A/N: Re-uploaded to fix formatting.
Warning - Character Death(s) ahead
His muscles were locked in place by the electricity flowing through him, coursing through his veins. His body fought the straps that held him down, desperately trying to force itself to convulse. The current calmed, and he drew in a few despairing breaths through the gag in his mouth. The metal chair that held him, boasted straps that bound his arms and legs tightly to its armrests and legs, cruelly biting into flesh. His eyes rolled as he struggled vainly to free himself. He was frozen to the chair, flesh burned from the electricity he was being forced to endure. His captors had long ago left him to his fate. He heard the fizz as the line readied itself to deliver its next charge. The wires fed the electricity from the power lines to the arm of the chair. The metal chair seemed intent on torturing him to the fullest extent, conducting the miniature lightning through his entire being. As the lines were attached to the arm of the chair, the deadly electricity was prevented from stopping his heart or short-circuiting his brain, so prolonging his painful death.
He knew it was inevitable that he would die. It was only a matter of time. His despairing gaze flashed to the charge box that was the cause of his misery. In just a few more hours – if he was still alive by that time – it would release a charge that would roast him alive. There was no point in hanging around that long. But he wasn't able to pass as he wanted. The electricity wouldn't let him, bringing him back over and over again.
Just let me die...
Donatello shouldered his scavenging bag, made sure his bo was strapped to his back, and poked his head into the dojo.
"Hey Raph, I'm going to the dump. You want to come?"
"To stand by and watch you rummage through a mound of garbage for shell knows what?"
"Yeah"
"No way in shell"
"Just thought I'd ask"
The purple-banded turtle backed out of the dojo, crossed the living room, and left for the dump, mentally counting of the devices that he needed to look for.
Water heater, I need a water heater that isn't mangled. How the shell do you manage to mangle a water heater?
Donatello threw a piece of metal junk over his shoulder as he continued his search. He had managed to recover some bits of piping that could come in useful, an old motor engine, that with a bit of tinkering he should be able to get working satisfactorily, and a few other mechanical bits and pieces.
He stood, dusting of his hands, pleased enough with the spoils for today, and planning which junkyard he would head to tomorrow to continue his search for the elusive salvageable water heaters.
A faint sound reached his ears, and he paused, stock still. He slowly took in his surroundings, forcing himself to remain calm. He couldn't see anyone, but if the Foot were in the junkyard then they would make sure that they couldn't be seen. He narrowed his eyes, putting all his focus into listening. He strained his ears, and was surprised to hear the faint buzzing that betrayed electricity's presence.
He hesitated for a moment before curiosity got the better of him, and he did his best to follow the faint sound.
He found himself standing in front of what looked like a broken down wooden shed. He couldn't bring himself to step inside. A small part of him considered that it could be a trap. But...it just didn't...feel like a trap.
He wasn't worried about it being a trap. He was worried about what he would find inside. It just...felt wrong. He had no idea what he would find inside, he only knew that he wouldn't like what he saw.
He drew his hand up, and rested his palm on the wooden door. Without knowing why, his heart rate began to soar; and he could hear nothing over the sound of his thudding heart. Nothing except the buzzing of electricity. The sound was ominous to his ears.
He gave up trying to control his breathing, and decided to go with his gut instinct. Not the one that told him to run, run as far away as he possibly could. He decided to take the plunge, and pushed the creaking door open before he could change his mind.
Mikey thumped the TV remote of the arm of the couch. Then he tried pointing it at the TV again. It still wasn't working.
Thump
Click
Thump
Click
"DONNIE!"
Raph walked into the room, hands pinned to the sides of his head
"Geez! Can you scream any louder!"
"Sure!" Mikey replied brightly. "Do you know where Don is? The remote isn't working."
Raph grumbled something about lazy, deafening siblings as he stalked to the entrance of the lair.
"He's not in, he went out dumpster diving. I suppose you want me to go look for him?"
"Would you?" Mikey asked innocently.
"I was going out anyway."
"Of course"
"I'm not going out to look for him because of you."
"Uh huh"
"He should be back by now anyway."
"Okay"
"I told you, I ain't doing this for you!"
"I never said you were"
As Raph left the lair, Mikey settled back with a smile. He loved it when his brothers did things for him.
Donatello stood frozen in the doorway, unable to take in the sight before him. His brother sat, bound tightly to a chair, from which wires trailed. The wires in turn, led to a charge box which was discharging random shocks straight into his brother. And the pressure in it was building. Each random shock was more powerful than the last, was costing Leonardo more of his remaining strength.
Leo's eyes were clenched closed, as he desperately tried to fight the urge to scream. Each breath cost him dearly as he gasped for air through the suffocating gag. He cried out, unable to keep quiet any longer. His reward was breathlessness as he began to choke on the loose material beginning to wind itself further into his air passages.
Leonardo's desperate cry broke the spell that held Donatello rooted to the spot. Within seconds he was by his brother's side. He reached out meaning to remove the gag choking his brother, only to jump back with a cry of his own as he felt the electricity flood through him. He hissed from the pain of it, suddenly even more terrified for his brother. He had only had a small taster of what Leo was enduring, and he had fled from it the first chance he got. Leo didn't have the luxury of being able to run from the pain. He couldn't even move his arms to remove the gag choking him.
At the sound of Donatello's shout, Leo's eyes flashed open. He desperately sought eye contact with his brother. Donatello felt himself go cold, as he caught Leo's pleading beg, the pain and terror in the gaze. Leo choked of another cry as he was once again refused the chance of movement when his body desperately sought to convulse. The gag tightened its hold on him, and he had to fight for a single breath. It was a fight that he was quickly losing.
He tried spitting out the choking material, tried to take in air. He couldn't breathe through his nose anymore; the gag was suffocating him, blocking of any passage to his begging lungs. He strained against the chairs hold on him, wanting nothing more than to be able to escape the pain. If that meant dying then he was ready to die. He just wanted to go quickly. He didn't think he could take much more.
Cool hands were all of a sudden helping him, drawing the material away from his screaming air passages. He coughed, in an attempt to rid himself of the remainders of the gag, the threads caught in his throat. Much needed air was now flowing through his lungs, his blood fought for the oxygen to carry round his body. Relief drowned him, before more electricity began coursing through him, and he screamed, no longer having to fear the choking gag.
