"Sensei?"

Splinter waited a few moments before slowly raising his gaze to meet that of his son's, Michaelangelo.

"Yes, my son" came the whispered reply. Splinters throat was hoarse from the silent tears that he had shed.

"How…how do you want to decide…"

Splinter debated what his son could be about to ask him, and the answer he would give. Coming to a conclusion was amazingly simple.

"We do not"

The old, tired rat smiled softly at his son, as he struggled to decipher the meaning of the words.

"…uh…okay…so…say what?"

Splinter curled his tail around his feet, watching the dust that rose from the faint breeze the movement created. He returned his gaze to his son's face, and spoke quietly. "I shall go last. You, of course, shall read your brothers last messages to us all before me"

Mikey seemed to struggle with himself, before blurting out, "but…that's not fair! I mean…why should you go last? I just…"

His sensei's ears flicked towards him, and Mikey gulped as he realized that Splinter had just uncovered the reason for the turtle's insistence of 'choosing fairly' who went next.

"You are afraid"

It was a statement, not a question. Mikey hung his head in shame. He had seen his sensei pick up the straws, and kept his eye trained on the short straw, deliberately not picking it, and so, not having to go first. He had trained himself how to roll a dice to land on the number he wanted almost all the time – it was how he won most of the board games they played – and it was also why he had insisted on rolling dice, to encourage Raph to go next, because Raph was all for letting Mikey enter Don's room before himself.

Splinter observed the ashamed turtle, quietly wondering what it was he was actually ashamed of. He was afraid, yes. But then, they all were.

"Michaelangelo"

Mikey hesitantly caught his sensei's eye, before losing his nerve, and quickly averting his gaze. "I…I just don't want…I don't think I can…I-I just can't sensei"

Splinter opened his mouth to speak, cutting himself of as he heard the squeak of a door. Donatello's door.

Raphael stood hidden in the shadows of the room, seeming desperate to leave the darkness, but equally unwilling to step into the light. Like Leonardo, he too held printed sheets of paper in his hands.

Mikey sat frozen, realizing that this meant – if sensei got his way – that he would be next.

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh GOD no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no…

Splinter slowly rose from his seat on the chair, and began to make his way over to Raphael, who shrank back into the shadows at the approach of his sensei. Why couldn't Mikey have gone before me, Raph hissed to himself, now I have to find a way out of here without letting him see that I was crying! He didn't feel too thrilled about his father finding out that little secret either. They all knew that he had cried when Don had died, but to cry over some words? He wasn't even an avid reader…or any kind of reader. He took a quick glance down at the sheets.

You just need to learn to express every emotion equally…

Damn, why did he have to look at that sentence?

He desperately tried to avoid Splinter's gaze, eyes beginning to flash around the room as he looked for a quick escape. He was starting to feel like a caged animal. And he didn't need Mikey as an audience, either.

Sensing his son's unease, Splinter stopped a few feet away, sadly watching the shaking turtle. Raphael was trembling, and Splinter's sharp eyes could pick out the glistening wetness patterning the green skin.

Splinter turned and beckoned to Michaelangelo. Neither turtle seemed happy with this motion. Splinter could feel the tension in the room tighten dramatically.

Raphael would not appreciate Michaelangelo seeing his tears, and that would probably not help the younger turtles nerves any, if he found out that his older, tough brother, had been crying.

Michaelangelo however, did not appreciate being encouraged to enter the dreaded room. He could go near it, yes. In it alone? No.

Mikey watched Splinter beckoning him, and saw the shifting shadows that betrayed Raph's presence. He did his best to swallow his fears and doubts, before pushing himself to his feet, and slowly and deliberately, as if he was walking on a tightrope, he approached.


**

Splinter held his son, sinking to the floor. Mikey hugged him as if he was only kept on Earth by his father's presence. Splinter was almost certain that some of his fur would not survive the experience, as deprived of oxygen as he was.

He caught Raphael's thankful, relieved gaze before the red-banded turtle fled for the lair door. It seemed the air had granted him winged feet. The door once again rattled to a close.

Splinter didn't wish to distract Michaelangelo from focussing on his suffocating bear hug, but he desperately needed a breath of air. His lungs were beginning to complain, and he didn't have the lung capacity of an amphibian, so he couldn't last through Michaelangelo' hugs like the turtle's brothers could.

He patted the patterned shell faintly, before trying to gently push his green-skinned son of his screaming air passages, hoping the turtle would get the message. At least he didn't tighten his hold, Splinter thought to himself as the turtle refused to get the message. Air, he needed air, who ever knew how tight a turtle could hug?

Saved by the bell. He gasped frantically for air, able to do so without hurting Michaelangelo's feelings, as the turtle was answering his shell-cell, taking the distraction to move as far away as possible from the dreaded, haunted computer.

