AN: Hey, guys! So there was some confusion about Tiger Claw's destination at the end of the last chapter, so I guess I didn't write it very clearly. So if you weren't sure, Tiger Claw leaped back through the same time portal that Mikey fell through, which led TC to the end of the battle the night before, where he would find Donnie alone on the rooftop and throw the powder in his face. Does that make sense now? Sorry for the confusion. And now, back to the turtles!

Chapter 10: Home

Raph's POV

Gotta get Mikey home. Gotta get Mikey home.

Splash! Splash! The wet sound of my feet and Leo's echoing off the tunnel walls is all I can hear as we run through the sewers. It's not nearly enough noise. I should be hearing the annoying jokes and explosive laughter of my little brother, but he's not making any sound at all as he clings to my shell. Every now and then I have to call over my shoulder, "Hey, Mikey, you okay?" just to make sure he's still awake. Each time he taps my shell with his finger to let me know he's still with us.

Faster. Faster. I gotta get him home.

If we can get him home, everything'll be fine. It always is. When one of us gets hurt, we bring him home, Donnie fixes him up, and everything is fine again.

But Donnie is. . . What if he can't. . . ? If it really was that same purple powdery stuff that got Donnie, could it have made Mikey lose his voice for good? What if it will always be too quiet now? What if . . . ? NO! There's gotta be something Donnie can do about it, right? Even if he can't see, he's still a genius and he always fixes everything. They can't both be stuck like this. They just can't.

I spare a glance at Leo, running beside me. It's dark in here, but I can still make out his face. He's frowning, like he's thinking hard about something that's worrying him. Bet his thoughts are following the same track as mine.

He must sense me looking at him because he turns and our eyes meet. Yep, he's thinking about our brothers, too. And about revenge. Silent understanding passes between us. This isn't over. Those freaks are gonna be sorry they ever messed with our family.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Yeah, what is it, Mikey?"

He reaches his arm around my neck so I can see the T-phone in his hand.

When r u gonna tell me what happend 2 donnie?

"What did he say?" asks Leo.

"He wants to know what happened to Donnie."

Leo sighs in a sad kind of way. He and I have an unspoken rule that, whenever possible, we spare Mikey from harsh news. But of course, this isn't something we can spare him from. He's going to find out as soon as we get home, and we'd better tell him first so it's not so much of a shock.

I can sense Leo trying to think up the most delicate way to say it, but delicate has never been my way. I speak up before Leo makes up his mind.

"He's blind."

I can feel Mikey stiffen on my back and I hear his sharp intake of breath. Beside me Leo mutters, "Nice, Raph. Way to break it to him gently."

A second later the phone is shoved in my face again.

WHAT DO U MEAN?

I sigh and let Leo take over. I decide to concentrate on shifting Mikey's weight without jostling his leg too much. I can feel him growing tense as Leo recounts last night's events to him. The flames of anger flare up in my chest again as I'm reminded of the horrible scene on that rooftop. Donnie's screams echo in my head and once more I see his scared expression as his eyes stare out at nothing.

And now Mikey is sitting all too silent on my back and everything is so wrong!

Leo finishes the story just as we reach the turnstiles. I lower Mikey to the ground to help him through them and I see his eyes are all shiny, like he's preparing to cry. He only glances at me, though, before quickly scanning the room and locking onto Donnie who is getting up from the bench in the pit where he was sitting beside Sensei.

"Raph! Leo!" Donnie calls out. "Did you find Mikey?"

Before either of us can answer, Mikey, completely ignoring the wound in his leg, takes a leap at Donnie and tackles him to the ground in a massive hug. Donnie yelps in surprise, but then chuckles with relief when he realizes who it is. Hugging Mikey back, he says, "I'm glad you're okay, Mikey." Mikey only wraps his arms tighter around Donnie's neck and buries his face in his shoulder with a loud sniff.

I just stand there for a moment, unsure what to do. I'm aware of Leo giving Sensei an explanation, but I'm not really listening to him. Sensei looks relieved to see Mikey apparently okay, but as Leo talks, his ears suddenly droop and he looks quickly at Mikey as his face goes from relieved to worried.