Don felt his heart tear as he observed his older brother fight for his life. He felt completely helpless as he looked over, and tried to disengage the charge box. From what he could gather, the charge box would soon release all of its electricity, succeeding in completely frying to death the occupant of the chair – which unfortunately just happened to be his brother, Leonardo. Trying to deactivate or disengage the charge box, would only lead it to release its charge sooner. Raphael's method of 'if in doubt, break it' would only cause the turtle barbecue to begin earlier than planned. There was nothing he could do.
Leo's eyes flickered behind his lids as he fought for control of his body. He needed to keep his brother in his line of sight. He didn't want to feel as though he were dying alone. His breaths came in harsh gasps now, and he once again felt himself pleading for release. Not release by a slow death like suffocation or burning. He wanted to die quickly. He couldn't kill himself, strapped in as he was. He didn't want to do this...but...he just wanted to die.
Now.
Before the charge box decided it had had enough and killed him itself. He knew his brother wouldn't deny him his last wish. He hated himself for doing it, but he couldn't bring himself not to. Surely a quick, less painful death wasn't too much to ask for?
His eyes flashed open, and once again sought Donatello. This time the priority was not for comfort. This time he needed to somehow convince his peace loving brother to kill for the first time in his life; he needed to convince him to kill a family member, a brother. Leonardo knew that if he was going to die, he didn't want to die pleading at the feet of his enemies. But convincing Donatello was going to be much more painful than anything he had ever gone through in his whole life.
Donatello backed away from his brother, feeling his shell hit the wall, but still wanting to back away further. What did...surely Leo didn't think that he was so cold-hearted that...he'd never even consider doing such a thing. Leo was still begging, trying to encourage him to see. Don couldn't release his brother without the charge box killing Leonardo. But that didn't mean that he was ready to kill. He'd never even killed so much as a bug in his whole life, and now Leo was asking him to kill for the first time, to kill his brother. He shook his head, watching the floor, as he desperately wished to wake up from the nightmare.
Leo's begs broke through his wishing, shattering the illusion of the whole thing being a nightmare. His brother had never screamed like that before. He could feel the intensity of the sound reverberating through him, chilling him to the bone. No, this couldn't be happening, it couldn't. His legs became weak, refusing to support him anymore, and he slid to a kneel on the dusty wooden floor. He tried to stand again, only to find himself unable to. His hand brushed an old tool box as he fell and a few tools scattered in front of him. His gaze swept over them as he tried anything he could to avoid Leo's begging glance. He shook as he hung his head. None of the tools could help him help Leo. Nothing could help Leo. There was no way Leo was walking away from this alive. Who was he to deny Leo his last wish? All Leo wanted was to die quickly.
Donatello stayed on all fours. He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill Leo. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that Leo had never been caught, wishing he had left for the junkyard earlier and maybe caught whoever had done this before they had a chance to, wishing for anything but this. He wished he was the one strapped, dying to the chair. Leo would never deny him, if Donatello's last wish was to die. He raised his head, feeling the tears begin to run down his cheeks. His hand tightened on the chisel beneath it.
Leo saw the desperation in Don's eyes turn to painful decisiveness. His heart both soared and sank.
He would finally be free from the pain, from the straps that bound him. Donatello knew what made the body tick. He would know the quickest way for the body to stop functioning. The quickest way for someone to die. It was for these reasons that Leonardo's heart soared.
But he would be leaving behind his family. He didn't know how Don would cope with after – Leo just had to hope that the rest of his family would help Don come to terms. And he hoped that the rest of his family could also come to terms with his death. He didn't know what was coming next; whether there was an afterlife or simple oblivion. It was because of the unknown that Leonardo's heart sank.
Leo watched as his brother shakily stood, walking over to him. Donatello hesitated for a second before taking a firm hold of Leo's trapped hand. They looked straight into each other's eyes, having a moment of crystal clear clarity, knowing what the other was thinking without needing it said out loud. Leo felt another blast of electricity surge through him, tightening his muscles, and clenching onto the touch of his brother's hand. Donatello winced, but other than that, made no indication of pain. He seemed to be trying to ignore it. Either that or the electricity surge was nothing compared to the mental pain he was fighting.
Leo's pleading gaze once again found Donatello. This time however the difference was, Donatello expected it. And he accepted it.
He lowered himself, keeping a hold of Leo's hand – comfort for both of them. He whispered into Leo's ear.
"are you sure?"
Leo tried to turn his head, but soon gave up.
"...yes..."
Donatello hesitated a few seconds more. He ignored the jabbing of the electricity, cupping Leo's head in his hands. Two whispered strained words reached his ears.
"thank you"
Donatello bowed his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the charge box readying itself to deliver its final fatal blow. He returned his gaze to Leo who was beginning to look thoroughly terrified, staring over Donatello's shoulder, also watching the charge box.
"I love you"
Leo heard three whispered words. Then he felt a sharp jab. He saw the furious charge box release its blow. But he didn't feel a thing except the strangely calming sensation of floating. He found he could move his limbs again. He rejoiced in the feeling of freedom. Before he looked down.
He saw Donatello sitting frozen beside his own still body. He saw the tears streaming down Don's face. Saw the fresh blood that splattered his brother's plastron. Blood that could only make that shape if the person wearing it had killed. He saw the large spark that sent his brother fleeing to the other end of the room. Saw Donatello collapse, huddling into a ball, drowning in tears. He wanted to go to him, to comfort him, to tell him that it was okay. He wanted to hold his brother in his arms, tell him that he would be eternally grateful for the release Don had granted him.
Light appeared on the edge of his vision, and he turned towards it, bathing in the warm glow. The light beckoned him, and he stepped towards it, eyes wide in wonder with the sight that greeted him. All he had to do was take one more step and he would be enveloped by the brilliant light. But he paused. He looked back over his shoulder, watching the small form of his brother. The huddled shadow looked so pitiful, and so completely alone. He looked back at his own body, and instantly wished he hadn't. If he wasn't dead, he would have had a hard time choking down the bile that would have threatened to choke him. It seemed Donatello was having the same problem, only he had actual bile to contend with. Ew.
