The sun was rising over the horizon when the Shellraiser pulled up in front of the farmhouse, and the Party Wagon beside it, parking side-by-side on the front lawn.
The Party Wagon's engine ran for a second longer after it was parked, then Kirby turned and pulled the key, and everything became unsettlingly quiet.
Two vehicles, nine people, a turtle, and a cat sat before the house, and no one dared move.
Moving would be accepting this as their reality and trying to work through it, instead of letting themselves lose their immersion in this whole night that seemed like a dream, and waking up to another day back where they had started, where everything had been fine only two days ago.
Donatello looked up at the old house, unpleasant memories washing over him.
The last time his family had pulled up to this house, it had been in the midst of an alien invasion in New York. They'd had to leave their friends behind in the city, and a beloved member of their family, too. Leo had been out of action, and no one was sure if he'd ever be the same again, if he survived the ordeal.
Little has changed, Donatello thought to himself bitterly.
The longer the group sat there, the more they settled into the spell of not wanting to accept the reality presented before them.
Donatello elected to be the first one to move, reaching for Leo's tank.
Leo needed help, and delaying to give him such could just cause their harsh reality to get a lot harsher.
Donnie supported the tank in both hands, and nodded to Leatherhead and then the door.
Leatherhead pushed the Party Wagon's back doors open.
Donnie gave the gator a nod of thanks and stepped down onto the grass and gravel ground. He started for the house.
Mr. O'Neil got out of the driver's seat and produced a key as he walked to the front door, then pushed the door open for Donatello to walk through.
The dark inside of the house had started to collect dust, and someone could tell from the lack of scattered items that it had been unlived in for quite some time. There were no keys or coats hanging by the door, no bits of mud or specks of trash that people hadn't realized they'd left behind as they went about their day, no tissues or books or anything. The entire house smelled more of house, of old wood and musty odors drifting up from the basement, than of life. There was no aroma of baked goods drifting through the air, no fragrances of flowery laundry detergent washing away at sweaty, lived-in clothes, even no smells of cleaning supplies to explain the blankness, the emptiness of it all.
Someone who hadn't seen the house before might have remarked that it was unwelcoming because of the haunted feeling it gave off.
Donnie would have said it was unwelcoming for entirely different reasons.
There was no aroma of coffee to ready Donnie for the day after a long work night. There was no sound of Raphael training outside.
There was no flicker of candlelight that said Leo was meditating.
There was no cheerful tune and metallic clinking that said Mikey was cooking some awful concoction for them to try.
Donatello walked into the dining room and sat Leo's tank far into the middle. He examined the little turtle for any sign of distress, but once the water had stilled, Leo went about minding his own business.
"How's he doing?"
Donnie jumped a mile in the air. "Raph!" He held a hand to his chest and exhaled, doubling over against the table.
April came into the room and stood a good distance away from them. "What does Leo need replaced?"
"His bulb," Donnie said, regaining his composure.
April held a finger up. "Oh! I know where some spares are."
"It has to be UVB," Donnie said, otherwise he's susceptible to not getting the right vitamins."
April pursed her lips. "I'm not sure if we have any of those." She hummed. "It's a long way to the nearest pet store. Why don't you list everything you need, and I'll get Dad or Casey to drive me there and pick it all up?"
Donatello produced a notepad and pen from his belt and started scribbling some notes down. "A long way to the nearest pet store as in…?"
"Half an hour or so." She checked her phone. "And besides that, it probably won't be open for another four hours."
Donnie paled. "Four hours? You'd better get there right at opening time, and hurry."
"How much time does he have left until something could happen to him?"
"In theory, it would take at least a few days for something to go seriously wrong as an effect of not having the proper tank equipment, but Leo isn't just a pet turtle. Let's not put that to the test. Besides, his case might be different, with him being more adjusted to living like a human. The sooner you can get everything, the better." He handed the list to April, who tucked it into her pocket.
Everyone else had filtered in through the door by now.
"In the meantime," Splinter said, "We should sort out our arrangements for staying in this house. We may be staying here a while."
Out of the corner of his eye, Donatello caught Raphael's fists clenching.
"I'm afraid there aren't enough bedrooms to accommodate everyone," Kirby said.
"That is quite alright," Leatherhead said. "I would not fit in a bed, anyway. I am content to stay wherever I am needed."
"Yeah, I can sleep on the floor or wherever, too," Mondo Gecko said. He shrugged. "At least there will be a floor; I just slept on concrete for a while after my parents kicked me onto the streets." He said so as casually as if he were stating his favorite soda brand, completely oblivious to Splinter's and Mr. O'Neil's horrified expressions.
Raphael crossed his arms. "We just got here and we're talking about sleeping arrangements! Hello? Do none of you remember that we just left Mikey and Slash back in New York with the alien invasion?" He looked pointedly at Splinter. "Ring a bell for anyone?"
