Chapter 7

January 17th; 2:05 a.m.

The desperation in Raphael's cry blared in my head like the sound of a car horn, just before it was about to hit a petrified animal. And just like a helpless deer standing in the middle of the road, I did nothing but stare at the events that took place in those few seconds of panic.

My mind was as if parted from my body, watching myself from another's perspective as I did nothing to help.

While I had been locked to the ground by my fear, utterly useless to my brothers, Raph had found his way to Michelangelo's motionless body, protecting him from the ninja that attacked with his spear. The hard metallic pole in the hands of the Foot soldier hit nothing but the steel of Raphael's sais as he went for the killing blow. Shocked by the sudden arrival of the red masked turtle, the attacker stood dumbfounded with his spear locked to the sais.

Raph, meanwhile, discovered something I already knew, yet did nothing to stop. With his back turned to Mikey's defenceless body, Raph saw past his opponent and noticed the ninja attacking Donatello from behind.

His cry was what sped the world back up, using every ounce of strength left inside of him to call our purple masked brother's name, his very life depending on it.

Hearing Raph cry out for him, Don turned around in shock, only to have the katana of his enemy cut through the flesh of his right upper arm, missing his neck by a crucial second. On instinct, Don shoved his bo into the abdomen of his attacker, causing him to pass out from the blow, his bloody sword dropping to the cold, white ground. Donnie quickly turned back to the foot member he'd been battling before he was injured and placed a fierce kick underneath his chin, causing the man's jaw to slam shut as it broke. Unconscious, the man collapsed in the snow, leaving Donatello to clutch his upper arm in anguish. His face twisted at the unbearable pain that coursed through his arm, blood seeping out from underneath his hand, filling up between his three frigid fingers.

Still, my brother stood his ground, red blood dripping from his arm, leaving crimson spots in the icy, white snow.

The distinct contrast of death was sickening.

After witnessing what could have been Don's last moment, Raphael shoved Mikey's attacker off of him, the incredible force in his arms pushing the stunned ninja backwards. Before the enemy had the faintest chance of charging at him, Raph spun a kick that connected with the left side of the soldier's head. Apart from the blow of the skull cracking, the man soundlessly fell to the ground, his limbs flaccid with death. Another ninja caught up to Raph in his friend's place, and I caught my red masked brother looking at me from across the roof, urgency apparent in his mahogany brown eyes.

"Leo, dammit! Do somethin'!" he hollered, entangled in yet another battle. As if to reach through to me in my coma like state, he angrily motioned with his eyes towards Don.

Awoken from my trance, I turned my head to the left to discover my purple masked brother, who despite of his injures did his best to defend himself against the ninjas that attacked him, using the opportunity now that he was wounded. Donatello's defensive blows were powerful, yet his body was faltering; color starting to diminish from his face.

Back in the harsh reality, I quickly rushed over to my wounded brother, slipping my right blade into the side of one his attackers, my sword hitting his ribs. Harmless, the man's legs gave out from underneath him, leaving him on his back in the snow. He lifted his heavy head and horridly discovered the pool of blood that surrounded him, causing him to cry out in fear.

Sobbing, the young warrior called out for his 'mommy,' his child like pleas awakening guilt and grief inside of me. When having fought these ninjas for as long as we had, it was easy to forget about the faces that hid behind their masks. Because regardless of what they stood for, despite the pain they inflicted on me and my family, they were still people; individuals with thoughts and feelings. People that left not only a history behind them, but relatives, as well.

When this was over and the morning arrived, someone would be forced to identify this body, this man.

Brushing the sudden pang of remorse off of me, I quickly placed a kick in the abdomen of the ninja that tried to attack me from my right. The sudden blow caused him to lose his breath. Out cold, he collapsed in the snow, joining his friends; their bodies spread out over the rooftop. Some of them were merely unconscious, while some of them not.

For the moment safe, I worriedly turned to look at Don, meeting his swaying eyes. "Are you okay?" I asked, fear and concern dripping off of my voice like pure acid.

