Author's Note: Salvation ch. 20 at last! I am SO sorry this chapter took forever; Fall quarter began at UCLA and it's been kicking my ass ten ways from Sunday. I hope this chap is worth it. Also, Damnation 20 is UP at my website—and please, please, if you read it and would like to do so, make a comment at the end of this chapter to that effect. Dam is a rather lonely story, and I don't get much feedback for it outside friends. Please know that Dam 20 is NOT for the faint of heart, and I warned you. This is the third or second-to-last chap before the epilogue. Sniff... I can't believe it's almost over! But in the interim, I have been working on a project that should be a pleasant surprise to WTL readers, so keep your eyes out once WTL is complete. Please enjoy and feedback is MUCH appreciated.

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A month, an eternity of empty, wondering, listless days; April still gone, mysteriously remaining in Japan far beyond the three days she'd pledged; an eternity and the infinitesimal division of those days, into hours and moments and the million suppositions in a nanosecond, the nightmare thoughts that haunt days indistinct from the next, summer sun piercing the shop and the heat and the muggy, dauntless cool of the sewer pipes, extreme cold and hot. It was from this mélange that Raphael returned home from another day of work; he couldn't quite remember if it was Thursday or Friday anymore, if it was five or six in the afternoon, if it was August or September, if he himself was sixteen or seventeen anymore. They hadn't celebrated Donnie's birthday without Master Splinter nor would they have celebrated Raphael's—so the passage of time went on, in descript, without markers or ensigns on its train to make a catalogue of its movements. His life was a stream and no longer a calendar.

The night before he'd dreamed of his father holding him as a child, awoken from a nightmare—he'd always been the crybaby, it was true to the last, and unlike Leo or Donnie, he would never tough it through the night when he was five and six, and keep a brave face the next day. He had been an honest soul, unless his loyalties called him into doubt, those interminable loyalties that tug between father and brother, between o-tou-sama and o-nii-san, between an unchanging past foundation and the unknown shadowy world of the future where father no longer exists, that place where Leo was o-nii-sama and the head of their family, whatever that family may become. In his dream, that conflict arose like psychic bile, and when he looked up from his father's furred chest, the familiar whiskered face morphed inexorably into Leonardo's, full-grown, with Raphael remaining himself so small and helpless—and he'd awoken, for a moment thinking with the mind of his more honest past self, ready to run to his father—then, the cold, remembrance, age and time. You are sixteen years old, the strongest brother, nearly an adult, and you do not run to your father with your nightmares. Then the second truth: And even if you wanted to, he isn't here. And Raphael's heart filled with anger at all his odd suppositions in his half-awake moments—he rolled over like the slothful teenager he rightfully was and nodded off once again, determined to forget. The dream returned, in a hundred permutations, plaguing him, and no solace for a silent mind and voiceless tongue.

The den appeared strangely quiet, even for its recent calm spell. He could not hear "kya"s from the dojo nor annoyed snipes from Don's alcove, nor the beeps and buzzes of arcade games that would indicate Mikey and Lizzie, the latter of whom he had left home for the day, as the smell of motor oil was starting to make her dizzy after long periods. He assumed his younger brother was still at a gig, so this did not appear amiss; Leo could easily be meditating, and Don could be off the line and experimenting or surfing the web. But at the same time, all this convenient silence? For a house full of teenaged boys, it was too good to be true; suspecting a plot, he didn't bother—nor dare—to begin a horror movie trope and start searching and saying "hello?" He waited, quiet as a ghost, waiting for the danger to approach and make itself apparent, sitting innocuously on the couch, playing with the remote as though toying with the idea of watching TV, with all the doubtfulness and hesitations of Hamlet for all how long he had to keep at it.

At last a memory niggled at his brain, begging attention—the van had still been in the shop when he'd left, so Mikey could not then be at a gig. Raphael began to be nervous; he scanned the den stealthily with his eyes, so as not to draw the attention of any watchers—nothing amiss that he could readily detect.

Then—the light pad of a foot—Raph was on his feet and facing the dojo, a sai at the ready—then lowered it, snarling.

Leo emerged from the now-open dojo door, arms upraised in mock surrender. "Jumpy today, little brother?"

Raph jabbed his weapon back into his belt and crossed his arms. "Damn place was silent's the grave, what'd you expect?"