Leo looked back at the shimmering images before him. He could leave right now, enter paradise. He looked back at his brother. His peace loving brother who had went against his very nature and killed. Mercy killing – but to Donatello it was still killing. Leo wished he had never had to ask his brother to do this. He glanced at the light, then Donatello, then back at the light. He would do anything for his family, but he didn't even know if there was now anything he could do. And the light's pull was so strong...
Raph was by now thoroughly irritated. He wished Don had told him which junkyard he was going to. It would have made this a whole lot easier. He couldn't understand why some of the stuff in the junkyards was thrown out in the first place. Just because they were no longer fashionable, phones were thrown out almost constantly. The last junkyard he had went to had basically been nothing but phones! And who throws out a perfectly fine bed or couch? As for the smell...
Okay so maybe he hadn't been doing anything but look for Don. Those punks had been asking for it! Just because a ninja turtle unwittingly strays onto your training grounds doesn't mean you have the advantage. He felt much better after that little fight.
He didn't much fancy going back to the lair and telling Mikey that he would be without TV until whatever ungodly time of the night that Don decided to quit his scavenging session. Don didn't like being disturbed for any sort of fixing request, but he would still answer his shell cell. Raph decided to try for a third time. The first two times that Don had ignored his calls had only served to irritate him further.
This time was different. Not in the sense that Don actually answered his phone. Something was wrong if Don refused to answer three times in a row. If he was ticked of about something, he might refuse to answer his phone a couple of times, but after two or three calls, he would answer, if only to satisfy their fear for his safety.
Raph decided that as he was out anyway, he might as well call the others out.
"Mikey? No, I ain't found him yet, can you come out? He ain't answering his shell-cell. Yeah, if Sensei thinks something's wrong and wants to come too. You know where Leo is? Nah, I'll try and call him. Meet you at the north junkyard, move your shell."
The damaged shell cell continued to hiss as it spouted steam from where it lay, crushed and broken next to its fried companion. A signal attempted to enter the fried shell cell before changing tactics and attempting to connect with the crushed cell instead. The damaged shell cell ignored the signal, until it faded away disappointed.
Raph tapped his shell cell forcibly. He considered ramming it through the wall but decided against it. Neither Don nor Leo's cell were giving out any kind of signal. When Mikey had suggested tracking their cells – Mikey actually came up with a good idea! - he had found nothing. All he had to go on was Don telling him that he was going to the junkyard, and Leo storming out after they'd had a fight. Fat lot of good that info was.
Splinter flicked his ears, hoping to hear some sign of either of his missing sons. Raphael had informed both him and Michaelangelo that neither Leonardo nor Donatello seemed to have working shell cells. This, coupled with the feeling of terrible foreboding that he had felt during meditation, served to thoroughly distress Splinter. All they could do was keep searching and hope that everything would be alright. He shoved the niggling feelings to the back of his mind.
Mikey removed the grill above him, and led the way into the north junkyard. He tried his best to ignore the agitation that Splinter seemed to be feeling. They'd find their brothers and bring them home. Splinter would get worked up at them both for scaring them all; Don would fix the TV and watch a film with everyone once Mikey had pestered him enough; Raph and Leo would have a disagreement over something or other; and by the time they woke up, everything would be back to normal.
No, oh god, no. What have I done? What have I done...?
The tears continued to flow; Donatello was no longer concerned with keeping a hold of himself. He lay curled on the floor. He refused to move. He knew that if he did, his eyes would be drawn, without doubt, to Leonardo. His brother. His brother that he had killed.
No, don't, don't think about that, oh god, don't think about that...
Maybe he could kill himself now? No. To find another tool, or anything like that, he'd need to look up. And he was NOT looking up. He choked as his mind turned to the chisel. It lay only a few feet away from him. Stupid laws of motion. Sometimes he hated physics. Leo's blood still adorned it. He could tell without needing to look. He could smell the fresh blood. The coppery taste coated the back of his tongue. He tried to curl further into himself, tried to hide from the blood, from the chisel, from himself, from the world. His arm touched his plastron. Touched the wet sticky substance cooling on it. He felt the bile rising in his throat again.
Mikey scoured the area Splinter had sent him to. The smell was making him gag. He decided to try steering clear of the mouldy manky pile of rubbish as best as he could. He rounded another mound of rubbish and backed away theatrically, waving his hand in front of his nose, and coughing to emphasise the clogging smell. He backed over a loose plank of wood and yelled out as he fell. Raphael's irritated voice reached him.
"Don't shout out unless you've found something, or I'll give you something to yell about!"
Mikey gave the OK sign, even though nobody could see him. He trotted around the side of the next garbage pile, and found himself confronted with a wooden wall. He edged round the wall, searching for a door. He wrinkled his nose at the smell coming from inside.
"What died?" he complained as he stepped inside. Movement caught his eye, and Mikey found himself staring into the terrified gaze of his brother Donatello. He couldn't handle the intensity of the gaze. Don was crouched as if he was ready to flee at any moment. Mikey edged the door wider, concern filling him. The light from the open door caused Donatello to cringe away, but not before Mikey had seen the red blood flowing from his plastron.
He stepped inside further, worried for his brother who looked seriously hurt. A thought nipped at him, but he tried to ignore it. The persistent seed of doubt wouldn't leave him though. Mikey wasn't a medical expert, but he knew that nobody could lose that amount of blood and carry on living. The red liquid seemed to be covering the floor. Mikey winced, and slowly brought his foot up for inspection. He gulped, and decided to try and ignore the liquid pool that he had just stepped in – for now at least. He returned his gaze to the shaking, cringing Donatello. No, nobody could lose that amount of blood and carry on living. Which meant the blood – or most of it anyway - couldn't belong to Donatello. He hesitantly swept the room with his gaze.
"AAHHHHH!"
Mikey sped by Splinter, who flattened his ears against his skull at the noise, and almost fell backwards into the rubbish pile.
"AAAHHHHH!"
Raphael watched his runaway brother, and chose to put a stop to this before he ended up deaf. He launched himself at the fleeing Mikey, succeeding in pinning him to the ground with surprisingly little effort.
Mikey was twisting beneath him, and Raphael was about to yell at him to stay still for once in his life, before he noticed his little brothers tremors and the tears streaming down his face.
"Mikey? Mikey! What is it? What's wrong?"
Raphael was beginning to panic, Mikey seemed downright terrified. Splinter took a hold of Michaelangelo's shoulders, pinning the turtle down. The commanding tone in his voice shocked both of the turtles into obedient silence.