Gosh, air never tasted so good. He stayed crouched on the ground as he listened to, what sounded to him, like a one-sided conversation.

"Hello? Yeah, I'm in with sensei. Huh? No, we wouldn't mind you coming down. You got any supplies? Pizza? What do you mean is that alright? Don't you know what a turtle eats! A healthy balanced diet with plenty of goodies and pizza!"

Mikey covered the mouthpiece, and looked over at Splinter who attempted to hide his breathlessness. "It is alright if April and Casey come down right? And...they also have...you know..." Mikey gestured towards the open door through which the computer light glowed.

Splinter nodded his consent, unsure whether he had enough oxygen yet to reply verbally. Mikey turned back to the phone, uncovering the mouthpiece. Splinter tuned out the rest of the conversation as he shakily stood, retrieving his walking stick from the ground. He was getting too old for crushing bear hugs from his youngest.

He retreated to the kitchen to make some tea. He was confident, should he try to encourage Michaelangelo to read his email/letter that he had been left, the turtle would find a way to stall for time, and refuse once their two friends appeared. There was no point in trying to manipulate water. It would slide through your fingers, constantly escaping. It was small wonder that Michelangelo was the quickest in both agility and wit.

Out in the living room partition of the lair, Mikey was continuing his conversation. "Yeah. Uh-huh. We…there's something we need to tell you. Casey's coming down too right? Um…hold on a sec."

Mikey glanced around, ensuring that Splinter was not watching him, before edging over to the open door and peering through into the dark room, faintly lit by the beckoning monitor.

He gulped, took a quick breath, pushed his head into the room, taking careful thought to ensure no other part of his body entered, pulled his head back out, and dashed to the other side of the living room.

All in less than a minute.

"No, Raph isn't in anymore. I don't know where he went. Yeah Leo's out too. You should have seen the way he ran. It was like he saw a ghost. I just hope I don't…well…it would be spooky but…I don't know…"


**

He ran his hand over the damp bricks; feeling for the groove he knew was there. A breath tingled on the back of his neck, and he spun, instantly on guard, hands going straight for the hilts of his swords.

There was no sound to be heard other than the trickling of water from the broken piping; no movement to be seen other than a scavenging sewer rat snuffling a few feet away from him.

He forced himself to relax. There was no-one here. His mind was just playing tricks on him. All the same, he felt himself keep his tense state, as he cautiously turned his back. He kept his ears pricked for the slightest sound, all of his nerves straining, his senses standing on end.

His hand found a dip in the brickwork, and he paused in his methodical searching of the wall. Bending down, he slowly slid his hand around the loose brick, and gently pulled it away, revealing the spacious gap in the wall. The hole slid back, disappearing into darkness, and he was unable to catch even the slightest hint of an ending, nor estimate how long the gap went on for. It must have been the site of a small pipe, that, when removed, the workers opted for the easy option of blocking of the small gap, rather than having to laboriously refill it. It was just a hole; while long, it was still relatively small. At most, the sewer rats may find a way to use it as a travelling road. What did it matter?

The turtle paused for a second, terrified of what he may find within. He could feel the paranoia in him beginning to build, and he closed his eyes, freezing in position. The hand that he been planning to use to search the dark hole, hovered in position; trapped in limbo between the body of its owner, and the black abyss it was obediently planning on entering. The hand clenched as the touch came again, and Leonardo had to use all his will power to prevent himself from snatching his hand away, and running from the very spot, until he could run no more.

There was nothing there, nothing to be seen or heard, but he could swear on his very life, that there was something to feel. And he was feeling that something. What it was, he couldn't tell you. He just knew it was there.

Like a light breeze brushing his hand. A light breeze that passed him often. He knew the warmth of it, remembered what the touch of the breeze felt like. It was a touch that shouldn't – couldn't – be.

The breeze left his hand, but Leonardo didn't relax. A few seconds later, the 'something that shouldn't be' brushed his cheek, as if in a gentle caress.

Then it was gone.

Leo waited for it to return, but as time passed and nothing more happened, he felt himself begin to relax. There was nothing to be afraid of here. And no matter how he tried to think of it, Leo couldn't help but feel that there was never anything to be afraid of. And he felt himself beginning to miss, and long for, the touch of that gentle breeze.

Decided, he reached the remaining distance into the black darkness of the hole, which no longer seemed so threatening. His hand found the cold grip of metal, and he found himself instinctively running a finger over the cool steel. The steel ended in the thick grip of a handle, which Leonardo used to slide out…

The most magnificent sword he had ever seen.

Inscribed upon the hilt were the words:

Guiding Brother

Leonardo handled the sword as if it was the most precious creation in all the world; he tested its lightness and manoeuvrability.

"Donatello" he breathed "it's…beautiful…thank you"