Leo flashed him a secret—or was it secretive—grin, half in shadow; there was something in it, however, of sadness, and regret. He closed the dojo door behind him, almost ritualistically, his tread resigned.

"Wh—what is it?" Raphael asked, holding down an odd surge of panic. "Did—I mean—word from Master Splinter?" He could hear his heart speeding up, and knew Leo would have to be deaf not to hear it as well.

Leo sighed. "I—I guess you could call it that, yeah. But"—he came closer. "I mean, from here on out… you need to know a few things. Before any thing else happens. Before—I… uh… shit." His gaze fell away slightly, an uncharacteristic move, to say nothing of the swearing; Raph's eyeridges flew up slightly in apprehension, but he allowed the silence to thicken until Leonardo sliced through it again voluntarily, meeting his eyes steadily.

"Things are going to be very, very different from here on. I don't know… where it's going to lead me. But I'll… I'll never"—

A communication fought against the glass barrier of his eyes, which Raphael stared into, half mystified, half understanding.

"Leo—what the hell happened?"

Another voice, however, answered for him, from the mouth of the dojo, from which all knowledge had from the past proceeded, and in this moment altered his life forever, with the soul-saving sound, times immemorial, a voice after nightmares, the teaching whisper, the guiding hand—

"Leonardo, your time is up. I have waited long enough to see all my sons at last."

Leo didn't turn; a flash of a second while Raphael processed what he was seeing, and the communication became crystal clear, as seen through a decoder.

Time is up.

Raphael vaulted over the couch and past his brother, moving faster than he ever had in his life, towards, standing in the doorway of the dojo, the hunched, yet gentle and formidable form of his father.

"Master Splinter"—

A hand went up, and a command to match it, stopping Raphael in his tracks, mere feet in front of the old rat.

"Kneel, my son." It was a voice not to be argued with, and Raph did as he was beckoned, falling to his knees, fighting with his impulse to throw his arms right around his frail father and lift him off the ground with the force of his embrace. Splinter rapped his stick against the floor; dimly, Raphael became aware of several pairs of eyes—behind his father stood Mikey and Don in the dojo, watching with carefully expressionless faces—behind him, his gaze boring into his brother's shell, stood Leonardo; and above, looking silently through the second-floor railings on the ground, peeped Lizzie, her eyes enormous and full of wonder. His father walked slowly around him, appraising the damage to his carapace, tipping his face upward to gaze at the fading, disfiguring scars over his eyes. At last Splinter spoke, while his son kneeled at his feet, his voice very stern.

"Raphael… when I first chose to guide and rear up you and your brothers, there were many things I would have liked—and needed—you to be. I had hoped I would have cautious sons, who value the worth of their own lives as precious"—here he traced with a gnarled old hand the scars on his son's brow. "I hoped I would have wise sons, who can protect the value of their lives—sons with discretion, respect, and honor of virtue, humble enough to know that a hero's death is very wrong if it takes you from your family. I had not hoped to raise protectors of the earth, or mankind—in fact, my son, I wanted only for you to live, and be happy, and have the skills to go on many, many years without your father." Here Splinter was silent for a long while, and Raphael, looking up at last, realized his father was gazing at Lizzie on the second floor, before turning his eyes on him once again.

"It would seem, then, foolish of me not to hope you would possess the very qualities that caused you to become my sons in the first place. If the world did not constantly assail you, my son—if I did not constantly fear, for you especially, that your life is ever hanging in the balance—I would want you to be first and foremost just what you are. I would wish for a brave and compassionate son, who would give his life in saving and sheltering others, who recognizes that family is a greater word than just our existence. And while you have placed yourself in unimaginable danger and have not escaped any of it unscathed, as I have taught you—I am very, very proud of you, Raphael."

Raph's body had been tense as a guitar wire until that moment; his eyes swung up to his father's, who fell with unseasoned grace to his old knees and embraced his second-youngest who, disbelievingly, embraced back, closing his eyes to hide the sudden over-brightness in them, and the sight of Leo, who had for a moment expressed a face of deep fear.

Splinter righted himself; he looked to the second floor, and beckoned to Lizzie—she withdrew quickly from sight. "It is alright, child. I am but an old rat—I will not harm you."

Raphael stood at his father's invitation, grinning. "I'll get her down in a moment—but, I mean… how? Did you take ships back? Why didn't ya write?"