"Michaelangelo what did you see? Where? Where are your brothers?"
Mikey could only shiver in response, his mouth opened but no sound came out except a pained whine. Splinter was having trouble controlling his panic; he needed to find the rest of his sons, and ensure that they were alright. If any of his sons had been harmed – he had to believe that they were still alive, would believe so until he was proven against a shadow of a doubt otherwise – then whoever had so much as touched them would not live, he would make sure of that. And if anyone had even tried to...Splinter had made a solemn promise to himself that if anyone killed one of his sons – god forbid – then he would make sure that they suffered. No matter who they were.
Mikey stayed close to Raphael as the three approached the broken down shed. He refused to leave his brother's side. Raphael approached the door first, and pushed himself in, Mikey sticking to his heels, using him to shield the sight of Leonardo. Splinter entered straight after, eyes narrowing in the dim evening light.
Donatello watched them from where he had pressed himself into the corner when Michaelangelo's blood curling screech first sounded. Mikey had screamed bloody murder, and Donatello knew who the guilty party was. He refused to follow their line of sight, instead watching them.
He watched Mikey hiding behind the protective form of the older brother. He watched Splinter age before his eyes; saw the fury that rose up in the old rat, and wished to the heavens that he wasn't going to be on the receiving end of that anger – but he knew he would be. And disappointment and betrayal. He'd get the whole package deal.
He turned his gaze on Raphael, and found the look returned. Don wished he could sink into the floor, wished he could just curl up and die under that gaze. He saw Raph's eyes leave him; saw Raph's gaze follow the blood trail right to him, saw him glance at the blood stained chisel. He wished he had had the guts to kill himself already. No matter – Raph was about to do that for him. The cold hatred in his red clad brother's eyes convinced him of that. He saw the fists clench, saw the sai drawn from the belt. Saw the sai as it was thrown, saw the sharp metal point come straight for him.
He didn't move out of the way.
He didn't make a sound.
He didn't even flinch.
He just waited for the sharp sai to hit him with deadly accuracy.
He closed his eyes, waiting on the impact, wanting to feel the impact.
He listened to the metal cut through the air.
He listened to its impact.
He opened his eyes.
The sharp metal sai trembled inches from his face, buried in the rotten wood. He hadn't moved an inch, he was a stationery target, there was no way that Raph could have missed him. Unless Raph hadn't been trying to kill him. No, Raph would never intentionally harm his brothers. Even though he had killed a family member, Raph would never kill him. And yet, he, the self-proclaimed gentle pacifist, had killed. The thought murdered his remaining sanity.
Raph glared in disgust at the creature before him. He didn't deserve the title of brother. He didn't even deserve to live. If he hadn't known him, he wouldn't have altered the path of the sai. He didn't even know why he hadn't just killed him then and there. He still had another sai.
Splinter turned his searching gaze on Donatello. His heart was smashed, but he still felt affection for the turtle who he had cared for and nurtured. He scrambled for one last crumb of hope. He looked into the dead eye of Donatello desperate for the answer he wanted to hear.
"Donatello, look at me." The black pits of Don's pain hesitantly rose to his father's command. Splinters voice lowered dangerously. "Did you kill Leonardo?"
Donatello looked questioningly up at his father. He hadn't strapped Leo to the chair, hadn't put him through hours of pain. But...he had delivered the killing blow, he had stopped his brother breathing, had felt the pulse fade under his fingertips. If he was to deny it, all they would have to do was look at the blood splatters adorning his plastron. Besides, they knew already and what difference would it make to him? It was only fair to them, it was their choice what they wished to do with the murderer of their brother and son. He caught Mikey's pleading gaze, and felt his heart flip. He instantly averted his eyes. The ghostly image of Leo's own pleading begs shimmered before him, and his throat constricted.
"Donatello!" Splinter's fur was rising, and he felt Raphael tense next to him. He knew that if he was to honour his promise to himself, and killed Leonardo's killer, Raphael would be right next to him, aiding him in ripping apart the beastly creature. The only problem was that Splinter had never even imagined one of his sons killing another. And for Donatello the peace maker to have done such a thing...he tried to force himself to deny placing blame until Donatello had answered, pleaded guilty or not. He felt his animal and parental instincts merge. Both wanted to protect him and his remaining family, destroy the threat before him. Both wanted to care for the pathetic terrified turtle before him, judged of previous experience of the turtle and found him safe and in need of protection and guidance. Splinter had never felt so torn in his whole life.
"Donatello, answer me!" Don trembled, cringing at his fathers feet as the rat's tail whipped the air. He tried to see his father and master, the one he had respected his entire life. All he could see was the fur standing on end, the claws five times bigger than any normal rats.
He pressed himself closer to the floor, imagining himself melting into the dank wooden floorboards. His heart beat double-time, thudding against his rib-cage, screaming in his ears. His breaths tore at his dry throat, the moisture having already fled his body through his eyes.
"Donatello!" He prayed to the heavens for an escape, for the ability to disappear into the ground. Then he remembered that heaven dammed all murderers, and he started praying to hell instead.
He heard the growl rip from the throat of his father, and could keep quiet no longer. He flattened himself against the floorboards, the instinct to hide screaming through his brain. His frightened eyes darted the room, quickly finding escape impossible. He scrunched closed his eyes, hiding the sight of the dead room. He did his best to ignore the grisly chisel inches from his face.
The air pressure on his face shivered, and he realised Splinter had come dangerously close to whipping him with his tail. Splinter preferred to fight without his tail, not wanting an unfair advantage over his opponent; but Don had seen the damage that tail could do.
Tell them; just tell them, they know you did it anyway. He trembled in terror at the feet of his family. His eyes opened into slits, and followed the trail of blood to the feet of the chair. He stayed on the floor. He could feel himself beginning to drown.
"...yes..."
"Raph, no!" Mikey grabbed onto his brothers arm, tears streaming down his face. Raphael tried to wrestle him of, but his usual playful ferociousness towards his little brother was diminished; all of his hatred and energy focused on the turtle crouched before him.
"Raph please don't" Mikey begged his older sibling. He grabbed onto Raph's other arm as his red-banded brother continued to reach for the sai.
"Mikey get of" Raph hissed doing his best to throw the clinging Mikey off him.
