's only getting longer, so I decided to split it in half for both my sanity and yours. Hopefully I'll get the time and motivation to finish the other half soon.
Thanks for reading! Reviews would be great. I'd really love to get some feedback, concrit, erm... anything?
Much Love,
Willowfly