Part 29

Okay... At what point... did we lose... control, here?- Michelangelo


Even with Saki dead, too many Foot ninja remained. More than a dozen black clothed bodies lay on the floor but several more still stood, weapons ready, driving the three turtles back to back in the center of the roof. Throwing stars sank into Donatello's staff. Raphael blocked two katana and snapped them in half, driving his sai into exposed chests. Whirling nunchucks deflected a spear.

"Starting to feel a little boxed in here," Donatello said.

"We ain't leaving Leo," Raphael said, but he scanned the rooftop, searching for any glimpse of their brother. "Damn it, damn it, where is he?"

"Dude," Michelangelo said, "we ain't finding him standing around here."

Raphael bit off his curse, grumbling in agreement as he reached for his bombs.

A billow of smoke erupted around them and drifted with the wind, leaving behind an empty space amidst the Foot. An ever-widening circle off the Foot clan searched the neighboring roofs, the fire escapes and empty tenements. After a few seconds, the first building was left behind.

On the far side of the rooftop, Raphael nestled in the shadow against the ledge. Beside him, Michelangelo and Donatello shared a wide eyed look. Their hiding spot nearly had them out in the open—if any real gaze swept over their spot, they would have been seen immediately. But coupled with how the wind had blown the smoke, drawing attention to the side of the building instead of the far ledge, the shadows gave the three of them a clear view of their enemies methodically sweeping the neighborhood before finally dropping out of sight.

Donatello released the heavy breath he'd been holding. Beside him, Raphael relaxed and Michelangelo chuckled and leaned back, staring at the stars.

"I can't believe that worked," Raphael said.

"Not bad."

They all looked up. On the other side of the ledge, Leonardo leaned on the concrete overhang, giving them a tired smile.

"What are you standing on?" Donatello asked, craning back to try to see.

"Satellite dish," Leonardo said. "The illegal ones are the sturdiest—all the cords."

"You gave Shredder the slip?" Raphael said.

Leonardo shook his head once, but his smile changed, turned triumphant. If there was a touch of satisfied hate to his grin, it was mirrored in their own thoughts.

"Aw, hell yeah," Michelangelo said, taking a long, deep breath, no longer feeling the ache in his side.

"They're gonna be pissed when they find him," Donatello said.

"Probably call a lot more of them, too," Raphael said. "Okay, we'll take the storm culvert under the subway—let's just give them a few more seconds to get a little farther outta here."

The command carried an edge that twisted in Leonardo's heart. Raphael gave the command, Donatello and Michelangelo nodded and, after a moment, Leonardo nodded once as well.

But at the same time, the cut, painful at first, brought an unfamiliar sense of lightness, an untangling of a knot that Leonardo had struggled with ever since he'd slashed himself.

When they climbed over the side and dropped down to the street, using the shadows as their route to the subway entrance, Leonardo followed at his brothers' heels. Always looking back, always looking forward—how easy it was to fall silent as they quipped, to let Raphael lead them home. Raphael had led them out as well, had led them through the fight and then later to disappear.

Through the city's underground layers, they raced home beneath the sidewalks and streets, then deeper beneath the subway system and the hidden pipes and works of New York. Moonlight shone through the grates and curb gutters, suffusing a dim gloom through the tunnels, and Leonardo watched his brothers move through the darkness.

Wasuremono.

Things left behind.

As they came to their home, drawing nearer to the door, a terrible thought loomed in front of him.

He ran, for once, without feeling the constant pull in his arm, the monstrous tension in one side pulling him off balance. This was what he was meant to be, a shadow without weight. And shadows of his clan did not push into the light. Names forgotten by all, even their closest family, shadows didn't have to strive under their family's expectations, didn't have to follow when they'd primed themselves to lead.

Three shells ran before him.

Their shadow followed, silent, unseen, unheard.