Leonardo answered for him, coming forward, voice very sure again. Master Splinter had made it to Japan in one piece and to the home of the Ancient One; after visiting his Master Yoshi and Tang Shen's ashes, however, he had grown severely ill, and had, in that time, chosen to let his sons use this time to work themselves out amongst one another, and come to terms with a prolonged period of their father's absence, without knowing the full cause and, through that, come to understand how they might get along without him. It was a wile scheme and certainly not in his plans when he'd left, he assured them—but lessons often appear as opportunities and make themselves known in stranger and stranger ways. April had appeared in Japan and, in concert with Casey sending her necessary information siphoned unknowingly from the turtles, sought Splinter out over weeks of trekking through Japan's mountainous regions, through small towns and hamlets. In the meanwhile she had picked up numerous antiques on order, and her wedding dress—a slim white kimono, and a bundle of plum blossoms for her hair. Splinter offered no apologies, and hoped they had gotten on quite well in his absence, adventures notwithstanding.

"And do not forget, my sons," Splinter said with an old, cunning eye, "we all need a vacation."

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Splinter later met with Leonardo in a private interview requested by the latter in the dojo, which Mikey and Donnie assumed was a more thorough synopsis of their time on their own and the numerous transgressions and adventures in that interval—Raphael knew better, of course. He allowed Leo to tell his side of the story—it was the better-remembered and thus more credible version, to his understanding, and it wouldn't be long before Splinter wanted a long ass word with them on the topic. He wasn't wrong, either. Their father retreated for a day's worth of lengthy meditation, taking only tea as sustenance—during which time Raphael shined the Nightwatcher bike and Leo sat in the shop beside him, trying his hardest to give one truly sincere chanting of the namu Amida butsu in a million, and so save his soul.

It was Michelangelo who came for them, oddly somber, eyes falling often on Leonardo with something like accusation. Great—now Master Splinter has to get burdened with this crap too, his stare said, but he found apathy. Nothing beyond this, the truth of all truths and the end of all ends. Leo continued his chant, all the way back to the den, all the way into the dojo, before the ephemeral flickering of candle flames that reminded him that all things—his youth, forbidden passion, sinful desires, the ropes that tied him to the world, the bonds that held him to corporeality, his memories and self, this life, this lonely existence in which so few flickers held true oneness, all accompanied by terror and greed—that all is transient, and must be so, until the end of the which has no end—time. All things pass away, and nothing is reality. And yet his heart was still not ringing pure as a clear bell with the sincerity of the namu Amida butsu, and no repetition of chants, no layers of worldly works, were enough to save him.

Splinter looked at them in silence for a long moment—his two sons kneeling before him, Raphael expressionless, and Leonardo murmuring fervently under his voice, as in prayer. At last he spoke, and the repetitions stopped, though he could see them running behind his best student's eyes with maddened zeal.

"Leonardo… as my student, you are the same as ever. You are just as diligent, as desirous of perfection and harmony as you ever were. This shall not change. But as my son… I am afraid I do not know what I can say to you. I trusted you with the most vulnerable member of our family—as Raphael too trusted you—for guidance and help and strength. Anything you both did in innocence, I cannot find it in my heart to be angry for… but at thirteen, Leonardo, to force your brother into such an act with violence—I cannot believe that you did not know it to be wrong, even… evil. You were young, and did something unaccountably cruel. Yet it is your silence that concerns me, Leonardo. Four years of silence, because Raphael did not remember. You allowed his anger and confusion and never revealed the source."

"I understand, Father… I'm ready for whatever punishment you see fit to give," Leo said, humbly, his hands clasped.

Splinter watched Leo for a lengthy moment. "I have meditated long and hard on this, Leonardo. My mind wandered over many punishments… After a time, I realized that hearing this confession now changes it, though the act itself is the same. Had I heard this when you were a child, I would certainly not have punished you. While I cannot be certain of my reactions four years ago, I do know that this is—and was—a crisis for my sons, an expression of something deeply wrong. Yet now… four years have gone by. Your brother suffered and repressed this memory; you watched this, and you said nothing. You allowed the pain to harm him and wound him, like a knife that sinks into flesh with every passing year. No doubt you have punished and tortured yourself. And so, my student, the only punishment I can offer you for this is to do nothing."