Mikey is still sniffling into Donnie's shoulder, and Donnie's confused expression softens to concern as he gently rubs Mikey's shell. "Hey, Mikey, what's wrong?" he asks. "Are you hurt?"

Of course Mikey doesn't say anything, and Donnie grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him away from himself a little to try and get his attention. "Mikey? Come on, what's wrong?"

Leo just watches them, looking sadder than I've seen him in a long time. I can't take this!

"Mikey can't talk, Donnie," I say, just to save him from making that awkward one-sided conversation any longer than it needed to be.

Donnie looks shocked. "What? What do you mean?"

"He got hit with the same purple stuff you did and now he can't talk."

By the time Donnie's face freezes into a stunned look of horror, Splinter is there, comforting Mikey. And Leo is still just standing around looking depressed. I feel like I'm gonna suffocate.

"Come on, Mikey," I say loudly, breaking the sad tension in the room. "We need to get you into the lab and patch up your leg."

That brings everyone round. Mikey lets go of Donnie who is instantly running his hands down Mikey's leg, feeling for the wound. "Your leg is hurt? Why didn't anyone say anything? Is it bad?"

Leo moves forward to guide them both into the lab along with Sensei. I follow behind them. There are going to be a lot of long explanations to exchange here.

.o0o.

Master Splinter's POV

After supporting my youngest son and helping him into Donatello's lab, I take a seat out of the way, yet near enough that he can still see me, leaving his injury in the capable hands of my other sons.

Michelangelo glances once at me, as if to make sure I am still nearby, and I nod reassuringly at him. Outwardly I maintain an appearance of calm stability, but deep within, where my sons cannot see, my mind is in turmoil. I will need many long meditation sessions to process all that has happened, but that will come later. Right now I must focus on Michelangelo, so I force my attention onto the scene at hand.

Raphael, like myself, is maintaining his distance, knowing full well that too many people crowded around the examination table will only make the procedure more difficult, but he is watching his youngest brother with a fiercely protective stare.

Leonardo has begun taking off the hastily tied bandage on Michelangelo's leg, and Donatello, used to being the one in control of these situations, is hovering around in a state of frantic agitation.

"What happened, Leo? What's wrong with Mikey's leg? How bad is it?"

I can see his fingers flex as if itching to examine the wound himself, but he restrains himself and lets Leonardo finish removing the bandage.

"It's a deep cut in his thigh," Leonardo explains. "It looks like it's going to need stitches, but otherwise isn't too bad. I don't know how he got it. We haven't heard the full story yet."

"Did it sever the femoral artery?" asks Donatello in concern.

"How would I tell if it did?" Leonardo appears unsure.

"Well, I suppose it couldn't have, because he would be bleeding profusely and probably have passed out by now."

As his brothers continue to discuss his condition, I see Michelangelo open his mouth a few times and then shut it again, clearly wishing he could interject and say something. The sight brings a stab of pain into my guarded heart. Since his first cheerful baby babbles, Michelangelo's voice has brought color and laughter into our isolated lives. I cannot imagine our home without it. I can only pray this is temporary.

As Leonardo takes out a needle and thread and begins to stitch the wound, under the occasional careful instruction of Donatello, the three boys begin to question Michelangelo about his experience, effectively taking his distraught mind off the painful task at hand.

Michelangelo responds to many of their questions by sending text messages to Raphael's phone, which Raphael then reads aloud for the benefit of everyone.

As his story unfolds, one piece at a time, I am somewhat surprised and intrigued by the mention of an object which can apparently open a portal through time. I have never heard of such a thing before, but judging by the shouts of recognition from my other three sons, I am the only one who has not. I shall have to ask them about that later.

"Well, that explains why Mikey's T-phone couldn't be tracked," puts in Donatello after Michelangelo told how he had fallen through a portal into the future. "His phone literally didn't exist for several hours."

Leonardo has finished stitching the wound and is applying a new bandage by the time Michelangelo finishes the painstakingly slow process of telling his story through text messaging.

After commending Michelangelo on his inspired use of a Kraang portal as a means of escape, Donatello asks Leonardo to take a closer look at the cut on Michelangelo's throat. I lean forward a bit at that, hoping to hear an explanation for the loss of my son's voice.

