Red in the morning, sailors take warning.
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Chapter 2: Red Sky
The battle begins quickly once the courtesies are exchanged and Don immediately finds himself on the defense. His opponent, Slader, a hulk of a man with a Purple Dragon tattoo, swings a heavy arm in a punch intended for his head. But he ducks, feigns to the right in time to avoid another.
He's calculating. His concentration hasn't been up to par lately, but he's trying to do what he does best—use reason over brawn in the heat of battle. This man is quick for his size, though every strike is packed with brute strength. The confidence he carries behind each attack isn't feigned either. He's well-practiced and perfectly executed despite one major weakness.
Don ducks low under an attempted backhanded punch. He can tell even by the meager seconds of studying the spar has allowed him, that this man favors his upper body to a fault. Quickly, he snaps up into a kick that connects with the man's toned abdomen. He's solidly muscled, but still staggers backwards from the blow.
Don takes his opportunity, another jab under the man's chin with a quick upper cut lands squarely in its place, perfectly calculated. But not everything goes according to plan. The man regains his ground too quickly, planting his feet hard on the texture of the mats. There's a wolfish look in those cold steel eyes when Don realizes he's been caught off guard. A swift kick to the temple, sudden and completely unexpected, connects with a blinding force, turning the light a stunning shock of white before the ground is coming up to meet his face. Or is he falling? He puts out his hands to break the impact, but still ends up connecting, the whole world snapping dark.
"No! Leave him alone!" A voice squeals from Leonardo's right. A quick intake of breath and he finds Mikey's jumped out of the circle, planning to attack his brother's assailant. Mikey is a blur of raw emotion and energy, springing upward for a flying kick to the man's face. But Slader's too quick, grabbing hold of Mike's ankle and slamming him onto the floor from midair before the blow can connect.
Raph's growling louder now, charging in place of his brothers, and Leo finds his feet planted to the ground, his breath escaping him as the battle unfolds. "Raph, no! Mikey!" But neither would turn to listen. He could only look on, horrified.
Raph moves in for an uppercut as Mikey regains his ground. They exchange quick glances before charging in together, despite the calls of both Leonardo and Shiryou-Sensei.
"Don't you dare fuck with my brother!" Leo hears Raph hiss with a wince, but he's given up calling out from the sidelines. Slader looks just as determined to end this fight as Mike and Raph do. Even Shiryou steps down, looking on silently in the outer rim of the circle, mildly amused.
It doesn't take long for Slader to knock Raph on the ground like a rag doll with a blow to the chest. He doesn't stay down for long, but in the time it takes for him to regain his ground, Slader's already gone for Mikey.
Mike, with fists at the ready, crouches low and swoops in for an attack. Drawing back his fist for a punch to a pressure point on the man's thigh, his plan doesn't go as expected. Instead, the man's drawing his target leg back, and quicker than he can realize, Mikey's blinking away stars.
Raph's eyes immediately dart to his brother, kneeling on the ground cradling his jaw with a stunned expression. In an instant, Raph's back on his feet and Leo's finally let go of his resolve, taking a step into the empty circle.
"Enough!" The piercing cry, laced with venom is enough to strike the room into silence. Shiryou-Sensei steps stiffly into the circle, scanning the floor with a look of disgust as he side-steps Donatello's still motionless body. Raph takes the opportunity to console a now silently tearful Mikey. Leo's heart sinks to the floor when he notices Don's remained unmoving. "Enough of this pathetic excuse for a sparring match. You all disgust me. Leave my sight!"
The room empties in an instant, and Slader scans the room with a look of satisfaction. Leo's knelt by Don's side, attempting to gently rouse him into consciousness. A breath of relief when his eyes flicker open with a stifled moan.
A soft, humorless laugh catches his attention from above. Meeting those near-expressionless stone-cut eyes was enough to make his blood run cold.
"Maybe next time," the man laughs bitterly, his voice as flat and frigid as his eyes. He breaks the gaze, stealing a glance at Donatello, whose eyes had snapped closed again. "I hope to God you're a better challenge than your brothers, freak. It's been a while. Watch your back."
And with a toothy sideways grin, the man turns smoothly for the exit, never uttering another word.
"That fucking bastard," Raph breathes, his hand pressed against the back of Mikey's shell, helping him stand. He still has his hand cradling his aching jaw. In a flash of anger, Raph snaps at the man's retreating form. "Yeah, you better run, you son of a bitch."
Luckily the man just kept walking, throwing an icy glare over his shoulder before disappearing out the papered door.