Leo had stopped breathing several sentences ago; his entire body had gone taut and frozen, a stretched rubber band, almost quivering from the pressure.

"I… I don't understand… There has to be some way of atoning for this…"

Splinter drew up; his eyes were stern, and full of love—but the anger was apparent beneath their calm surfaces, a volcano underwater. "Only your soul can purge this darkness from itself, my student. If Raphael wishes for you to atone, he shall ask for it, and you shall grovel, until you have his forgiveness, should he choose to give it. For my part, do not think that simply because I do not offer you the gift of a punishment, that I forgive you for abusing this family's trust, or for assaulting your brother, or for living this lie. It is quite the opposite."

Raph expected Leo to be heartbroken at this—he jumped when Leo's fists came crashing down on the table, before Leo stood, staring enraged at their father.

"Th-that's impossible! You're supposed to help me! What—what am I supposed to do?"

"Leonardo. Suwatte kudasai. Ochitsukinasai (Please sit down. Calm yourself,)" Splinter said, rigidly but calmly.

"Konna toki, reisei ni nareru ka? (You want me to be calm this time?)" Leo's voice was rising. "Dousurebaiindayo? Ochitsukeba buji ni sumutte wake ja nai darou? Nan no imi ga aru no? (How am I supposed to do that? You want me to calm down and meditate? And what's the point?)"

"Leo—keep a lid on it…" Raph warned, suddenly feeling the irony of the statement.

"Raphael," Splinter warned, lowly and gently. "Listen, but do not comment. I shall handle your brother."

Leo laughed. "You'll handle me? Fuzakennjyanee yo! (What a fucking joke!) You can't handle me at all! Kono baka oyaji ga nani mo shinaitte wake ka yo!? NANDA YO? SORE!! (What can you do, you stupid old man!? WHAT'S THE POINT?!)"

Splinter stood, abruptly for his old bones, and both his sons quailed. "SUWARE! HAJI WO SHIRE! Ima wa ore ga omae no chi-chi jyanakute, omae no SHISHOU nanda! Sono iikata wo jibun no isshou no shishou ni surunjyanai! Suware! YOKU KIKE! (SIT DOWN! THIS IS POINTLESS! Right now I am not your father, I'm your MASTER! That is not the way you speak to your lifelong master! Sit down! LISTEN WELL!)"

Raph stared at their father's low table, the scars and tea stains, wishing fervently he didn't know Japanese, and even more fervently that he couldn't understand Leo's trash talk.

Haltingly, Leo knelt, wide-eyed. He had never been spoken to so severely by their father, and neither of them had ever seen him so angry.

"Omae ga chanto kikeba ii (You better listen perfectly)," Splinter went on, breathing hard and leaning on his stick. "Jibunn no taisetsu na otouto o gorannasai (Look at your precious younger brother.)"

"O-tou-san"—

"Chichi o yobuna! (Don't call for your father!)"

Leo's breathing was also labored; he gripped the table edge with pale green knuckles. "Aah, sou ne. Ore no Shishou darou? (Oh, really? So you're my master?) If you are, then you will lead me out of this darkness."

Splinter closed his eyes, his ears pressed flat against his head. "Leonardo… ore no kokoro…" then his eyes fell on Raphael. "My heart… is sickened and saddened for you both."

Raphael couldn't watch his father's eyes; he felt disgusting, coated in filth and slime, suddenly unworthy to stand in this room—and he didn't want to look up and find the pity there, the gentle concern, that penetrated to his soul and saw the dirt that choked him.

"Father… O-tou-sama," Raph said, hesitantly. His brother and father were in Japanese mode, both able to express themselves more fully in the language as master and student—but Raph had only ever learned polite forms. If he wanted to speak completely in Japanese, he had no choice but perfect etiquette. Dojo talk. "Mou... moushi wake arimasen ga…o… ohana shishitai k-koto ga arimasu. Kiite itadakemasen deshou ka? (Excuse me… I have something to say. May I speak please?)"

Splinter considered him for a moment, then sat, with a smile. "My son— jiyuu ni hanashitte kudasai. (Please speak freely.)"