Michelangelo obligingly tilts his head back so that Leonardo can inspect it more thoroughly.

"I don't know what to tell you, Donnie," says Leonardo after a moment. "It's just a very shallow scratch at the base of his throat. I don't think it bled much. It doesn't even need a Band-Aid."

I can see the expectation in Michelangelo's eyes as he looks toward Donatello, awaiting a diagnosis.

Donatello is deep in thought, his hand on his chin and his brow furrowed. "Well, now we know for sure that this purple dust is more than just a devastatingly effective blinding powder. If it can affect such vastly differing functions as vision and voice, it must target something they both have in common. Perhaps it damages nerves? Maybe whichever nerves it comes into contact with?"

"Is that a question?" Raph blurts out fiercely, startling Donatello out of his reverie. "Come on, Donnie, you're supposed to have answers!"

Affronted, Donatello cries out incredulously, "What? How on earth am I supposed to have answers to this, Raph?"

"I don't know! You always have the answers! You always know how to fix everything!" Although these statements are made aggressively, I can see that Raphael is not angry. He is desperate. He has the frantic look about him of one whose entire world is crashing down around him and he is clinging wildly to one shred of familiar stability.

Donatello, however, unable to see the desperation in Raphael's face, seems to take this attack as a direct insult to his intelligence.

"Well, I don't know, Raph!" he shouts angrily. "Not this time. I don't know any more about that powder than you do, and I don't see you coming up with any brilliant solutions! In case you don't remember, the only glimpse I got of the stuff was one flash of purple before everything dissolved into pain and darkness!"

I stand up quickly, about to intervene before this argument escalates further, but Leonardo is there first.

"Guys!" he says, calmly but loudly, stepping between the frantic Raphael and the incensed Donatello. "This isn't helping. Raph, chill out. Shouting at Donnie won't make a solution appear faster. And Donnie, calm down. We're not expecting a miracle from you. We'll figure this out together, okay?"

Leonardo glances at me and I nod my head approvingly. As I move toward the door, I say clearly, "I am going to make some tea. If you are finished patching up Michelangelo, I suggest we all move to a more comfortable place to continue this discussion."

An obedient chorus of "Hai, Sensei" follows these words as I exit the lab and head for the kitchen.

Tea. I feel we could all use some tea to calm our nerves.

As I go about the familiar steps of making the tea, I allow my mind to wander back to my sons and our current predicament. My heart aches for my two youngest. If it does, in fact, prove impossible to reverse the effects of that horrible substance, then they will have some difficult days ahead of them. We will all have much adjusting to do.

After setting the kettle on the stove, I begin to pull teacups out of the cupboard.

And my older two sons. . . I cannot pretend that I did not notice the looks of understanding that passed between Raphael and Leonardo when the attacks on their brothers were being discussed. I know that they will not let these assaults go unanswered. They will want revenge. Could I expect anything less? After all, it is I who have filled their heads with grand ideas of honor and justice. As their ninja master, I understand their thirst for vengeance. I can feel it burning inside myself.

But they are my children. They are so young. As their father, I cannot bear to risk losing them.

The kettle whistles shrilly and I pour the hot water into the teapot.

I could tell them not to go; forbid them from leaving the lair. But how long will that last? They are young, yes, but they have grown much. They came home from the farmhouse possessing a new maturity. Gone are the days when I could keep them safe underground simply by telling them not to venture to the surface.

As the tea leaves steep, the aromatic scent reaches my nostrils, bringing with it a soothing sense of familiarity.

Leonardo in particular has grown. The time they spent in my absence has pushed him further into his role of leader than I expected him to be at this age. I have seen it in the way they interact. His brothers do not follow him simply because I appointed him leader, but because he has earned that title. He no longer looks to me for advice on every little thing, but has the confidence to make his own decisions. Never again will my most obedient child follow my every order without question.

I know that if, out of fear for their safety, I forbid the boys from leaving the lair, they will obey only as long as Leonardo does. Should he decide to ignore the order and seek revenge anyway, Raphael will surely follow.

I pour the hot tea carefully into the five cups and lift the tray to carry it to the living room.

No, I can no longer keep them here by a mere word. But that doesn't mean I cannot try.