Disclaimer: I don't own the Turtles. And trust me, they're happy about it.

So, as usual, I've got a crapload of things I should be doing (cough exams class reading cough), but I realized that I've been neglecting this collection, and when I found this one-shot in my story folder, I decided to touch it up a bit and post it. (I seriously can't believe I haven't added something to this since October; The More Things Change has been consuming my attention, but still. .) Also, I know there have been a lot of Leo POV ficlets/one-shots on here lately, and I promise the other guys will be back in the spotlight too! I just really wanted to get something posted, and this is what I had on hand that was finished. (Plus, I doubt you guys REALLY mind all that much. :D) As a matter of fact, I have a Donnie fic that I'm lining up to have the next slot in here, and it's...about halfway done. I'll try and work on it this weekend after I survive my exam and get the next chapter of TMTC up. Anyways, I hope you guys like it!

Control.

To regulate. To restrain. To exercise authority over. To hold in check.

Governance. Mastership. Authority. Guidance.

I have lived my entire life searching for some measure of control in this crazy world; control over my fate, over the fate of my family, over my small corner of the earth. Even beyond that, I have been raised under the precept of control. As a ninja, I am trained to have complete control over my body and mind, and even my spirit. Unfortunately, as I've grown and come to know more of the world around me, I've learned something:

My control only extends to myself.

Control over others, over my environment, even over my own fate…is essentially impossible to attain.

Yet here I am, fighting against a horde of strangers for this city, for my way of life, for control. Sometimes I wonder what I would do if we ever did gain control over New York…probably nothing other than keep it safe and continue to live quietly. With three younger brothers to look after, I don't have time for megalomania.

The Purple Dragons, however, seem to think that they do; personally, I think that if they can't spell it, they shouldn't be allowed to have it.

So here we are, battling to keep control of New York out of their hands. Even with Hun gone they're a force to be reckoned with; what they lack in skill, they tend to make up for in numbers.

Case in point: while I fend off two Dragons armed with pipes (where on earth do they get those, anyways? Do they just break them off of bike racks or something?), a third sneaks up on me from the side, just far enough behind my peripheral vision that his sucker-punch to my jaw takes me completely by surprise. I curse as I stumble backward, spitting out the blood from where I bit my tongue, and deal a vicious mule kick to the chest of the Dragon who punched me. Several somethings crack upon impact, and he screams weakly before collapsing. I can't bring myself to care about my lack of finesse, too busy disarming and knocking down the two pipe-wielding Dragons.

I lunge forward to the next group, intent on taking back control of the fight, and there's a sudden sharp pain in my leg. I swear, as much from shock and pain as from anger and irritation. A miscalculation; a downed opponent was not as unconscious as I'd thought.

A serious mistake. But at least I paid for it, rather than one of my brothers.

When I glance down, the thug that struck me grins through a split lip, hanging onto the short dagger and then pushing it in further. My leg gives as the dagger reaches and rends muscle, and I land on my knee, feeling the reverberations clash unpleasantly where the knife has met bone. I swear again (I'm starting to sound like Raph) and lash out with my fist, striking him in the temple, and the Dragon falls like a sack of bricks. Dead or unconscious, I don't really care at this point.

I slice out to the side with my katana, sensing another Dragon that thought that being injured meant I was unaware and an easy target.

He screams when my blade connects. I make sure that he is out of commission and unarmed; I'm not one who has to learn a lesson the hard way twice.

I hiss in pain and anger as I force myself to my feet. I was inattentive and sloppy, and got myself injured, and now precision fighting is no longer an option. With an injured leg, I can't fight as I'd like, with as little blood as possible; I've now got to utilize the extra reach that my katanas give me, which means bloody fighting. I've lost control of this fight, and I can't help the frustration I feel.

"Don, look out!"

My head whips around at Raph's shout and I search the rooftop for Donnie. He's occupied with a giant of a Dragon, not as big as Hun but close, and the behemoth has a pipe that he's bearing down on Don with. Don is sunk into a low stance, his arms over his head as he repels the pipe with his bo. I can tell from the heavy cracking and Don's slight wince every time the punk strikes that there's a lot of power in each hit. Don can't turn his back on him, or he'd get a cracked skull. Which leads to the problem: the second Dragon that's coming up on Don from behind with a knife in his hand.

I glance around. Raph is too busy with Dragons of his own to reach Don, and Mikey, though free, is too far away. And with my leg, I'd never make it in time—

…but a thrown blade would. And while a sword wouldn't have the right kind of trajectory, a dagger—

It only takes an instant to decide, and then I'm yanking the dagger out of my leg and letting it fly towards the Dragon that Don is fending off. Projectiles are really more Raph's specialty, since his weapons lend themselves to being thrown, but over the years I've made sure I know how to throw a blade, and this one buries itself in the side of the giant's neck with a meaty squelch I can hear even from where I am.

Don jerks with surprise as the knife appears and his opponent falls lifelessly to the rooftop, but pauses only a moment before turning around and easily dispatching the man approaching him from behind.

He's safe. I can breathe again.

My younger brother turns to nod his thanks, but suddenly glares at me. I know he's caught sight of the wound in my leg, but I just shrug. I don't care if removing the blade from a wound only makes things worse; my brothers' safety comes before mine.

Content that Don is safe, I turn back around and dive into the fighting again.

A few downed opponents later, I can tell my leg is affecting me more than I'd like. Each Dragon takes long to disarm and knock out, and I'm much more fatigued than I should be. I strike another one with the hilt of my katana and glance down.

My leg is covered in blood. The dagger must have hit more than just muscle.