Splinter was standing before him. The rat seemed to have reverted back to using only his animalistic instincts. His eyes were fireballs of fury as he watched the trembling creature before him. His tail seemed to be slicing the air apart; the snapping of its movement like a whip. His ears stood pricked on his head, listening for the faintest hostile sound; flicking around like radars. His teeth were prominent and sharp, gleaming white, and dull yellow. His fur stood to attention; his claws flashing as he clenched and unclenched his hands. The sight was enough to send whoever faced Splinter fleeing for the hills. But Donatello seemed incapable of movement; pinned to the floor from the fierce gaze.
Raphael pushed his clinging brother aside, eyes set on the crouched turtle who was too consumed with terror and guilt to even raise his head to meet his brother's burning anger. Splinter barely spared a glance at the approaching Raphael. Two sets of eyes were locked with deadly accuracy onto the pathetic cringing Donatello.
Don couldn't bring himself to look up, he didn't want to see the fury of his family; he was too terrified to face the retribution for his unthinkable action. His eyes tried to cry dry tears. His heart was ready to explode with the speed of his racing pulse. The adrenaline rushing through his veins was useless to him, only increasing his shaking and shivering. His breaths were shallow, terrified of making too much noise. A cry choked of in his throat; no one would find pity in his pain. No one would feel pity for someone who would kill a part of his family. No one would feel pity for a killer.
Mikey felt the sweat starting to prick the back of his neck as Raphael and Splinter tensed. No, they couldn't. Don would never kill without a good reason; he went out of his way to make sure he caused as little harm as possible. He moaned quietly to himself as he watched Donatello cowering, suffering silently from the pain of what he had done. Couldn't they see how sorry Don was, how scared? Did they want to become murderers themselves; couldn't they see what it had done to Don already? Would do to them as well? Did they want to make their family almost non-existent?
The sweat was running down his neck now, cooling into his shell, making him shiver. He saw Raphael pull out his sai. His breath caught in his throat as he saw Raphael readying himself; saw Splinter whip the air with his tail, his lips curling back over his teeth.
He made a split second decision.
A decision that he knew he would never regret.
He chose to protect his brother.
No matter what had happened, no matter what would come, he couldn't stand by and watch two members of his family kill a third. He dove in front of them, shielding Donatello with his own body. He could feel the tremors shaking his brother's body; hear the harsh breaths, the quiet sobbing. He forgot everything around him. He found out what 'tunnel-vision' was, as everything around him faded, his furious brother and hesitant father sharpening in his line of sight. Mikey could pick out each individual hair on Splinters hand. He could see the threads on the red band wound around Raph's sai. His breathing picked up, the adrenaline rushing straight to his brain.
Splinter stood still, ears flicking unsurely, brought back to his senses. Raphael was only infuriated with Mikey's action, eyes narrowing, burning with rage.
Donatello waited on the blows he knew would come; the pain he deserved. Instead of pain, he felt a gentle touch, a shiver. He felt a drop of moisture squeeze itself free, and ducked his head closer to the floor in order to hide it. Tears wouldn't help him. His breath hitched; his eyes flickered, then opened. Confusion flashed across him, before he realized Mikey lay crouched over him. His orange banded brother was protecting him. He drew himself further under the protective shield of Michaelangelo as Raphael's eyes burned right through him. Frantically he ducked his head under Mikey's plastron as he caught sight of the gleaming metal in Raph's hand. He curled into himself; it was pointless trying to stop his tremors or hide his fears. He could still feel Mikey shielding him, could feel Mikey laying himself down as a barrier to Raph's anger, to Splinter's fury.
Mikey shivered as Raphael's anger intensified, but he kept his protective position. He hated Donatello for what it seemed he had done, but that was no reason to kill him. Leo...Leo would never do such a thing, he'd try and help them all, find out what had happened. Mikey wasn't Leo but he still knew right from wrong.
Splinter's throat pricked as he saw the desperate Michaelangelo. His fur lowered, and his tail stopped punishing the air. He tore his gaze away, towards the far corner of the room. Despair overwhelmed him.
Next to Splinter, Raphael was moving in for the kill. He felt a touch on his shoulder but shrugged it of. The last words he had ever said to Leo reverberated around his skull, refusing to let him be. The screaming match, the curses, the hurling insults. The fight, the hatred.
Under Mikey, Donatello was fighting an internal battle. Hiding terrified under his younger brother. Mikey was protecting him, Don had killed a brother, and Mikey was protecting him. He should be taking the consequences for what he had done. He had only done what he felt he had to. Leo had kept begging him; he was in so much pain... He couldn't have denied Leo his last wish. Why was Mikey still protecting him?
Above him, Mikey wondered the same. He raised his head despairingly, keeping eye contact with Raphael as he approached. "Raph..." he caught the glint of the sai, and choked. He watched Raph raise the weapon; his eyes following the blade as it fell. He ducked his own head, covering Donatello's vulnerable neck. The blade stopped inches from his nose.
He heard Raphael cursing at him, telling him to move, but he didn't answer. His eyes were locked on Don's. Confusion, terror, betrayal, pain, gratitude, fear, helplessness; all these emotions passed between them without the need of even one word.
Raphael wrestled against his father, who had managed to pin both of his arms behind his shell. Mikey's wide panicked eyes refereed the wrestling match from where he hid, crouched on all fours in the shadows. Splinter had come to the rescue when Raph had tried to pull him of Donatello; the protective display doing nothing for him. Don was now, from what Mikey could see, flat against the floor in the darkest corner. He seemed to be willing himself to melt into the floor.
Raphael lashed out with his feet, fighting a losing battle with Splinter as he continued to curse Don to the blackest pits of hell.
In the shadows, a bead of water fell, landing silently on the floor. Too stealthily to be detected, more beads followed, seeping through the rotten woodwork to the damp ground below. They mingled with the wet earth, remaining hidden from all probing eyes. The creature that had shed them melted into darkness, two small pinpricks the only proof of a living creature.
Splinter hissed into his son's ear, and his words finally struck a nerve. The struggles ceased, and Splinter raised his head, ears swivelling as he tried to catch some sign of his youngest. Mikey rose, creeping out of the shadows. He trotted to his family, eyes on the floor to avoid the sight in front of him. He kneeled next to Splinter, seeking the physical comfort that he craved; that everyone craves when a loved one has passed.