Raph took a deep breath, looking between them—his gently smiling father, and the vaguely curious, broken eyes of his older brother. Words fled from his mind; but whatever he had to say wouldn't be the same in English. It wouldn't have the same impact. He had to stand outside comfort, outside the self-defensive script he'd formulated for himself over the last four years. "Mou kono iya na koto wo wasuremasen ka? O-nii-san ga dai suki desu… Mou ii desu... uh… dakara… watashi wa daijoubu desu… zenzen heiki desu. (Why do we have to do this? I love my big brother… and that's good… so… I'll be okay… you don't have to worry.)" He looked between them again, both blinking, and chuckled. "I'm gonna be okay… I'm tough, remember? Ya don't have to do this."

Splinter studied his second youngest for several moments.

"You love your brother, Raphael. If I were to punish him, what punishment would appear fair to you for what has happened?"

Raphael swallowed. "Y'know… it's funny. I think I been waitin' all my life to have the upper hand fer once… and now, when I could probably ask for Leo to have his feet licked for a week by a pack a' dogs… I don't want it. I don't want any of it. I just want my brother back. I wanna forget everything all over 'gain. That'd make everyone happy—I wouldn't care no more, and nobody'd have to deal with it. Except… except Leo. So really, I dunno what's fair. Leo's the type who's probably better at punishin' himself than anythin' we could cook up, sensei. It doesn't matter what I say. He'll never stop feelin' guilty. An' he can't take none of it back."

Splinter considered him. "Would you believe me if I told you there are some things only you can teach your brother, Raphael?"

Raphael chuckled. "The great ninjitsu lessons a' fixin' motorcycles, repairin' the sink, and the A-B-Cs a' vigilantism? Sure. I believe you, Master."

"Stop joking, Raphael," Leo ground, gripping the table hard enough to shake it. "I don't see how you can be so flippant about this. Our souls hang in the balance."

Raph cocked his head. "How else am I gonna be? You're serious 'nough fer both of us, bro. I don't want this t' be so important everything in my life comes back to it… don't want it to take over." A strange look came over his face. "I can't. Look what it does t' you… an' yer stronger'n me, Leo."

The old rat shook his head. "Raphael… I believe it is quite the contrary."

Splinter took a deep breath, closing his old eyes; he had a long, flat dagger before him, which he then, slowly, with a layer of extra meaning, slid towards Leonardo.

"Very well, then. You are an adult, as you have insisted on being long before your brothers. If you cannot purge your soul, Leonardo—then this is the only atonement I can offer you. If you would like assistance… then your father is here."

Leo stared at the dagger, fully aware of its significance; released from its wooden sheath, it gleaned with the singular beauty of a blade untested in battle, sharpened to a laser edge, milky silver, fresh from the home of the Ancient One.

"I… I know I've failed you, Master…" Leo whispered, looking deep into the blade's glimmering, virgin sheen. "I won't sully the honor of you or our family with my silence any longer. I'll do… what I should've done…"

Splinter kept his face even, but his eyes grew over-bright with tears, a shadow of disappointment; he did not stop Leonardo when his son's hand reached out, and grasped the dagger's dragon-laced black wood handle. There was an aura of watchful prayer about the old rat, emanating outward, touching his second-youngest; yet he stood, and allowed his son, who had too long ago proclaimed himself an adult, to deal with his own soul.

But his second youngest was not the type to idly pray; Raph's hand shot out, pinning Leo's wrist to the table—brothers, they matched identical eyes, shocked and angry.

"Raph—let go of my hand."

Raphael's voice was a furious rasp, outmatching his older brother. "Who gave you permission to kill yourself? Huh? Goddamn fool."

Leo yanked; he quickly saw his mistake when Raph's other arm curved around and clutched his brother's throat down onto the table—Raph battled the dagger out of Leo's grasp then, and thrust the blade, point-first, into the tea-stained wood, and left it quivering.

"Never. You're not goin' nowhere—you ain't gettin' outta this all easy like that an' leavin' us high an' dry just cuz it seems too hard t' deal wi' me! I—said—I'd—be—fine!"

Leo shook his head; his jaw was quivering. "No… not you… I'm not afraid of you, little brother. I'm… afraid… of me."

Raph could barely contain his anger—he wanted to sink his fist into Leo's face, make him suffer for so much as considering suicide, and over something they did such a long time ago—over something so stupid…

"SO WHAT?! I'm 'fraid a' myself too, ya moron—ya don't see me stabbin' myself like some kinda lunatic!"