I sheathe my swords quickly and fumble with my bandana for use as a makeshift tourniquet, but when I bend over to bandage my leg, the entire world tilts and I suddenly find myself lying on my side.

This could be a problem.

Four Dragons immediately break away from fighting my brothers to approach me, like scavengers abandoning healthy prey for an easier meal. It sickens me, as does their ignorance; I might be injured, but I'm far from helpless. I struggle upright again, though I have to be satisfied with kneeling; standing makes the world spin in an unsettling manner. Another dagger, taken from one of the many unconscious Dragons nearby, knocks down one of my attackers for good. A pipe thrown at the knees of another works just as well, his head connecting with a wet smack against the roof. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't get back up. The other two are no more successful than their comrades, as the reach that my katana give me fends them off and silences them.

I'm a little disconcerted by the way I can't move after that. I can't even help my brothers anymore, because my vision is wavering too much for me to trust myself to be throwing any more blades around.

Things are getting oddly muffled now. I can't hear what's being said, but I can see Raph shouting orders as he plows through the remaining Foot. Don is stepping up as well, talking swiftly to Mikey, probably asking for medical equipment from his bag of tricks or telling him how to help.

They are taking control, and they are doing so on their own. I really ought to let them do this more often; they're working seamlessly. I almost wish Master Splinter could see them, but then he'd end up seeing what my carelessness has wrought as well, and I'd rather not have him see that. Partly out of pride and embarrassment, yes, but also because I don't want him to worry; my leg probably just looks worse than it is.

I feel oddly light and heavy at the same time, and the world continues to tilt unpleasantly even after I suddenly find myself lying down. I don't remember falling, but the rough texture of the rooftop is grating against my arms and I'm canted slightly on my shell in that vaguely helpless way that I recognize and hate. (Don tells us it's our turtle instincts that make us hate being on our backs; I wonder if it's that or our warrior instincts that increase my hate more.) The blood loss is sapping at my strength, and all of my limbs each seem to weigh a ton, and yet…I feel so light. The situation is now out of my hands, but I can't really seem to care, because I know it will be alright. There are only half a dozen Dragons left, and I've seen Raph's rage carry him through twice that number easily; my brothers are in good hands. Don is here, as well as that ever-present bag of his; I am in good hands.

I can give up control.

Normally I hate to do so, because that often means giving my enemies control over my life as well as my brothers'. But lately…I'm just so tired. And I've seen, watching my brothers, that they are perfectly capable of controlling their own lives. They survived without me while I was gone, even if it was difficult.

But now…now my brothers are in control, and there isn't any need for me to do anything at all. It's odd, but…I find it relaxing, for once. To just lie here, even though I'm suddenly so cold, and give in to the fatigue that accompanies blood loss. To give up control, let Fate do what it will, and know that at least my brothers will be fine. Raph fears a loss of control nearly as much as I do, so I know that he will bleed out armies before giving control of this family up to anyone other than me. I am so thankful for his faith in me…he only takes control when I cannot, even if he questions me every other time. He is an excellent second in command…an excellent brother…

My thoughts aren't usually this scattered. I think I'm slipping.

I close my eyes. I can feel the pounding of Raph's steps bring him to my side. Good, they're all safe; Raph wouldn't stop fighting if even one enemy still remained standing. His breath ghosts against my face and I pry my eyes open, trying to figure out why he's so close. My eyesight wavers as I try to focus on him, and it takes more effort than it should to process his words. I eventually gather that it's just worry as he speaks furiously into my ears, his words a mess of anger and fear, "how could you be so stupid" and "don't you dare fall asleep". I can almost feel his words hitting me, they're so heavy with emotion.

I try for a reassuring smile, just a small one. The corners of my mouth lift slightly, but I'm careful not to show any teeth; I can vaguely taste blood in my mouth, from where I'd been punched earlier and from hitting the rooftop, and a smile full of bloody teeth is hardly comforting.

Naturally, it doesn't work. Raph's angrier now; his teeth are bared where mine are hidden, and his eyes are somehow wide with the fear he rarely admits to and narrow with the anger he constantly falls back on at the same time. I can feel his hand on my shoulder, and considering that the rest of me is numb, it probably means that he's gripping me with all his strength, as though he's trying to hold me here. I want to tell him that I'm not going anywhere, but I know he won't listen. I should say something, though...I can't stand that look of fear in his eyes, in any of their eyes, but especially Raph's. I'm so tired…but I manage a small reassurance.

It's okay. I'm alright; it's not that bad...

Raph's grip tightens even further, and his anger is even more present in his features. My brothers' presence seems to have strengthened me a bit, because the muffling in my ears is no longer thick enough to block out parts of his shouting, bits like "this isn't okay" and "stubborn, lyin' bastard". He hates it when I try to protect him; Raph would rather have any cold, hard truth instead.

But at least he doesn't look scared anymore. Anger overwhelms fear.

That should be the last thing I have to take care of.

I can feel Don's hands on my leg, and I know he's dealing with the aching stretch of my wound. And I can feel Mikey's hands as well, on my face and arm, seeking and giving comfort. They look so worried, but I'm just too tired to tell them that it doesn't even hurt that badly. The most I can do is smile slightly and let my eyes slide shut.

They're safe. It's alright for me to slip now.

I can feel my control and consciousness bleeding away…and for once I don't mind.

Abdication…powerlessness…

Perhaps they're not always so bad…

A/N: And there you go! As always, concrit on characterization, verb tense issues, etc. is welcomed and appreciated, as are reviews and blatant love. Flames will be used to contribute to global warming, so be warned! :D