A pair of emerald green eyes watched the trio.
Donatello stayed crouched, shrouded in shadows.
He kept himself pressed against the damp bricks; pulse racing as he stealthily crept closer. Raph's eyes locked onto him, and his heart skipped a beat. He backtracked, trying to quiet his harsh breaths. Raph's gaze returned to where the freshly dug earth lay, and Don scurried backwards, feeling tears prick his eyes once again.
Don retreated back into the calm dark of the tunnel, watching the proceedings through his tear drowned vision. He blinked hurriedly, the trees in the park coming back into focus, the sight of his family and friends clearing.
They wouldn't let him near; he'd have to wait until they were gone. He would hide in the tunnel until then. Unless Raph decided to follow, and drive him away.
He watched as April turned, burying her head into Casey, and the two humans left through the pathway of trees.
He watched as Mikey knelt beside the unmarked grave. Watched as he said goodbye. Watched as he laid the white crocus on the ground. Watched as he fled in order to grieve alone.
He watched as Raph shook, whispering words he would never hear. Watched as a tear dropped from Raph's eye. Watched as Raph caught the tear. Watched as he crushed the tear in his fist. He watched Raph run from the place before his emotions got the better of him.
He watched Splinter bow to the grave; watched him whisper proud loving words to his deceased son. He watched as Splinter straightened. He watched as Splinter turned, and looked right at him.
He held his father's gaze for all of two seconds. He waited for Splinter to approach; waited for him to drive away the creature that he blamed. When Don finally found the courage to look up again, the area was empty.
He slowly pushed himself away from the wall, heading for the grave and the overhanging tree beside it. He lowered himself to the ground, no longer caring if his family found him there.
He rested his head against the bark of the tree, casting his gaze up, through the leaves, up to the sky. He wondered if he would catch sight of Leo. He wondered where Leo was. He wondered if Leo would mind his brother Donatello joining him.
Leo sat beside Donatello, following his brother's gaze. The light still beckoned, but for now, he ignored it. He lowered his head, turning his gaze to look at his brother. Donatello had his eyes closed, and Leo watched as a tear droplet rolled down the olive-green skin. He reached out a hand, watching the moisture continue its fall, unobstructed, through his pale skin. He turned his eyes to his grave, a smile flickering across his face when he saw the white crocus laid on the freshly turned earth.
He watched the fading dappled sunlight dance across the ground. His lack of a shadow only served to remind him of how he could not communicate with those still of this earth. He felt the emotions and energy of the area shiver, and watched his brother hide his head in his arms, legs drawn up close as he cried enough salt tears to start a small stream.
His heart melted at the sight. He had hoped that the rest of his family could help Don. He had hoped that his family would move on as one. It seemed his hopes had been misplaced.
He let his hand brush the shimmering energy field around Donatello. The stronger and happier the person, the larger and more shiningly powerful the energy field - the aura. Donatello huddled into himself, both physically and spiritually. For he had no-one to reach out to. No-one to turn to.
Leo sighed, and returned his gaze to the sky. The sun was fading, but for him the brightness remained. The light of that other world, that paradise, continued to beckon. Leo's eyes watered; a see-through drop fell, and dissipated before it could even be seen. He could make no mark here now. He only remained through his own desire. He could leave at any time.
Leo settled himself beside his brother. Whether Don knew it or not, Leo would remain beside him. Don wouldn't be alone. Leo would never leave while he knew it would leave Don solitary. He would stay beside his brother. He copied Don's earlier movement and laid his head back against the trunk of the tree. He closed his eyes.
The two stayed together, the spirit and the living, beneath the shining moon, and the winking stars.
Donatello crept through the darkened room. The lair was no longer home, it was simply a place to stay. The others, while they shunned him, did not drive him out. Perhaps it was pity for someone they had once called family. Perhaps it was simply fear that humans would find him and come searching for other mutants.
Whatever the reason, Don was glad of the shelter. It meant he didn't have to constantly fear exposure to the outside world like he had the first few days when he was simply too terrified and distraught to return to the lair.
He stayed out of the way. They didn't speak to him; they hardly even showed that they noticed him. He craved to once more be close to his family. He craved friendship, closeness. He craved companionship. He craved forgiveness.
He padded silently into the kitchen. Right now all he craved was a drink of water. He never dared leave the corner during the day, or when he knew someone else to be up. He drew a glass from the cupboard, feeling like a thief in a stranger's house. He slowly turned the tap, making sure not a drop of liquid landed in the sink, only in the glass. He always did his utmost to ensure he made not the slightest sound.
Tap off. Drink as quickly as possible. Clean and dry glass. Flee like the wind back to corner in case anyone intends on getting up. This was his usual routine.
He clutched the glass in both hands as if worried it would try and run from him. He had valid reason to; it wasn't like much else liked being near him.
He raised the glass, feeling himself grow cold as he froze. He spun quickly, holding the glass tightly next to his plastron, not wanting to give it up. Splinter stood in the doorway, cane resting on the floor. He blinked in surprise at the frozen Donatello.
Donatello shook; he tightened his hold on the glass, needing something close, something to hold onto. His expression was that of a rabbit, caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.
Splinter's tail twitched, he turned and left the kitchen without a word.
Don sped across the room, almost head butted the wall, and collapsed into the floor. His tremors added to his pitiful sobs as he buried himself as close to the ground as possible. He gulped, his harsh breathing not fetching enough oxygen for his thudding heart.
A soft purr brushed his ear, and something furry tried to press itself under his head. He looked up, hand reaching out to stroke the golden orange fur. His shaking hand played with the fur on the cat's head, as the cat padded closer to him, continuing to purr as it curled up against his plastron. His arm held the cat closer, careful not to hurt it. The contended purrs rocked him, gently lulling him into the most peaceful sleep he'd had in weeks.
"Klunk?"
Klunk raised his head, blinking his sleepy eyes and trying to decide whether getting up was worth the trouble. He yawned and stretched, barely avoiding digging his claws into the turtle he had somehow ended up asleep on. He pawed its neck, wondering why it wasn't up like the other turtles and the rat were. Finally getting a response from the lazy creature, Klunk trotted down its side, deciding the safest part of the floor to jump to.