"Raph, there's nothing we can do," Donatello said.
Raph threw his hands up. "Oh! There's nothing we can do! So why don't we all just make ourselves comfortable and sit back and relax because we're not in front of the problem anymore, unlike the two we just abandoned back there! They could be eaten alive at any second, but not us! So hey, why don't we just kick our feet up and forget everything that just happened! Nothing we can do, so why should we worry about it?" He smiled sweetly, the expression not gracing his eyes, and clasped his hands together with a tilt of his head. "Is there anything I could get you? Maybe a bath bomb, or some caviar?"
Donatello slammed his fists on the table, making poor little Leonardo leap from his basking rock and hide away under a decorative plant.
"Oh, and a lot of good you're doing, pointing out just how little we're doing to save our friends－our family－ after we got chased out by the same thing that could eat us alive! Obviously, we all collectively decided not to care about any of them anymore and prance off into the countryside to laugh amongst ourselves about how we abandoned them! Yeah, no. Shut up, Raph. I'm sick of you pretending you're the only one who sees the problem and whining about it while the rest of us are actually trying to come up with a plan to solve it instead!"
"Donatello! Raphael! Enough!"
Donatello deflated at Splinter's voice. Raphael turned and glared.
"Arguing will not help the situation. In times like these, we must all work together and- Raphael, where are you going?"
"Anywhere I don't have to listen to the two of you!" Raph stormed out of sight.
The front door creaked open, and slammed shut.
"Raph!" Donnie called. He walked towards the door. "Raphael!" He felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Leave him be," Splinter said. "He needs time to reflect."
Donatello gazed at the front door.
There had been days back at the lair when his brothers had been too noisy, too distracting for him to work, and all he'd wished for was for his brothers to leave him alone, if only for a few minutes.
Now, he didn't want Raph to leave him alone.
It was too much to be separated from all three of his brothers.
"Guys?" Michelangelo called for what might have been the thousandth time. His voice was starting to crack now, from overuse or from something else, he couldn't tell.
He tried hard not to cry, but it became increasingly difficult with each passing second. Every second gone was another second his brothers might be hurt, or worse, and he wasn't there to help.
He had managed to beat all the Kraangdroids that had tried to stop him, and had done so receiving only a few cuts and bruises. He'd been trapped on the roof since then, desperately waiting for his bros to come back, alive and unharmed, to save him.
Hope that had been depleting for the past hour.
He paced from one corner of the roof to the next, continuing to call out to his family.
"Guys? Donnie? Raph? Sensei?" He let out a laugh, then mentally scolded himself for laughing. What was funny about this?
"Um, I'm still up here, but uh, I kinda need help, guys." He walked to the next corner. "I know I messed up, but I really can't get down."
He cast a wary eye at the clouds below, which were still rising up, threatening to swallow him once they crested the building's ledge. They had steadily slowed down, but the longer the guys stalled rescuing him, the more imminent they felt.
"I've learned my lesson. Come get me." He looked around. "Please."
He made another lap around the square of the rooftop. "This isn't funny, Raph! Is this revenge for all the pranks I played on you? Fine! You have your revenge! But I never threatened you with anything dangerous! I'm not that low!"
He paused, giving them time to respond.
No one talked to him.
"Donnie, make him stop! He's had his laugh! This isn't funny anymore!"
A thunderclap rang out overhead.
Mikey yelped and stumbled back.
Rain poured down at once, creating a pattering roar as the drops hit the pavement and concrete.
Michelangelo realized his calls would soon be drowned out in the storm and hastened to cry out, "I'm serious! Someone come get me! Anyone! Leatherhead! April! Casey! Rockwell! Mondo!"
He stopped, and let the storm drown out his murmur of "Leo."
He allowed himself to cry.
He could pretend it was only the rain when his brothers came to save him.
"Guys," Mikey said. His voice wavered. "Help. I'm scared." He hugged himself. "I know I messed up, but this is too much for-" He stopped.
Too much payback for what he'd done? For nearly opening the Shellraiser's door and letting the fog eat them alive? For being too clumsy and getting Leo unmutated?
He hung his head. "No. No, you're right."
He looked over the building's edge at the looming fog.
The rain had pushed it down for now.
Mikey gazed over the rooftops.
Most of them were clear now, enough that he could zig-zag a path without stepping in the gas.
He wasted no time in bolting the same direction the guys had been traveling when they'd been separated.
"Guys? Guys!" he called again, voice still cracking and hoarse. "Donnie? Raph? Sensei?" When he reached the end of the block, he used his nunchuck to latch onto the building ahead on the other side and swing across. He continued right on, running and running and running and calling and calling and calling.
And not one time did anyone call back.
Call－ that was it!
Mikey skidded to a stop and reached for his belt, grinning to himself.
What an idiot he was!