"It's…. for honor. Our family's honor—your honor"—

"HONOR ISN'T REAL!" Raph was sure his voice could be heard throughout the entire den, by Don and Mikey, but he couldn't allow himself to be concerned. "It's air—it's random thoughts floatin' through your crazy-ass skull! I'm real! Mikey and Don and Master Splinter are real! Honor's not more important than US! Not more important than ME! You understand that? What's the point of honor if it can't even keep us all together?"

Leo stared; Splinter had come around the table, standing behind his second youngest, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Leo kept shaking his head, as tears found their way out of his eyes.

"Why do you keep protecting me, after what I did to you? Can't you see how much it hurts? You want to punish me by keeping me alive? That's the only punishment I won't accept."

Silently, Leo reached past him again, his hand moving toward the blade. It stopped, however, when Raphael's eyes turned glassy. Raph wrenched himself up, yanked the dagger out of the table, and flung it against the wall, making it wobble like a dart, wedged in between bricks. Leo slunk into a standing position, shocked. They were both close to crying, mirror images again; Raph turned, with a furious, strangled sob, and glared at him, daring him to point out the weakness.

"You wanna kill yourself, you gotta go through me," Raphael managed, trying not to choke on his own words. "No seppuku in this family, 'member that? You c'n order me t' stay alive, but you c'n die whenever, huh? I don't freakin' think so! I don't care what dumb shit you do t' me, you're my brother an' want ya ALIVE."

Leo laughed humorlessly. "You need me alive. Don't confuse"—

"No. I want you alive. I c'n take care a' myself. Doesn't mean I wanna be alone."

Leo jumped, when he felt a clawed hand on his arm.

"I think," Master Splinter said, looking up at him with a small smile, "that you may have all your answers, my son."

Leo appeared incredulous. "W-what?"

"Ah, my best and most proficient student. Always the first to grasp his ninjitsu lessons. Always the first to help his brothers on the path. And the most important lesson of his life will escape him."

Leo's knees gave out; he grasped the table again, kneeling haphazardly on the tatami mat. He stared at the table; he could hear Raphael's rasping, half-sobbing breaths, and struggled to keep his face averted. The light hurt. The mats hurt. His father's voice hurt. Everything was a taunting whisper of his failure. But he felt the old rat's clawed hand, reminiscent of another era, when Leo watched his little brothers crawl into their father's lap for comfort, and would only accept a small touch himself, holding in those damaging, horror-splattered emotions until it was just he and his twin, his mirror image and narcissistic fantasy, alone.

"I'm… I'm tired," Leo gasped, shuddering. He sounded like another person; his voice no longer commanded, no longer sure, no longer unwavering, no longer o-nii-san.

"Leonardo… there are some lessons in your life only your brothers can teach you. This is something you know; you have always been capable of looking for the lesson in any situation. So look again now. Gaze at your brother, and stand outside of the cage you have constructed within yourself. You will see someone you do not know everything about. You will see a field of possibility, and a life that lies ahead of you. I shall not be here forever… but you have Raphael for the rest of your life—if you choose to live it."

Shaking, Leo brought his head up; Raphael had sunk onto the mats, with a hand over his eyes, taking deep breaths and stoically trying to control his own crying. Seeing his little brother's tears drip from his jaw was like realizing he'd been shipwrecked for seventeen years.

"When you returned from your pilgrimage, you did so because you believed we needed you. But you must come to understand, Leonardo—we wanted you with us long before we needed you. I have always forbid seppuku because it is a selfish act—because there are four of you, and such a wide world to be frightened of. I do not wish you to be afraid of living for fear of condemnation and dishonor. Everything that you do should come back to love for your brothers… and for yourself. If you hate your own soul, you will only harm them. They want you here. And only they can show you that. Do you understand me, Leonardo?"

Leo gazed up at his sensei, then down again at his brother. The sides of his vision wavered; his world tipped and rocked, a ship under a torrent and gale. This wasn't the way of things… this wasn't the way they were supposed to be.

"No." It was the only honest answer he had. He didn't understand. His was a life of honor. Why would his family wish him to be alive after such a heinous act?

But his father's eyes remained compassionate. "My son… I cannot order you to live. In the end, you can take away only that which I have been successful in teaching you. I have failed as well… I made you believe that you could not come to me for help in the gravest matters. You still do not see why your silence was so damaging. Your brother needed help, Leonardo—as did you. And I did not know how to help you. What good am I as your father if you cannot come to me with such a dire crisis?"