"Klunk, breakfast"
The orange-green turtle that fed him every day was calling again. Klunk sniffed the air to ensure it wasn't just a trick to make him come. Satisfied with the smell of raw chicken, he got ready to pounce of the turtle. He hesitated when it moved, finding his balance again, and looking at it annoyed. It was keeping him from his breakfast – who did it think it was!
It was watching him, and making him decidedly uneasy. It hesitantly rose its arm, and Klunk resigned himself to being stroked. He eventually had to remind it that his breakfast was waiting, and did so with a definite meow to tell it that petting time was over.
It obediently finished stroking him, and even gently picked him up and put him on the floor beside it so that he wouldn't need to jump. That was nice of it.
Klunk pressed his head into the turtle's neck as a thank you, before scurrying of to the kitchen. The orange turtle was waiting on him, and started to talk to him as he pounced on his bowl and buried his head in the food. He couldn't understand most of what the creatures he lived with said, but he did manage to pick up certain words and tone of voice.
Orange turtle seemed scared and worried about something today. That normally meant it would go and talk gibberish to Blue turtle who would comfort it. For some odd reason, Blue turtle didn't seem to be around lately, so that meant the comforting fell to Klunk.
It didn't seem to matter to Orange turtle that Klunk couldn't understand most of what it said. All Klunk had to do was meow, look cute, and let Orange turtle hold him.
This is what Klunk was doing now, having finished his breakfast and hoping to avoid a headache from all the gibberish. Orange turtle was holding him close, and whispering in his ear, which he flicked irritably. It held him so he could see Purple turtle who he had woken up on. Purple turtle's name kept getting mentioned, along with the words "sleep" and "stroke". The word "don't" didn't seem to be mentioned, so Klunk assumed Orange turtle wanted him to spend time with Purple turtle and let it pat him.
Very well, but they had better start feeding him more. That was more like it; Orange turtle was heading for the treat cupboard. Klunk licked his lips, and made a mental note to stay closer to Purple turtle – especially if it meant more treats.
A smile flickered onto his face, but barely even for a second, as Don watched the ginger cat pounce on his food bowl. Klunk had the right idea – food sounded very appealing right about now.
Mikey was in the kitchen with Klunk. Going into a room when all three of his family were there was a bad idea, two of his family was an even worse idea, but he would have to be suicidal to even consider entering a room where only one of his family were in. He knew they no longer trusted him; he sometimes wondered how they slept, scared he might jump them at night.
He saw Mikey pick up the cat who was purring contentedly as it was stroked under the chin; and suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. He cast his eyes over to the door. Just his luck that the door would be next to the dojo that Raph just happened to be in. Raph would take his head of if Don gave him the slightest reason to – walking to within 10 feet of him was a good enough reason as any in Raph's book.
He trained his eyes on the dojo, waiting for Raph to come out, and waiting for his chance to flee with as little notice as possible. Normally he would stay hidden in the shadows all day, but the last time he had eaten must have been about two nights ago. His stomach growled in anticipation.
Water splashed up his thighs as he dove through the door. He didn't stop running until he was five streets worth away. He panted as he tried to get his bearings. He twisted his head just to make sure that he wasn't being followed even though he thought it immensely unlikely.
When he didn't hear any signs of pursuit, he set about the disgusting job of finding something to eat. In all fairness, he thought to himself as he pushed the sewer grid above him out of the way, he would much rather face shocked bin men than his family when it came to finding something edible.
He didn't much fancy how they might react if he raided the fridge.
He scrambled out after checking the coast was clear. Sewers couldn't smell much better than dumpsters right? He had to remind himself that he used to willingly come to the dumps to search for mechanical bits and bobs. But then again, that wasn't exactly the same.
He gingerly picked his way through the mounds of rubbish, deciding to leave the actual dump as a last resort. Foxes, cats, dogs, they all raided backyard bins for food. His stomach churned at the thought.
Leo chased his fleeing brother through the sewers, wondering where they were going – not that Don knew he was following. One advantage of being a spirit is that you never become tired or breathless.
Don finally slowed to a stop, and Leo did likewise, watching as his brother panted from exertion. He couldn't really blame him – he thought that was the fastest he had ever seen Don run.
Don gulped in a few more mouthfuls of air, before climbing the ladder that led to street level. Leo followed intrigued.
Once outside, Leo looked around confused. Maybe Don was going to somewhere he felt safe? If so, Leo hoped that place wasn't the dump. He sincerely hoped otherwise.
Leo returned his gaze to Don who was beginning to pick his way through the garbage. Leo started to follow. On second thoughts, he chose to see where his brother was headed first. Away from the dump. Leo took that as a good sign.
Where are you going Don? Leo cocked his head as he looked curiously at his brother. Donatello was twisting his head, looking left and right as though deciding the best way to head on. Something must have caught his eye, for he opted to choose left, Leo padding silently on behind.
Leo caught the almost imperceptible shiver that passed through his brother and narrowed his eyes, confused. He soon found out the reason for Donatello's disgust.
The brown fox hissed at them, the fur on the back of its neck rising as it defended its spoils. Don hung back, and Leo wondered what had drawn Don here. What was he looking for? Leo trotted forward, peering into the rubbish bags and tips lining the alley. His foot brushed against the fox. The fox spun yelping, decided it would rather choose another alley than face this unseen foe, and fled into the shadows, startling both turtles.
Don hesitated, wondering what had spooked the fox, before deciding to take his chances if it meant some semblance of food. Leo was still staring shocked, and fascinated, at where the fox had melted away into the darkness.
He was drawn out of his daze by the sound of his brother beginning to rummage through the rubbish. He wandered over; still intrigued by the fox, but more interested in what his brother was doing.
He peered over Donatello's shoulder, and drew back almost instantaneously. He tried to choke at the sight, having to turn his back to Don. He couldn't believe how far things had gone.
He looked sympathetically back over his shoulder, but refused to watch as Don scavenged. He had always hated having to watch when Don sorted through other peoples rubbish for electronic gizmos, but for food? He shuddered at the thought. How could his family have abandoned his brother to this extent? He opted to wait at the alley entrance until Don was finished.
He couldn't believe his brother had been downgraded to this. He followed Donatello as they padded quietly through the dank sewers.
How, when, had things gotten so bad? Didn't at least one of his family think that this had gone too far?