"Raph, please! Get a hold of yourself. You're lucky Shiryou-Sensei didn't think of any other punishments today."
Raph's head couldn't have snapped up faster into that venomous glare if he tried. Mostly, it was reflex. "You want me to get a hold of myself?" He laughs, bitter sarcasm dripping from every word. "You're the one too busy walking around in that mindless daze of yours to even care if some bastard's mopping the floor with your own brother!"
Leonardo instinctively presses a protective hand to Donatello's chest. He still hadn't moved much since the room cleared, and his eyes are still closed. "Yeah, that's right, Raph. I don't care about my brother's welfare. That's my entire problem right there."
"You knew Don ain't been feeling well, and you didn't even flinch!"
"Fine! Then I'm heartless!" He spits, turning back to Don. He can't fight back the pang of cold guilt when his brother visibly flinches from the noise, sluggishly bringing his hand up to press against the swelling lump on his temple. "What the hell was I supposed to do?" He asks, more quietly this time, the volume failing to dull the bite behind his words.
"I don't know, think a' something! You're supposed to be leader, Leo. You got a hell of a lot more respect than any of us do around here… for some twisted reason. Open your goddamn yap for a change! How about that? Or maybe you were too busy starin' into space to notice."
"What makes you think," Leo hisses, "That they would to listen to me when even you didn't? Do you realize that the match would have been declared over if you had just stayed where you were supposed to!?"
Michelangelo, sitting just a few feet from a fuming Raphael, is too busy concentrating on the horrendous throbbing of his jaw to keep tabs on the argument. After stealing a look at a half-conscious Donnie still sprawled on the floor, he rolls his eyes pleadingly to Leo and foolishly opens his mouth. "Ugh... guysh..." He slurs, pressing his eyes closed at the piercing ache exploding through his jawline. He clamps his mouth shut and opts for an agitated moan instead, elbowing Raph unceremoniously in the side.
"Well somebody's gotta be awake enough ta have a backbone around here. Bet you just love it when they treat us like scum. Crazy bastard." Raph's hot-tempered glare switches from Leo to Mike without even shifting gears. "Yeah, what... oh."
Motioning to himself and Donatello, that expression was enough. Even without words it said 'Yeah, hey? Pay a little attention to your half alive brothers, please.'
Raph only stares at Don and shrugs, offering a condescending half-apology to no one in particular. "Eh, whatever. We probably should take these guys to the infirmary. Think you can stick with us long enough ta handle that, Fearless?"
Leo doesn't respond. The dojo is silent, and he feels their sick amusement coiling around him like a vice. He doesn't dare meet Shiryou's eyes. He doesn't dare meet anyone's. Nothing awaits him there.
If this is what 'backbone' gets them, Leo wants nothing to do with it.
"Hey. Hey. You listening?"
"What?" Leonardo blinks as a rough hand presses briefly into his forehead, then flicks away to grab a pen stationed behind the man's ear. The human frowns and flips through a stack of papers fastened to his clipboard, tapping the tip of the pen against a chart.
"Your friend there has a grade four concussion."
"Grade four?"
The fear in his voice must have been tangible, because the man's features soften a little, and he lets the papers fall into place. "Not as bad as it sounds. He woke up a few minutes ago. The fact that he lost consciousness at all is the only thing making him a four-grader." He grins, wedging the pen back into the crook of his ear. "He might have had his bell rung harder than Liberty's, but he's far from out."
Leonardo can't really find anything to laugh about. He loses interest as the medic continues speaking, focusing on attempting to burn holes into the curtains that cut off half of the room. He knows Mikey and Raph are probably a few spaces over—he can hear Mikey's complaining muffled by his jaw, and Raphael's subsequent scolding. ("Where the hell's the medic," Leo hears, and would gladly hand him over if he could.)
"More importantly, what about you?" An eerily fascinated voice interrupts his thoughts, and Leo recoils in shock as his vision erupts into a blinding brightness. He clenches his eyes, colors swimming beneath the darkness of his lids, and pulls his arm up over his face. "Oh. A reaction."
The medic sounds distantly surprised. By the time Leo's eyes begin working, the papers are flipped over the edge of the clipboard again, and he's scribbling something onto a fresh chart. "Have any headaches? Nausea? Confusion on a regular basis?"
"What? I...what are you talking about?"
"I see," he murmurs sagely, and makes more marks on his paper. "What about loss of balance? Blurred vision? Have you—"
"Hey! Would someone get over here an' shut him up already!?"
