Restoration
When he exhales there is a soft whine. The sound of a dying engine. His throat hurts and when he clears it, the inflamed tissue sends up sharp slivers of pain, but he does it again, trying to rid himself of the humiliating sound. The noise branding him broken. Still. Three months. His head swims. Vision blurry until blinking rapidly, it clears somewhat. He has to squint, though. Even the light in this small room seems uncomfortably bright.
"Let me close the curtains, Leo," April suggests as though sensing his discomfort.
Raphael paces behind Donatello, who sits next to Leo on the mattress. He takes his brother's pulse and then sets his hand back down, doing his best to ignore how thin Leo's gotten, how small the wrist. Delicate. His brother was never brittle. His throat works and he looks to Raphael who cannot be still. He wants to suggest they do this tomorrow, or the day after. Leo had only woken two days ago. He still needs to adjust, he needs more time before they break it to him. It is only his reluctance to face the truth; his fear of breaking down his older brother a little more after what he'd already done to him that has his tongue glued to the top of his mouth.
Raphael agreed this morning to tell him and it felt right, in the glow of the sunrise, washing the kitchen in comforting light, a mug of coffee warming his palms, steeling his nerves. He had asked, after all. He had a right to know. But now, Donatello finds himself unable to speak. Neither to offer up that they do this another time nor to say what needs to be said. And every time he looks to Raphael for support, his brother's angry glare is directed elsewhere.
April stands supportive but apart, and Donatello can guess that she feels this is something that needs to be dealt with between them. Between immediate family. The moment is upon him and he can't. He looks up at Leonardo's face, puffy and bruised in places still, despite the time passing. And there is a look that haunts the color of Leo's eyes and it makes Donatello's breath catch and his heart squeeze and thump.
It is Michelangelo who decides for them. It is Michelangelo who rises to the challenge. The youngest surpassing his brothers where courage is required. And Donatello cannot help but admire Michelangelo for it, in spite of his fears.
"You wanted to know about Splinter," Mikey begins and inches to the edge of the folding chair near the head of the bed Leo is reclining on. He and Leo lock gazes. Leo gives an abrupt nod.
Donatello shoots April a nervous glance. Raphael stops pacing, but isn't looking at anyone. His arms are crossed and he stares straight into the wood paneling of the wall. Donatello gets up and stands near the window, allowing April to take his place. She does and takes Leonardo's hand into hers, rubs the top of his hand encouragingly. Leo continues to stare at Mikey.
"April thought she could lead us to where she felt them."
Leo glances at April and she gives him a small nod and squeezes his hand gently.
"And she did. We found Splinter not far from the lair. But the Shredder was there and they were fighting."
The soft whine that his breathing continues to create pauses.
"It was, uh, pretty, um, intense."
Raphael hasn't moved. Donatello peers over his shoulder. Eyes wide with the memory, filled with fear for Leonardo's reaction.
"But Sensei fought so hard, Leo. You should've seen him! You wouldn't think that Shredder even had a chance! B-But . . . But he couldn't," Mikey takes a shuddering breath. "The Shredder overpowered him, Leo. Master Splinter was . . . well, h-he," Mikey pauses in alarm as Leo starts to sit forward.
"Easy, Leo," April says and places a hand on his shoulder. Raphael appears on the opposite side of the bed and props another pillow behind Leonardo's shell to help support him. April shoots Raph a grateful smile, but he doesn't see it. His eyes are huge and worried and locked on Leonardo's face. She's never seen such a look on the brash turtle before. It makes her heart hurt to see him so vulnerable.
Mikey continues. "He was thrown into the water . . . like this big drain and we lost him," Mikey's voice catches on the last word.
The whining sound emitted from Leonardo's chest grows rapid and louder. He stares at April's hands, frowning as the room falls into silence. Outside the window, a chickadee peeps merrily. A breeze rattles the newly forged spring leaves clinging with baby stems to gnarled branches and a few, too weak to see the season emerge, lost before their glory, break loose to brush and dance against the window's glass. The sound of it seems loud to him. Exaggerated. It hurts his head.
Sensei.
Master Splinter.
'we lost him.'
He winces. Everyone is watching him. Waiting for the reaction. He feels their expectations. The weight of it upon his straining chest. No one makes a sound. No one moves.
Father.
The bird stops singing. Dust motes twirl in lazy arcs across the thin beam of dying light seeping through the thin curtains. The only sound heard throughout the room is the awful wheezing, whining, shrill noise of Leonardo's struggling lungs. He needs to say something. They need him. They still need him, no matter what happened to Master Splinter. It's up to him. He's their leader. He's eldest. And if Sensei is gone . . . He must be brave. But he feels cold. He can't stop trembling from it. Why is he so cold?
He closes his eyes. When he speaks, it is hoarse and wavering, low and nearly as painful to hear as it is for him to speak.
"He's not dead."
There is a further beat of awkward silence, then everyone speaks at once, "No, we don't mean-" "Of course not-" "Shredder could never beat him-" "You're right, Leo-"
Leo's hands slips out from beneath April's. He holds it up and instantly they fall silent again. No one notices how badly it shakes, or if they do, they hide it well. He takes the moment and looks each one of his brothers and friend in the eye. He takes in a disjointed breath and forces the lie from his dry mouth, over his parched lips.
"He'll come."
This time no one says a word. He can't bear the impression that none of his brothers actually believes this. He can't deal with the fear and the dread, the pity and the delicate hope that springs into their eyes. It is too much. And he is hurting. Inside. Outside. He is so tired. And cold. They need to hear more but that's the best he can do for them right now. His mind scatters. Leaves in the wind. Birds flying away. To some place where summer is perpetual and no winter nor chilled damp spring must be endured. Escaping the bleak times.
When he closes his eyes, he can see his father falling. Tumbling and brittle. Into the swirling drain. Being swallowed whole. Lost forever.
The whining sound twists and squeaks before he can control it. His eyes twitch. He can't let them see this. He can't let them down. They need to believe that Splinter is okay, even when he doubts. Even when . . . after the fight . . . how strong the Shredder was, how relentless . . . cruel . . . undefeatable . . . like a demon. A monster.
A tremor sweeps through him as this image of Shredder brings wave after wave of piecemeal memories; laced bright with pain and shame and terror. There is a need to run. To flee. But his legs are heavy and won't barely shift beneath the weight of the blanket. He is trapped. He sweeps his eyes to the folded blanket laying across his battered plastron. He pinches them closed.
Help me. Someone help me.
April stands up. "Leo needs to rest now," she announces.
And with her words, the tableau shatters and everyone scurries around him; brought back from their individual bleak or hopeful thoughts. They remind Leo to rest and not to worry and then one by one, they leave him. He remains upright for another minute, listening. Their footsteps and voices fade. And slowly, Leonardo's head falls back against the pillow that Raph had placed there.
The soft whining sound grows louder as his aching chest heaves and his burning eyes close.
I will not believe that he is gone. I will not. I have to be strong for them. I will be strong. For them. For Sensei. Splinter.
Father.
No. Please don't be gone. Please. I need you.
The emotions crash through him and he is too weak to fight them. He is swept into the storm of anguish before he can shore up the edges of his reason, before he can lie adequately enough to fool himself, before he can brace for it; it's already over. He is lost. The sob rises up so fast that he barely has enough time to shove the pillow into his mouth to hide it.
April pours the tea into the mug. Her hand pauses, suspended in mid-air; head cocked, brow furrowed. Slowly, she puts the kettle back in place and twists to listen better. It isn't so much a sound, as something else. Like when she knew that Splinter was close. Those flashes, too quick to really understand what they were showing her. But enough to drive her forward. It is similar. This brief illumination of . . . pain.
She hurries across the floor to the back door. Through the screen, she can see Casey working on the rusted out old truck he'd found in the barn. Donatello is shaking his head and no doubt pointing out every mistake Casey is making in his attempts to get the engine working again. Raphael is standing under the willow tree. His shell to the farmhouse, staring out into the pond, where she found him most days when he wasn't at Leonardo's side. For the most part, there is nothing in this scene to suggest anyone is in trouble. She knows they are all dealing with what happened to them in their own ways. They each have had good days and not-so-good days.
The strange vibration comes again and she freezes. And just in that instant, she knows the source.
With dread in the pit of her stomach, she creeps up the stairs, one at a time; for some reason, unwilling to make any noise to alert him of her approaching. Feeling at once like an intruder and a rescuer. The waves are stronger now and her shaking legs want her to turn around. To run away. To find a distraction that she'd so desperately sought in the seemingly never-ending months that they'd been isolated up here. Anyway that she could – drawing, gardening, writing, knitting – to force the thoughts of her father – oh, her sweet lost father - of Master Splinter's agonizing defeat, of Leonardo's crawl towards recovery and the possibility of him never awakening from her mind.
But she will not run. She will be strong for them, as she's been these past long weeks. And though it hasn't been easy, she's done everything she can for these people . . . these special people that are dearer to her than anything else in the entire world. Her family.
He is hunched over on his side, a pillow crushed against his face and his body is shaking violently. At first, she thinks that he is in the midst of a seizure and there is a scream, a shout, a hysterical cry for Donatello, bubbling up in the back of her throat that she must pounce upon and strangle back, because in the next instant, she sees – he is sobbing. And why wouldn't he?
Her heart stumbles as she dashes across the few yards that separate them. She drapes her arms around him and feels his body jump in response to the contact. He is choking and gasping as she starts to embrace him more firmly, yanking the pillow from his gaping mouth. Speaking softly reassuring words, and half-words and comforting noises, telling him all at once not to cry that everything will be okay, that it's okay to hurt, that she is there for him, and there is no shame in it, to let it out and every other inconsistent and gentle thing that she could think of to say to him.
Until the shuddering eases. Until the choking and coughing subsides to hitching hiccupping gasps. Until his head rolls back from her soaking shoulder and he collapses into the pillows. And the haggard eruptions of his shattered voice resumes the whispering wheezing sound of surrender. She holds him. She pets his face and wipes the tears and his nose. She leans her cheek gently upon his and shakes her head, unable to say anything more. Out of comprehensible words, but not out of comfort for him. Never that.
When he opens his puffy eyes and peers at her from between red rims, there is pleading in his expression. She spares him the use of his aching throat. She smooths the blanket and murmurs, "Don't worry. No one will know, Leo. I promise."
His eyes close and he wheezes a deep breath of relief. She runs her hand over his damp forehead and down across his cheek to his jaw, cupping it lightly. She feels him press slightly into the palm of her hand.
"I was there, too, Leo," she says quietly. "Splinter isn't gone. And I promise you," she says as he cracked his eyes open again, "I swear it, Leo. He will not abandon us. He will find a way back to us. Somehow."
Leo blinks and his breath hitches.
"And if we have to, we'll find him."
Leo's gaze focuses and sharpens. She looks back at him with a fixed determination. Her voice grows steadier and firmer. The light in her eyes, fierce and without doubt. He feels the strength pour from her into him and it fills him; restores him.
"You will get better. And we will get back to our home. To Splinter. However long it takes. Whatever it takes, right?"
Leo grips her hand tightly. He nods.
"Yes."
A/N: You know, I'm starting to grow rather fond of that April girl. . .