His hand met an empty spot where his T-phone should have been.
His grin slipped, and he frantically patted his whole belt. Right. He'd forgotten it.
What an idiot he was.
Mikey's lip quivered, but he kept going. "Raph?" he called once more, voice even unsteadier. "Donnie?"
He ran over rooftop after rooftop, avoiding fog-covered ones as necessary, calling their names all the while.
The storm roared louder. Mikey cried out louder.
He ran and called and called and called and called his brothers, his father, his friends, his allies.
No one came for him.
By the time the rain lightened up, Michelangelo's voice was gone.
He stopped and stood alone, cold, wet, and shaking.
Unimpeded by the rain, the fog started to rise again.
He didn't have much time.
He ran again, putting as much air through his lungs as he could, but only getting a wiry screeching out of his battered voice. It would be a miracle if his brothers even recognized the sound as him if he passed them.
Nevertheless, he ran forward, no plan, no sense of direction. He just ran, faster and faster, hoping somehow, by some chance he would be in the right place at the right time for them to see him.
As he ran overtop an apartment building, he heard something move on the adjacent rooftop at his unnerving cry.
Michelangelo stopped, bolted to the edge, and peered down.
"Slash!" Mikey exclaimed, although it was less his ally's name, and more a wiry hiss that vaguely resembled the sound of the name.
He grabbed the ledge of the building he was on, flipped over it, and used it to swing himself onto the rooftop Slash rested on.
"Michelangelo," Slash said. His voice sounded relieved, yet he pulled his shoulders up around him and glanced to the side.
"Your arms!"
Slash's arms were more red than green. The left had a large, blood-filled gash with more caked, dried blood gathered around its edges and dried streams where it had run to his elbow.
The only thing Mikey could say about Slash's right arm, was that it looked all kinds of wrong.
The arm hung limply by his side, swollen and angry red. His elbow resembled a balloon more than it resembled an elbow.
Mikey reached for his arm, to which Slash pulled away and flinched.
Michelangelo retracted his hand with a pang at seeing what his ally had done because of him. "Sorry."
"Don't worry about it." Slash met his gaze. "Where are the guys?"
Michelangelo fought to keep tears at bay. "I can't find them."
Slash took a minute to process this, probably to pull apart what Michelangelo had said because of his voice. "Oh."
"Do you have any idea where they might be?" Mikey asked.
"They probably left."
Mikey blinked. "Left?"
"Yeah, it would have been the smartest thing for them to do."
Mikey shook his head. "No, they wouldn't. Raph wouldn't let them. No turtle left behind."
"I told them to leave me," Slash said.
Mikey tilted his head.
"I told them to leave me," Slash repeated, "If they needed to."
But Mikey hadn't told them that they could leave him.
"It was the right decision," Slash said. He looked at himself. "There's not much I can do for them."
Was that why, then? They'd break their own rule if the person in question couldn't do anything right?
Mikey shook his head.
They wouldn't leave. And even if they did, it would have been because they had no other option, because it was within the entire city's, perhaps the entire world's best interests.
Not because they were losing dead weight.
If that were the case, they would have taken Slash with them.
"Do you have your phone?" Mikey asked.
Slash shook his head. "No, I dropped mine. I take it you don't have yours either, if you're asking?"
Mikey shook his head. He didn't want to explain that he didn't even have dropping his own as an excuse, so he said nothing.
Michelangelo pulled his medkit out and produced a bottle of antiseptic.
Out of all the brothers, Donnie had the most extensive medkit on him at all times, and the largest bottle of antiseptic to go with it, being the elected doctor for minor wounds and keeping injuries under control until Master Splinter could look at the injury.
Looking at the giant gash in Slash's arm, Michelangelo wished he had Donnie's medkit to dress it.
More than that, he wished Donnie was there.
Michelangelo gestured to Slash's arm.
Slash offered the said arm, although he stared at the wall while Michelangelo cleaned it.
Being someone himself who often had to look away when Donnie did anything medical to him, Mikey wondered if Slash was scared, too. Somehow, that didn't seem right.
He ran out of ointment before dressing the entire wound, but he'd treated the worst of it.
Sensing he was done, Slash nodded, then looked over the building's edge. "The fog is almost here," he said.
"What are we gonna do?" Mikey asked.
"I'm in no condition to fight," Slash admitted, "And you look exhausted. We need to find somewhere this gas won't get us."
"Someplace far up?" Michelangelo suggested.
"That might work. We need to find some abandoned spot in a tall building to stay a while, at least until we've got some energy back." He stood slowly, making sure not to drag his dislocated arm on anything, and stumbled. He motioned with his dressed hand to stop when Michelangelo moved to catch him. "I'm fine. Let's go."
Michelangelo raised an eyebrow. He doubted Slash was fine.
Then again, if anyone could see into his mind, no one would say differently for him.