Cursive means past events.

Little Foot Lost

The darkness of the lair was lit up only by the familiar soft glow coming from Donatellos room. The brainy turtle rubbed his tired eyes, having long since lost track of time, engrossed in whatever project had been stealing his time lately. Sitting back in his chair, he sighed and listened to the comforting sounds of his sleeping family. He could even identify his beloved brothers by the sounds they made in their sleep.

Raphael snored like a wood chipper, passed out on the couch in the living room, another hard night out with the vigilante known as Casey Jones. The two had met about two years before, and had made a habit of teaming up in their nightly treks of beating up random purse snatchers and drinking far too much alcohol, though lately Raph had been coming home with another kind of bruise on his neck, which Don doubted came from fighting, or at least not the bad kind.

Michelangelo laid in his own room, surrounded by his comics, his snores softer than Raphaels, littered with giggles and sounds, his youngest brother acting out his beloved comic books in his dreams, no doubt partaking in the adventures himself.

Leonardo and Splinter were both similar in this, it was more the absence of snores that Don recognized, more of soft murmurs and the occasional grunt originating from his elder brothers room, and Splinter made no sounds at all, the ancient rat sensei having more control of his slumber than his sons.

But there was a new set of sounds these last few nights.

It had been an otherwise normal excursion over the rooftops of the city, sans Raph, who had skipped practice to "patrol" with Casey, though Donatello had some other theories of what the two hotheads were up to.

Leonardo had spotted him, the blue-clad turtle as always on high alert. The man who was hiding in the shadows of the rooftops was dressed in ninja garb, face covered in a black mask with a foot sign on it. A Foot Ninja.

The shadowy figure sat crawled up in an almost fetal position, the familiar garb of the Foot all too evident, a katana laid discarded nearby.

The three mutant turtles surveying the strange sight were unsure what to do, the Foot normally attacked on sight. And they sure didn't seem to cry.

Mike was the first to break the silence. "Uh, Leo, is… is that guy crying?"

The blue-garbed ninja, the eldest of the brothers, known as Leonardo frowned deeply, even he was unsure what to do, enemies were enemies, but usually the Foot were the ones who initiated combat. "…it could be a trick"

"I'm not so sure, bro; those sobs sound pretty genuine to me." They kept their voices low, mostly whispers, though the ninja seemed completely oblivious to their presence.

Slowly, the three brothers crept closer to the figure, Donatello suddenly clearing his throat loudly. The ninja darted upright, scrambling for his katana, taking up an awkward battle stance, something even the most inexperienced Foot would never do. When he saw the mutants in front of him, he lowered his weapon again.

The first words he said were the ones the Turtles least expected.

"Help…me"

That had been over a week ago.

Donatello shut his computer off for the night and strolled out into the dark living room, Raphaels snoring like a rusty chainsaw by now. Smiling, he walked up to the door of the guest room and looked at the sleeping ninja within.

The ninja they had met on the rooftop that night was a young man, barely out of his teens yet. From what little he had told them, he was on the run from the Foot, though he wouldn't explain why he had escaped from them. It was fairly easy to figure out why though. His body was riddled with scars. Far too many to have come from battle alone.

He had passed out again before they had managed to bring him back to the lair, though when they finally managed to carry him inside, he became lucid briefly.

"Shredder… Don't… let…"

Leonardo who had carried him most of the way laid him down gently on the couch, raised his eyebrows at the words. Mikey chuckled "Heh, even Tin-Grins own soldiers doesn't like him!".

"This isn't anything to joke about, Mikey. I think he's really sick." Don frowned, placing his hand on the masked face, the feverish heat pressing through cloth. Don was about to peel the mask off to look for wounds when the mans hand shot up, grabbing his wrist tightly, the other two turtles reaching for their weapons in reflex.

"Don't… please don't take it…"

"Alright man, calm down, no one is going to take your mask off" Don said calmly, the ninja closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep again. "Mikey, go get Master Splinter, I think we'll need his help." Mikey nodded, and ran off, leaving the other two brothers standing over their new patient.

"…I don't think Splinter is going to like this, Leo"

True, Splinter had been less than pleased that they had brought back a Foot ninja to their secret lair, but his disapproval had vanished, the old rat sensei knowing that the man had needed help, enemy or not. It was not in his nature, not in his sons nature to abandon anyone.

They were shocked to see the scar-riddled flesh of the ninja when they removed his uniform, though they left his mask on as he had asked. Most of the scars had been from cutting weapons, some they had recognized as slashes from very familiar claws. Those of the Shredder himself. He guessed that the Shredders view on ninjitsu training was a bit more extreme than the turtles were used to.

Don sighed as he watched the man stir and groan in anguish in his sleep, he could only guess what his dreams consisted of. Since they had brought him home, he had only been awake brief moments, enough to drink some water and soup, but nothing else, they didn't even know his name yet. His mask was tangled and soaked in sweat, but they had left it on, only bringing it up to his nose so he would drink. The odd, bug-like eyeholes of the Foots mask didn't even permit them to see his eyes.

Finally, the turtle stretched himself, his veins popping lightly, deciding to catch some sleep himself, it was far past midnight by now, and Leo always got cranky if you overslept for practice, though personally, Don thought 6 AM was a little excessive. However, just as he turned around…

"H-Hello?"