Oh god Don, I'm so sorry...please forgive me...tell them how I begged you...tell them how you helped me...you freed me Don...you took away my pain...tell them that...tell them whatever you want, but don't let this happen...don't let them do this to you...don't do this to yourself...
Don slowed to a stop. His senses were pricked. He wanted to flee like the brown fox had done, but he felt rooted to the spot.
He strained his ears, hearing another splash ahead of him. He dove into a side tunnel, pressing himself into the dark. The footsteps drew closer, and he shrank back, waist deep in sewage and slime.
His heart roared, alarm bells screamed in his head; his throat choked, denying him oxygen when he needed it most. The water swirled around his legs, trying to pull him under. He blessed the dark.
He hid within the shadows, watching, listening, praying.
He caught sight of Raph stalking past the tunnel, and lowered himself further into the murky gloom. His heart was surely going to give him away with its screaming.
Raph stopped. Don desperately tried to choke down his terror, eyes beginning to drown, lungs ready to explode.
Raph was glancing down the tunnel, certain that he had heard something. Don continued to struggle against the current as quietly as he could without being swept away.
Leo watched Donatello sadly. He returned his despairing gaze to Raphael who seemed ready to investigate the tunnel where Donatello cringed, terrified.
Raph don't... Don pressed himself closer to the wall; Leo wouldn't have been surprised if his brother had a heart attack from the look on his face. Leo backed into the tunnel, walking in front of Raph.
His eye caught a scavenging sewer rat. He glanced once more at where Donatello hid; his heart sank at the fear he could feel filling the air around him. Sorry rat, he thought.
Then he pounced.
His hands closed around the rat, which squealed in terror as it felt an unseen attacker. Leo watched amused as the rat sped right through his hands, not a hair misplaced by his hands.
Raph jerked back as the rat sped past him. He hesitated, decided he would much rather track down some criminals in need of a good beating than chase after a runaway rat, and turning on his heel, he left.
Don thanked the rat from the bottom of his heart as he saw Raph leave. He closed his eyes, relaxing in relief.
It wasn't one of his best ideas.
The current instantly took advantage of his relaxed state. He barely suppressed a shout as his legs were swept from under him. He ended up with a mouthful of the disgusting liquid.
He thrashed as he was carried along, a dip in the tunnel appeared out of nowhere, and then he was falling, trying to curl into himself, arms shielding his head, water falling all around him.
He hit the water with the force of a cannonball, causing the stream around him to explode. He fought for air, coughing and spluttering, dragged under once again. The current was increasing in force, the stream getting ever deeper as more water joined from side-pipes lining the walls.
His foot caught a lump of debris stuck into the side of the flowing rivers wall. He kicked out, using the momentum to gain enough clearance for another frantic breath. His eye caught a glance of someone running beside him; before he could shout to them for help, he was under again.
He scrabbled for a hold. The sides were too steep, too high; he was being rushed closer to the whirlpool that they had played next to as kids. He became frantic; the now rushing water rounded a corner, and he cried out as he was slammed against the brick wall. His head snapped back, thudding against concrete, and he felt himself beginning to lose consciousness. The figure on the bank flitted back into his vision. Within a blink, the figure was gone.
He gasped for air, the water rushing down his lungs as it dragged him under again and again. Panic overwhelmed him. The edges of his vision were turning black; most of what he could still see was turning a brilliant white.
He tried to fight against the water; his muscles hardly strong enough to choke back up the water he had swallowed whenever he found a chance of a breath.
A plank of wood slammed into his plastron, driving his remaining breath from him. The thundering water filled his ears, roaring down his throat. He thrashed, convulsed, driving the wood from him. He twisted, fighting the water, fighting the current, the debris that it carried.
He lashed out weakly in a final desperate attempt. Rope wound itself around his ankle, snagging onto the plank of wood continuing to rush downstream beside him. The rope jerked, pulling at him as the wood lodged itself into the sewer wall. He tried to scream as he felt his ankle pull away from him. He couldn't hear the snap over the thundering water. He couldn't scream.
His struggles grew weaker, his thrashings slower. He swiped at the water above him, desperate to reach the cool delicious air. The rope held him down, tugging on his broken ankle with all the ferociousness of a wild dog.
The water tore through him, ripping his lungs apart. And he realized that he had nothing to live for. No one to live for. His family and friends hated him. They shunned him, drove him away. Even if they accepted him again, he wouldn't be able to live with himself knowing what he'd done. Knowing that he'd killed his brother. Knowing that they would always deep down hate him for it.
And he let himself go.
Because there was no one to help him.
There was no one to care whether he lived or died.
There was no one to show him any care if he lived.
All the love he had ever had in his life was gone.
Lost in a single moment.
But if he could go back and change it...
Change the past...
He wouldn't.
He wouldn't let his brother suffer when he could help him, spare him.
And in that final moment, in the rushing water, the roaring stream, the yanking rope;
Donatello finally found peace.
The light bore down, swiftly curving and twisting. It caught sight of the figure racing, keeping pace with the flowing water. The light snapped out, catching hold of the figure, and deftly enveloping it in the brilliance of its light, with all the speed of a striking snake. The light whirled, blinding to all who could see it, but most of the creatures snuffling the pathway ignored it, oblivious.
It cast out tendrils of blinding white, searching for any that it needed to welcome. It spun around a rat, wrapping it in a silken cocoon. The rat stood on its hind legs, nose turned heavenwards, unseen by its scavenging family, as it waited on the warm embrace.
The light plunged into the depths of the rushing water as it continued its search for lost spirits. Its tendril flipped as it spread out feelers, catching a goldfish that had found its way downstream, wrapping and welcoming it.
The ghostly form of a small birds spirit flitted by above, silhouetted against the shining sky. The sparrow tucked its wings in and nose dived straight through the sewer grate, into the midst of the lights heart.
A feeler brushed by, retracting to welcome another new spirit. The light brushed the turtle, welcoming and calming it. It enfolded it in a soft embrace, pulling it closer. The turtle's initial struggles faltered as he was drawn closer to the heart of the light.
Leo stepped forward through the light to greet his brother.
The light enclosed the two, shrinking back into itself. It whirled and blinked once more, before fading away until its next search.
A light breeze blew through the tunnels, after the disappearing light. The breeze played with the fur along the backs of the scavenging rats. Apart from the rustle of busy sewer rats, and the rushing, tumbling water, there was nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard.