A/N: Here we go with chapter three! I should probably warn you now that this story is probably going to cap at about ten chapters, if even that. It's not going to be an epic tale by any means, but it should still be a pretty good read. (: And again, this fic is co-authored by moogsthewriter; if you haven't checked out her bio yet, you really should.

(A sidenote for anyone following Problem Child; I'm very sorry for the irregular updates, and especially sorry for the delay between the last chapter and this upcoming one. I've been working on it when I can, and I hope to have something for you within the next several days. Thank you for your patience!)

chapter three.

The lair was quiet, and it was something Leonardo was becoming unfortunately accustomed to. He wasn't sure what time it was – if he had to guess, he'd say it was around four in the morning – but he knew it was early. Or late, considering they'd only returned a few hours ago, limping back home in a heavy silence that was only broken by Donnie quietly urging Raphael to stay awake.

Now, Leonardo was taking his turn at Splinter's side and keeping an eye on the rest of his family, who curled up together while they slept, with Slash's team spread out around them on the seats and the floor of the pit. One of Leatherhead's massive paws was curled around a duct-taped bear that Leo recognized with a pang – where the alligator had found the ragged thing, Leo didn't know, but he wouldn't begrudge their friend its comfort; even if seeing the silly, lopsided face was as good as a twisting corkscrew through his heart.

The first aid kit was still open, next to where Donatello lay with his head pillowed on Casey's outstretched arm. Raphael was on Casey's other side, with April tucked against his plastron. Crisp, clean bandages created a white halo around Raph's head, and for a moment, Leo was caught up in the memory of a fear that had consumed him; of the way the heavy weight of the fundo had flown through the air; of the way Raph had fallen like a puppet whose strings had been cut, boneless and bleeding.

"You'll be fine," Donnie had assured Raph earlier, hands lingering on his brother's face once he'd finished stitching up the split skin across the back of Raph's skull, like he was afraid to let go entirely. (And shell, that had only happened from a glancing blow; Leo could taste bile in his mouth at the thought of what would've happened if Raph hadn't tried to move out of the way.)

Don's voice lately was nothing but a ghost of itself, and between his soft and suffocating sadness, and the heartbroken fury in each and every harsh line of Raph's body – next to April's stubborn hope, Casey's silent certainty – Leo thought he was going to lose his mind.

"I need you, Father," Leo said, turning his eyes back to Master Splinter's still and silent form. Hating himself for the way his voice choked in his throat, like he was five years old again. "Please wake up. I need your help."

He didn't have the strength to do this. He wasn't enough to do this. He couldn't lead this partial team, or guide this fragmented family – not after his spectacular row of failures. Four times he failed his baby brother; five, if he counted letting Mikey walk away in the first place. Six, if he considered the hours he let pass before they left to bring Mikey home, hours Mikey had spent in the Shredder's hands without their even knowing it.

Leo felt like he was coming apart at the seams, and he couldn't move too fast or he would fall to pieces and never be able to pull himself back together again. There was a pit beginning to yawn open beneath him, like it had at the farmhouse; like it had during the battle that had crippled him.

Leo hadn't known back then if it was a pit of anguish, or desperation, or fury like fire. But in the Shredder's lair – as Mikey stood apart from them, still as stone, knife in hand and bruises an ugly patchwork across his light skin, watching them without a hint of the love and warmth that was as much a part of him as his freckles or his shell – well. Leo had had a pretty good idea what it was that had made his hands shake, his swords sing, his vision burn red.

It was anger. Not only that, but pure, unfiltered rage. Rage at the Shredder, for his never-ending quest to destroy all that Hamato Yoshi held dear.

But even more than that, rage at himself, turned inward like a knife. For not being strong enough, fast enough, smart enough, good enough to keep his family safe. For not being able to protect his youngest brother from the darkness that constantly threatened to rip them apart.

No, all Leo was good for was watching helplessly as the Shredder tightened his grip on Mikey's gentle mind, and ordered him to do things completely against his nature.

"I shouldn't be the leader," he whispered, swiping at his burning eyes. "I've failed you, sensei. I've failed this family. I need – please, please wake up, I can't do this, I just–"

"Leo?"

The sudden voice took him by complete surprise, and his heart jumped into his throat as he turned sharply around. But he knew who it was even before he saw Casey looking at him, eyes wide and forehead wrinkled under a messy mop of dark hair.

"Sorry for waking you," Leo said automatically; softly, in deference to the rest of their still-sleeping siblings. Casey scowled at him without anger, like Leo was stupid for apologizing; like Leo hadn't just interrupted what was possibly the only sleep Casey had found in several days. And Leo was shaken by a sudden storm of fierce gratitude.

Casey and April had been nothing but pillars of steady, unspoken support; relentless loyalty that Leo wasn't sure what he had done to earn or deserve. Worry for their missing brother was evident in their skipped sleep and missed meals, their pale skin and dark eyes.