The medic pauses, scratching something into the corner of the paper before lifting the pen away. "Kasumi will take care of them. I'm not done with you yet," he informs his unwilling patient, and points the silver nose in Leo's general direction. "Come by again later."
Leo has no idea what the hell just happened. At this point, he doesn't really care. Breakfast should be starting in the mess hall soon, and if they're late, they have to wait til lunch, but that's the last thing on his mind right now. "Uh...yeah, sure. Later," he lies. Medics always made him nervous, and why this one happened to take special interest in him did nothing to settle his worries. Instead, he changes the subject. "So he's going to be okay, right?"
The man gives him a dubious look, chewing thoughtfully on the clicker of his pen. "Didn't you already ask me that?"
Leo's laugh sounds a lot like a sigh. "Heh, did I?"
"Yes, you did."
That unsettling feeling in his stomach only spreads when the man starts scribbling fervently onto his clipboard. He straightens himself for a glance, but the man only moves away, throwing him a sideways glance. "Hey, what are you writing about me?" He asks, trying not to squirm under his scrutinizing gaze.
"Mmm... personal notes," he hums without pausing.
Leo frowns. "You didn't answer my question."
"Of course I did. You asked me what I was writing, and I told you."
He's trying to keep his patience. He really is. But this man is impossible. He grits his teeth and tries to sound polite. "Sir, that's not—" he breathes, shakes his head. "That's not what I meant. If it's about me, it can't possibly be personal."
The man's smile only broadens over his clipboard. "My, aren't we conceited. Who said these notes have anything to do with you?"
Leo bites his tongue as the medic continues to scribble. But he's too busy working his fingers out of their fists to respond. As if he wasn't feeling humiliated enough before, this man decides to push it to a whole new level.
Three taps of the clicker against the metal clipboard and his eyes travel reluctantly back to the man's. He's staring back with a dangerous half-smile. "So," he says quickly, his lips twitching only slightly, "do you always have that little tic in your left eye?"
"No, I don't!" Leo bursts out before he can smother it. But his eyes widen and he clears his throat despite the medic's growing smile, continuing in a more collected voice. "And I'm not the problem here. There's nothing wrong with me, so stop asking me ridiculous questions and pay attention to my brother. Please."
The medic only grins while flipping through the pages of his clipboard. Leo only can let out a relieved sigh when the man finishes, tucking the notes under his arm with a thoughtful smile. "He'll be fine. I'll send him to your quarters as soon as he feels up to it."
"Hey, Leo." He almost jumps at the sound of Raph's voice. He's leaning against the door frame with Mikey standing closely behind, looking miserable with an icepack pressed to his swelling cheek."Good news. Nimrod here can't talk!"
He could only throw a sympathetic look at his very silent, very unhappy-looking brother.
In a flash the medic was across the room, softly prodding at Mikey's swollen jaw. Looking slightly offended, Mike opens his mouth to protest, only to find himself wincing a second later.
"Yep, for a few days until the swelling goes down. Until then you're going to have one very sore mouth."
"Best day of my life," Raph sighs happily, earning himself a bombardment of disapproving glares. He only shrugs and changes the subject before it can earn him another lecture on compassion. "Don's all right, ain't he?" All of a sudden he can't take his eyes off his brother's sleeping form laid on a cot pressed against the far wall and the impressive bruise forming at his temple.
"Yes, he should be fine," the medic chuckles. "Though he may not be feeling too hot when he wakes up. Still, in a couple days, he'll be fighting-fit."
"Sounds good enough to me," he breathes, moving his eyes almost painfully back to Leo's. "So you coming to breakfast, Fearless? 'Cause I don't plan on goin' hungry."
The cafeteria is far too bright to be pleasant. Everything is painted in a sterile white with cleanly polished steel counters and endless rows of tables, filled with almost deafening chatter. They're the second group to eat, with the white belts just before them, and the food is a mix of slowly cooling leftovers and the freshly-prepared. He has memories of his white belt days, of watching tired cooks roll out vats of cold soup and slide watery eggs onto polished counter tops. It was torturous then, when they were forced to stomach cold rice and half-frozen fish just because the massive stovetops were reserved for beginning the present day's meals. Back then there were many days Leo would decide it better to not eat at all.