"I can't come to you now," Leonardo answered, grinding his teeth. "You can't help me. Raph can't help me. I wish I were dead. And my… my little brother refuses to let me die."

"You should not look to me for punishment, Leonardo. Not when you have wronged Raphael the most."

Leo scowled. "How can you expect him to do this? He's a mess! You're the one in charge—punish me and fix him like you're supposed to!" He was on his feet again, staring into his father's eyes.

"And what is it I am meant to fix?" Splinter returned, his voice gentle and edged with danger.

Leo experienced another of those uncomfortable moments where he suddenly heard himself, echoing back into his ears. He felt more tears coming, uncontrollably, the worn mask of o-nii-san, the good son, the leader, slipping down. It was always Raphael that needed fixing—never himself. "I… I don't know. Just… make him stop hurting."

"You are dealing in contradictions, Leonardo. You ask me to punish you and to fix Raphael. I have no punishment to suit the crime. You seek punishment to atone, yet the only way in which you believe you can atone is through death. Yet neither your punishment nor your death will relieve the burden of pain from your brother. You are in no position to make demands. Raphael wants his older brother—and that is precisely what you shall give him. There is no door and no road out of this situation; family is compassion, but it is without mercy; your karma will decide the rest. Only by calling out to others may you be saved."

Leo had been watching Raph during his sensei's words; his brother's eyes were red, but dry—it was as though they'd traveled a thousand miles, without having gone anywhere at all.

"Your family is precious, Leonardo. And you are precious to us; we shall get through this. We shall be—as Raphael says—okay."

And for the first time, Leo believed it—not because of his father's words, but something far closer. His brother, gazing at him steadily, bravely, eyes red from crying. No longer that steel of opaqueness that drove Leo to distraction—now open and sincere, challenging, the hint of an immortal smile in the corner of his mouth. The person who always had his back in battle, who would take a bisento or a bullet in the side, who, despite the scars and the gouges and the cracks, reflected back at him a world, and a dream, and a vision of hope. His friend. His partner. His twin.

Leo nodded, and his father patted his shoulder.

"Raphael and I need to talk, my son."

Leo took a shuddering breath, and nodded; over their father's shoulder, Raphael's face had changed to apprehension.

"M-Master Splinter… can't he stay"—

"Raphael! There are serious matters at hand. You need to face this as much as Leonardo—part of that necessitates not clinging to your older brother and his anger."

If Leo was honest with himself, he didn't want to leave the room anymore than Raph wanted him to. Some rather dark place in him dreaded what would be said once he left… he had to know everything Raphael felt about what had happened, and couldn't stand not being part of it, even for a second. In some way, he'd held onto the event for so long that he thoroughly believed it to be his—theirs—and something not to be shared with others. He didn't want love or vindication—he wanted punishment, and disgust, the only things he deserved. He wanted Raphael to get them too… something to drive them closer together… and as he stared at all these desires and wants, secluded in the shadows under stairs in his mind, Leo began to realize what he had become. When his mind emptied and he found peace in Buddhist chants, he had always stepped around that small, penumbra-filled place, where the broken doll with the face of his twin sat with wide, dead eyes. A place in shadows and light, where he had forced his brother on the ground, forced his fear and his anger down upon him, and nearly shattered the heart he loved more than anything—a thing made of glass, fragile bones, the taste of feathers.

How quickly hope and sunlight turned to dangerous fantasy. And knowing how much he feared it, Leo nodded, and left the room. The very act felt like one of the hardest things he had ever done—impossible to release his death grip on his twin, impossible to do the right thing, when wrong had felt… when wrong also had not been easy, when wrong opened doors in his heart, when wrong let him know joy, and youth, and something beyond, and whispered to him about the rest of his life, and how he could live it. He couldn't let himself be trapped in that place, with a person Raphael shouldn't have to be for him.

Then Leonardo was gone, and Raphael was left staring after him. Splinter nodded and sat before his son, so they were only a foot apart, without the table between them; the formality that the room possessed with o-nii-san fell apart; the hierarchy that glued together their family evaporated.