"Don't be an idiot," Casey muttered in return. And he sat up slowly, easing Donnie's head off his arm and onto a pillow instead, rolling forward onto his knees and reaching out to tug the quilt back over Raph and April where it had slipped off. Scanned the lair quickly as he stood, a flick of brown eyes that looked more like reflex than it did true caution, and Leo shifted over to give him room to sit as Casey finally joined him next to Splinter. "Didn't mean to fall asleep in the first place."

"You need to sleep," was on the tip of Leo's tongue, but he managed to bite it back. They all needed sleep. They all needed a lot of things. And Leo was in no position to give anyone orders or advice. Leo was in no position to give anyone much of anything anymore.

He could feel Casey's eyes tracing his profile, and he could feel it when they dropped away.

"Not gonna pretend I didn't hear what you were sayin' a minute ago," the other boy said starkly, his voice low and even. Everything about him was steady, these days; he was like a bulwark in a sea of long silences and cresting tempers and breaking hearts. And now, in the dim and the quiet of an early, restless morning, Leo wondered who had taught Casey how to be that shield, and why it was something he had needed to learn in the first place. "And for the record, I think you're dead wrong."

Leo blinked at him. Looked down at his hands. Shrugged one shoulder. Casey would say that; any friend would say that. But proof sat all around them – proof that Casey was wrong, that Leonardo was a failure, and that his failure only grew in every moment that passed without Mikey home where he belonged.

Then Casey socked him in the shoulder – hard. Leo only barely managed not to yelp in surprise at the sudden assault. "Ouch," he hissed, eyes going wide as he cringed away from the human and rubbed his arm. "What the heck was that for?"

"Donnie was singin' that same tune earlier," Casey replied, unbothered. "S'how I snapped him out of it, too. That crap's bogus, man, and I don't wanna hear it."

"It's not… Wait," Leo paused; let the unexpected words settle with heavy weight. "Donnie was?"

"Don't sound so surprised. You four can be so much like each other it's insane."

Leo just stared at him, uncomprehending, until Casey sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair.

"He was tinkering with Mike's phone, back... I dunno, a few days after Mikey went missin'. Figured out when Mike got snatched that night, 'cause more than half the texts you sent him were unread." His face darkened. "Turns out, Shredhead showed up just over half an hour before Don did the first location check on 'im."

His eyes fell away, tracing back to where Donatello lay half-curled against a bright cushion, pale and drawn even in his sleep. Leo followed his gaze, feeling a wash of nausea at the memory of Raph pulling up the empty text screen on Mikey's phone – proof that Mikey wasn't going to let them worry, that he was going to reach out to them in apology or compromise, that he was going to let his family know one way or another that he was safe. And it hadn't even been an hour after he'd stormed out of the lair – long, long before Leo would have thought to check on him, or call in himself, had he been the one to leave.

"Don's been kickin' himself about it, big time," Casey murmured, pulling Leo's focus back. "Says he should've checked on Mikey sooner; says he should've known better than to let Mikey go so long without checking in. It's been a full-time job keepin' him from havin' a nuclear meltdown. Good thing the dork's willin' to talk to me, or I'd have to beat this stuff out of him."

Donnie was willing to talk to Casey. The two of them had built a pretty incredible rapport when no one else was looking, they'd been close ever since the farmhouse. And Leo would be grateful for that later, when his head stopped reeling.

"None of this is his fault!" he blurted, voice climbing into something close to a shout. "How could it be?"

"Shh, dude, let 'em sleep," Casey snapped in return, but he reached over, words notwithstanding, and wound an arm around Leo's shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And Leo's heart was racing a hundred miles an hour, very literally about to crash and burn. He'd been so consumed with his own shortcomings that he'd had no idea his brothers were blaming themselves so thoroughly – he hadn't seen that they were hurting even harder under all that obvious agony on the surface.

His failure was even worse than he'd imagined.

And this was usually about the time he pulled away to save face, and disappeared to train or meditate, to keep himself together. But disappearing wasn't exactly an option right now – not with Casey's iron grip on his carapace, and the knowing, determined look in the human's eyes.

"It's not your fault, either," Casey said, voice soft but sharp, like a hidden blade. "Not yours, and not Don's, or Raph's, or Mikey's. This is all on those assholes that took him, the ones tryin' to turn him into somethin' he's not, and they're gonna answer for it. You hear me?"

Leo blinked through an annoying burn in his eyes, staring in awe at this side of his friend he'd never seen before. Casey gave him a rough little shake, adding, "And you're gonna lead the way and we're gonna follow, just like we always do, 'cause we still believe in you. Got that? We believe in you. Mikey believes in you." And then the not-smile on Casey's face edged into something more like the smirk Leo was used to. "So cut it out with this guilt trip already, little brother, 'cause we got shit to do."