Their privileges as yellow belts are few and hardly spectacular, but Leo can't help the lightness that overtakes him at the warm plates dotting the countertop. The detour to the infirmary had assured that most of the leftover food from the white belts had been taken, and now the omelettes and fish are bathed in an inviting steam. Already he can feel Raph increasing the pace towards the bamboo trays stacked on the nearest pedestal. Mikey makes a small, sad sound beside him, and he turns to see his brother gazing at the plates forlornly, clenching the ice pack against his face. He offers a sympathetic gaze—it's not often that they get to eat food fresh out of the kitchen, and with that jaw, he'd be lucky if he could open his mouth wide enough to get a pair of chopsticks in.
A tray is suddenly shoved into Leo's plastron, his own chopsticks clattering as they roll across the hard surface. Leo grunts, his fingers closing around the edges, and shoots up his gaze to find a mildly annoyed Raphael balancing two more trays in his free hand. "Stop holdin' up the line, psycho," he growls, and turns towards the counter. Still upset about the dojo incident, Leo decides, and pins the chopsticks against the tray with his thumb as he hands the third one to Mikey.
After everything that's happened in the span of a single morning, Leo discovers that he isn't really hungry. He chooses a bowl of rice with a raw egg on top, a small saucer of sashimi, and a cup of green tea. It looks pathetic on the comparatively huge tray, and he feels bad for not taking advantage of the opportunity, but his mind isn't on food. Not anymore.
Next to him, Raph is loading just about everything he can fit onto his plate; Leo is fairly sure that he doesn't even know what some of the food is, and will be in for a nasty surprise in a few moments. Mikey is hanging back with a tortured look on his face, eyeing each food item carefully before moving on to the next. After a moment he chooses a tamagoyaki bento and a rice bowl, though Leo can see his gaze piercing a pancake smeared with red bean paste as though burning it into his mind for eternity.
Silence weighs thickly as they eat. Raph digs into his food without shame or pause, his plates and saucers rapidly stacking over one another. Mikey, looking like he would love to do nothing but the same, simply swirls his chopsticks around the rice, occasionally glaring at the eggs as though regretting even getting them in the first place. Leo cringes as he watches his youngest brother halfheartedly bring a helping of rice up to his mouth, only to moan and set it back moments later.
His own food is plain and unappetizing, despite the warmth that flows into his hands when he grips the bowl. In his memories, cube-shaped omelettes and sticky rice have always existed, always met him in the early mornings and late evenings. And he's always eaten it without fail. Always ignored the voice at his throat, telling him to go to meals that never were. Freedoms that never break the surface, always swimming under sheets of ice and cold.
Tradition, like clockwork. That is all there is.
Like many times before, his food turns to ashes in his mouth. Leo gives up and pushes it away. Raphael looks over, swallows a mouthful of something, and gestures towards Leo's tray with his chopsticks. "What? Not hungry?" His voice is slurred by the bits of food that remain in his mouth, and Leo is having trouble telling whether or not he's just trying to be irritating. He shakes his head, and his brother blinks at the half-eaten rice and untouched sashimi. After a moment the confused look dissolves, and he clicks the ends of his chopsticks together. "Can I have it then?"
Leo snorts. "Knock yourself out."
Not a moment later, his rice bowl disappears. Mikey sends Raph a look of absolute death as he tears into it. When Raph fails to even look at him, he huffs, crossing his arms over his plastron and focusing on some blank spot over Leo's shoulder.
Leonardo turns back to his tray, tightening his mouth at the saucer of raw fish. After today, just thinking about eating it is enough to turn his stomach. "Don't you want the sashimi, too?"
"No. That stuff tastes like shit," Raphael says pointedly. "You took it, eat it for—" He suddenly trails off, eyes snapping up to Leo, and then to somewhere behind him. "What do you want?"
Leonardo spins around. "Oh."
Oh, no.
Oh God, no.
"Oh," says the medic, eyeing Leonardo's untouched sashimi. That dangerous grin spreads itself across his face again, and his fingers twitch as though he's still taking those damn notes. "So I can put you down for 'lack of appetite', then?"
Leo moans and drops his head into his hands, willing all of creation to go away. The world informs him that it's not going to happen: a slight rush of air as the medic takes a seat, the sound of his tray smacking the metal table, and the subsequent whispering that explodes around them.
If nothing else, the hushed voices pull Leo from his reverie. He meets their eyes now, challenges in their faces, but his is outlined with equal shock. Their expressions harden in stone, shifting from Leo and his brothers to the medic, back to each other, and finally to their plates as they'd chosen to suddenly erase this human from existence. Leo sees the girl with the braid in her hair, leaning forward in her seat—she almost looks lost, but the ice in her eyes doesn't allow it. Her gaze lingers past the others.