"My son… my strong son. You have…" Splinter stopped, closed his eyes. These were not conversations he ever believed he would have with his sons. "You have nothing at all to be ashamed of," he said, with the voice of a father, and a father only; as though he had packed the sensei into a drawer, like hakama.

Raphael shuddered; visions swam before his memory, half-remembered sensations—Leonardo's callused fingers, a dense ball of heavy matter in the pit of his stomach, weighing him down, eating at him, poison and acid, like a gravitational maggot. Sentences, his thoughts, strange dust moats in his mind, the core of that time, when he'd been forced down on the ground. What strange things occurred to him, transporting him out of his body. I like the sound of that motorcycle engine… wonder how fast it goes… that guy has relish on his hot dog… he's got a briefcase, wonder where he works… that cloud looks like a wrench, bet Donnie'd like it… that kid is talking about video games… wonder what video games Mikey's playing… That building is high—I've never jumped off a building. I wonder what the streets look like from high up… Donnie said there are gargoyles on the oldest ones. Pigeons hang out on the gargoyles. I wanna go to the top of a building just once…

I have to get out of this.

I wanna be on the top of a building. It's such a stupid idea… but why shouldn't I?

I like the sound of that motorcycle…

I like the smell of diesel on the roads…

I like the smell of the hot dogs and puddles and that weird smell up there before it rains… I think Don called it ozone… I wish I could make a jar of ozone, or a jar of the smell of the street or the sound of the motorcycle engines…

I have to get out of this… I have to get out…

Curious, how the event was such a blur and yet he remembered his stream of consciousness so perfectly. Something about it lay at the apex of his being, swum like koi in the undercurrents of his spirit.

"I… I um… it's just… he didn't force me… not like he thinks…" Raph stammered. "I was part of it, you know? I mean… I coulda got away… I just sorta—spaced out. I dunno why. Thought about weird things, like bein' bored or somethin', 'cept I couldn't really turn it off. Like… like thinkin' about stuff I liked—stuff I really didn't know I liked—like sayin' it out loud in my head, t' myself. Stuff I wanted t' do, an' see… I, uh… is this all makin' sense?"

Splinter was very silent; his eyes had become bright, entrapped, looking at his second youngest. He had always wondered where Raphael went when his gaze traveled and he left them all behind—it seemed now he had a fraction of the answer, a small morsel to be cherished, a starving man's crumb, a vagabond's sanctuary.

"Yes, my son. It does indeed."

Raph swallowed; the filthy feeling did not diminish—to be talking about this sickening, poisoned event, to mix the bile of his stomach with the sweet memories of his father's protection, of home, motor oil into milk.

"Raphael—Leonardo has told me of the incident, but I believe you should say it, once, out loud. Tell me how you would describe it, and hear your own words. Perhaps they will reveal something about it to you."

Raph shook his head, almost too rapidly for his own comfort. "Not—ya know—without Leo here… jus' feels… wrong."

Splinter held his chin and matched their eyes. "Raphael—this is not the correct thinking. You have been trapped by this event, by striving to protect your brother. But in doing so, you have not only hurt yourself—you have greatly harmed him as well. As you have said: it was wrong to shield him. Your silence led to repression, and Leonardo was able to then keep this secret from me for many years, while you both suffered in the shadows. I know that your intentions were noble, and stemmed from deep loyalty, but this is not the first time your loyalty has been a fault rather than a virtue. It was solely to Leonardo, and not to yourself or to your family. Your loyalty caused you to mutilate your own spirit. It pains me to see my son harm himself again and again, so twisted around an event that he made himself forget. Please… drop this chain of secrets from around your neck, and open the door. You can escape from this prison through the sound of your own voice."

It was perhaps one of the first times in many years that one of his father's lessons sank to his deepest core, stirred ripples in the stagnant lake he walled inside himself, and Raphael opened his mouth to speak.

---------

Japanese Note: These dialogue translations were actually done for me by the fabulous Airy… and at some point I lost her original English equivalents, and had to re-translate myself, and my Japanese actually isn't nearly as good as hers, so please forgive. When I find them, I will update with better inserts. Also, please note that Raphael is using VERY polite Japanese, as well as elementary; Splinter is very fluent, very officious, and rather scary; Leo's is the kind of slang a really pissed off young man would use to his father, and is also of a more fluent, native form that Raph's, obviously. The point is that Raph can hear Japanese and understand well enough, but his speaking is very limited.