And the words each sounded covenant. Like that was the world as Casey Jones knew it; like it was as basic and fundamental to him as the virtues of bushidō were to Leo – virtues of courage and honor and loyalty. It was probably more than a little biased, and it may have been nothing more than the ramblings of a headstrong seventeen-year-old who'd seen enough of the bad to recognize the good. It certainly wasn't anything like his father's gentle encouragement, the wise words Leo usually sought out to soothe his soul. But somehow, it was just as good.

In some ways, Leo thought, closing his eyes against and leaning into the hug Casey was offering, borrowing some of that confidence for himself, just for now, it's even a tiny bit better.

Because Casey was his family even though he didn't have to be, and that meant something. And Leo wasn't sure that what Casey said was true – just as he wasn't quite sure anymore his father had made the right choice in making Leo the leader – but Casey believed it enough for both of them, and that was enough for now.

It had to be.

"Thanks, Casey," Leo murmured, and felt him shrug.

"Don't mention it," came the easy reply. "Seriously. Just tell me – what now?"

Sitting up straight, Leo rubbed a tired hand over his face. "Well," he said, trying not to sigh, trying to force his fatigued mind to function, "this isn't like last time. Mikey – we won't be able to snap him out of this like we did Raph. The mind-control serum is stronger, I think – it has to be, because Mikey would never–" Leo paused, swallowing hard as he looked over at Raph. "When Raph was being controlled he still – he was still Raph. He talked back, he had the same tells, he reacted the same way to me picking a fight with him, even if it took awhile. But Mikey…"

"Mikey don't pick fights," Casey finished. "You won't be able to get him mad like you did Raph."

Nodding, Leo said, "And then there's the fact that… See, Mikey's not always aware of his surroundings like he should be, but… he observes people. He mimics them. And his reflexes – we've always known he's quick to react, it's how he's able to get away with half those pranks of his. But this was… even for Mikey, it was…"

"You think the Shredder is training him?" Casey asked. "Showing him new moves?"

Leo shook his head, chewing his bottom lip. "I don't – maybe a few, but there hasn't been enough time. When we – when we were fighting, he was moving…" Leo trailed off as he looked over at Splinter. "He was using moves I've only ever seen sensei perform. And not – not even moves we've seen him do over and over again, but moves he's used in battle."

Someone stirred behind them, then; a soft rustle of breath and blanket that Leo heard as clearly as a voice beside his ear.

"I noticed that, too," came the quiet murmur, and it was Donnie; sitting upright, alert eyes all the indication Leo needed that his mechanically-inclined brother had been awake and listening for a handful of minutes, at least. "And he's seen all our moves, obviously. We couldn't even touch him, not once. He's going to know every move we make before we make it."

"Which means we'll need to do somethin' unexpected," Slash rumbled, rolling over to face them. His voice was thick and scratchy, a deep timbre Leo wasn't accustomed to, and his eyes were little more than slits of turquoise. "He won't be as familiar with how we fight."

"And if Rockwell used his psychic amplifier to disorient him..." Don began slowly, rubbing his chin; then paused and shook his head. "But the Shredder might be expecting that. We can't plan on his letting Mikey fight us by himself again."

"Especially since Mikey didn't totally follow his orders," Raph added. His forehead and the corners of his eyes were still tight with pain, but his eyes were clear as he looked at Leo. And Leo was the only one to start in surprise at Raph's sudden contribution, looking across the pit at where his immediate younger brother and April were both sitting up, stiff and sleep-ruffled. What, had everyone been awake this whole time? "He had me, and he hesitated," the red-banded turtle continued grimly. "And he could've had you a couple times, too - even I saw that."

Leo had seen it, too. Which meant the Shredder most certainly had.

Leo swallowed hard at the implications, nightmare fuel churning in the pit of his brain at what trouble that strength of spirit might have spelled for his baby brother, and nodded past it. "So odds are we'll be facing more than just Mikey next time. We'll have to be careful. We'll have to be smart."

"What do you think we should do, Leo?" April asked, and Leo felt a painful twinge. And he opened his mouth, to tell them he wasn't worthy anymore, that he didn't deserve to give orders anymore, that they'd probably be better off if someone else took the lead.

Then Donnie's arm crossed his field of vision. Brown eyes closer to red in the dimmed fluorescent lights of the main room, hand warm and solid where he covered one of Leo's own.

And he didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

Leo looked past him, to the circle of faces watching him from the pit; the tired lines under their eyes, and the weighted slopes of their shoulders. At the way they regathered despite the evidence of burdened hope and exhaustion, regrouped in the dark hours of the morning, turned their faces up to him where he sat on the lip of the pit with his human brother; with dogged devotion in the firm set of their mouths and all the bright colors of their eyes.

They were waiting for him. Trusting in him. Still.

And looking at them, Leo felt something fierce and fearless reclaim his heart.

"I have an idea," he said, and his family leaned in to hear it.