"Hey, Lock-jaw." Leo turns to see the medic staring at Mikey, who seems very appropriately frightened. "How's that face looking?"
Raph cuts in. "About as good as it usually does. Exactly who's askin', anyway?"
"Tama Hiroshi." The man offers his name nonchalantly, shifting his gaze down to Mikey's tray, which is splattered with rice. His face twists sympathetically and he plucks a hot bowl of rice porridge off his tray. "I figured as much. Try this."
Mike smiles and hungrily takes the bowl, completely lacking the well-practiced caution Leo would have hoped his brother had learned in these eighteen years. No such luck, it seems.
"So, Space Case." There's an eager silence, and Leo almost winces when he finds he's the one being addressed.
"I'm Leo."
"Is that sashimi all you're having, Space-o?"
Mikey snorts back a laugh, managing to inhale a chunk of porridge along with it. Leo's frown deepens. That was a display he probably could have done without. "No, it's not," he mutters darkly. If there's one thing he hates, it's being mocked. But he doesn't react, just rearranges the fish in the saucer like nothing in the world could faze him. But Raph is tensed across the table, teeth locked into the ridges of his chopsticks with the first signs of a tight-lipped smile. Mikey, on the other hand, is busy beating his chest to dislodge that glob of porridge from his throat. Then again, he never had been one for subtlety.
Leo sighs. This day just couldn't end sooner. Too bad it was barely morning.
"Hey, are you all right?" It was Hiroshi again, tilting his head into his line of sight. Leo hadn't even noticed he'd closed his eyes.
"Yes, I'm fine," he says coldly, only with a hint of bite to it. There was the first signs of a headache blossoming between his eyes, but at least the man's face had sobered for now.
"I'm just teasing, you know... and you make it such great sport."
"Glad I could help," Leo grumbles, forcing himself a bite of sashimi.
Another moment of tension and Raph finally breaks in. There's anger in his voice this time. "Okay, spill it. Is this your idea of a sick joke? 'Cause last time I checked, nobody's laughing."
"I don't know what you—"
"I bet your buddies put you up to this. Go sit with the freaks an' see if they'll eat you for breakfast instead, huh? Well we ain't buyin'. Go sit where you belong, asshole."
Hiroshi sinks back in his chair for a moment, but he's still brave enough to look Raph straight in the eye. "Normally I sit in the infirmary during meals. People here don't treat you and I much differently, to tell the truth. Today, I thought I'd try something new."
"Just let him stay, Raph," Leo sighs. At this point, he really could care less what was happening. The sleepless night before is starting to catch up with him fast. He's more interested in thinking of ways to work a nap into his busy schedule than getting put off by some guy eating with them on a whim.
He had been busy grudgingly picking off the last of his sashimi when yet another shadow appeared at the edge of their table. This time it's just a boy, barely fifteen, if even that. The look of fear in his eyes is palpable, visibly flinching when Leo meets his gaze. "Uh..." His voice cracks, grabbing the others' attention. The poor boy wrings his hands, taking a step backwards to put more space between them. "Are you Leonardo?"
Leo nods slowly, afraid to scare the boy off even breathing too hard. "I am."
"The Master requests a meeting with you and your brothers at nightfall. He... didn't say why."
Ah, so this boy is a messenger. He probably started out as some street punk scraped off the streets not too long ago. Not only is he American, but he talks with a Brooklyn accent. Still, the boy's presence does little to ease the new worry his message brings. Ninja only go to see the Master for two reasons, and two reasons only: missions and discipline.
Leo nods grimly. "Thank you. We'll be there."
As the boy hastes a bow and retreats, Leo can't shake the sinking feeling that turns his stomach cold. After this morning's little display, there's a good chance they'll be paying the price for their sloppiness in the near future. He can only pray fate will smile upon them in this one. He's seen enough ninja with missing limbs to know the consequences of the latter.
"I'm going to take a nap," he breathes faintly. His head buzzes with activities that no longer exist, dropped from his mind like a cut beehive. A meeting with the Master guarantees a cleared schedule. He stands up. As though on instinct, his brothers move to join him. Their eyes say that they want to be anywhere but here, where mirthful spite is written in the air around them. They fight through the words, silencing them with the soles of their feet and the tiled floor.
"Hey, Space." Leo pauses, turns around. Hiroshi's expression is grim, but a smile is etched onto his face as he gives a slight wave. "Good luck."
