A/N: Once again in Simone Robinson's style. Once again I apologise. I wrote this for BlowMyHeartUp for Simone to see.

Hopefully she'll see it, and understand.

Breathe

Breathe.

Brothers come running at the first sign of fear. A gentle touch. A soothing voice.

Hands lifting, holding, folding around a battered body.

C'mon Mikey, you can do it. Hold on.

Just

Breathe.

Breaths come ragged, shaky, struggling for life within.

Time?

A question always asked,

Always answered.

Seven thousand, two hundred exactly.

A nod, an agreement, a sigh.

See Mikey?

A plea for understanding.

You're getting there, just hold on. Just

Breathe.

Only seven thousand, two hundred now.

His eyes cloud over, his spirit wanes.

Mikey?

Mikey!

Don't do this to us bro.

A hug turns harder, firmer, grounding him to reality.

Grounding him to some sanity.

Panic's tranferred from one battered body to the other.

But it seems to double not diminish.

The one that's holding him just takes it all in,

And smooths it,

Calms it,

Covers it over in himself.

Time!

Seven thousand, one hundred and eighty one.

Closer, crawling oh so much closer.

But not close enough.

Can't Raph. ... Just ... can't ...

Breathe!

You can do it Mike!

The rough voice worn softer with worry.

You've done it before.

You're strong.

Stronger than the rest of us.

Stronger than me.

A choke, a sob, a deflated look.

Unknown who started and who finished each one.

Two brothers huddled in the little sanctuary of misery and pain.

Whilst their guardian, watched over them.

Silently sharing.

Time!

Seven thousand, one hundred and sixty nine

His voice is thick with worry too.

The time keeper.

The life keeper.

But not the soul keeper.

Not today.

But he waits, and watches,

Keeping a vigil of his own.

Shhhhhhhh ...

Tender hands hold a scattered mind.

Eyes try to pierce the soul for comprehension.

Breathe.

Don't don't think about it as such a big number

Think about it in pieces.

Tiny little pieces.

And each piece is a number,

And each piece has a reason,

And that reason,

Is getting closer and closer to home.

So rest Mikey,

In the arms of you brothers,

And remember,

Always remember,

It's only,

Seven thousand, one hundred and sixty one minutes,

Until you can breathe,

Until,

Leo.

Gets.

Home.

A/N: Now there seems to be some confusion here and for that I'm sorry. So I thought I would clear it up a little. Leo is NOT dead. Got that? Not. Dead. Whilst I have respect for deathfic writers, I'm not one of them.

So what the shell is going on here then? Well remember in the 2007 movie? Mikey said he has nightmares about birthday parties, with that haunted look in his eye? Well this is what I reckon probably happens in the wee small hours, Mikey's suffering a panic attack, missing Leo real bad, and his brothers are there to help. Raph telling him to breathe and asking Donnie exactly how many minutes there are left before he comes home.

Because getting through minutes is easy. Only takes sixty seconds, right? It's when you focus on the days that the panic starts, and you find it hard to breathe.

So where did I get such precise numbers? Ahhh very good question my wise reviewers and lurkers, and I will answer as cryptically as possible.

It is a date and a time, in the not too distant future. See if you can work it out. The Leo I am talking about is real, and when he gets back, he'll have a tale or two to tell.

And that's when I'll be releasing my next story.

But don't panic. It won't be too long. If you do, just remember to breathe.

'cause Leo and his story are coming home real soon.