"I-I think so," he replied, as though he was too shocked to communicate.

Ignoring his answer, I turned to inspect his arm, which he tightly clasped with his bloody hand. "Lemme see," I asked, putting my right sword back in its sheath.

Don slowly removed his hand from the wound, revealing a deep cut in his brownish green flesh, blood pouring out from it at a dangerous rate. It was impossible to tell how deep it was, there was too much blood. And the cut looked as though it had been made with a scalpel; a smooth, sharp slash reaching up to almost four inches on his upper arm.

I had to force myself not to gag, right then and there.

Suppressing the nausea and ignoring the pain that rushed up my left arm once moving it, I quickly sheathed my other sword, lowering my face forward as I reached back behind my head to untie my bandanna, my trembling fingers grasping the flimsy cotton fabric of the knot. It seemed to take forever to get it open - and forever was something I did not have.

Once I managed to slip the mask off of my face, I quickly glanced up at my woozy brother, who seemed to grow paler by each second that passed. "Give me your arm," I ordered, holding up the blue mask above it as he lifted it, pain obvious on his features once he did.

Fearing for his life, I roughly tied the mask around his arm, draping it four times before I was forced to tie the short ends together. Don quietly hissed once I fastened the knot, the wound very sensitive to my brutal, urgent touch. Nonetheless, he knew it had to be done. We both did.

As soon as the knot was secured, I noticed how fast the blood seeped through it, coating the blue mask with its harsh, red color. Looking at my hands, I noticed that my numb fingers were covered in his warm gore.

An artery, I realized. The katana must have cut through an artery. There was no other explanation for the rapid bleeding. If the blood flow was allowed to continue at this rate, my younger brother was condemned to bleed to death.

A cold sensation of dread gripped the pit of my stomach, twisting and turning; strangling it like a snake working to kill its prey.

I looked back up at Don, whom by now had turned dangerously pale, the reasons for it many. He was in deep shock and overwhelming pain. But the main reason, as well as the most critical, was his blood loss. He had lost far too much already, and the makeshift bandage I made for him seemed to have little affect.

The blood flow was showing no signs of stopping.

"Keep pressure on it," I told him, my advice sounding more like an order than anything else. Casting a quick glance over my shoulder, I noticed how Raph on his own had to fight the dozen of Foot ninjas that still stood. With pressing eyes turned back to Donnie, I grabbed him by his wrists - a desperate attempt to get his full attention - and bore my stare into his tired eyes. "I've gotta go help Raph," I informed him, intentionally speaking clearly. "Just.." I momentarily glanced at the cold ground our sore feet rested on, knowing it was just another thing that stood against us this night. "Just wait here an.. and stay focused."

He nodded, listening carefully to my words.

"Don, I'm serious," I insisted, grabbing his wrists a little tighter. "Under no circumstances close your eyes. You have got to stay awake, you hear me?" With determination in my gaze, I locked my eyes with his. I had gone into full blown leader mode; every fibre of my body trying to take control of the nightmarish situation that threatened to destroy us. I refused to lose him. It was my fault he was even in this mess in the first place. Had I not gone into shock, I might have been able to help Raph save our brothers.

But just like in my dreams, I lost complete control of myself and my actions. I failed.

"Leo, I get it," Don said, carefully slipping his hands out of my grasp. "I'll be fine, okay? Just go help the others so we can get out of here." Even though he was tired, both from the loss of blood and the fighting, he met my eyes with the same determination, an unspoken understanding lingering between us.

"Okay." My voice was low and hushed. I then turned to glance at the ground a second time. In spite of the cold snow, Donnie needed his rest. I slipped my arm below his unharmed left arm, supporting him as we walked over to a large, nearby chimney. I carefully turned him around and held him by his shoulders, guiding him into a seated position. His shell was facing the beige brick wall as he slid down, gritting his teeth in pain, yet I made sure he held eye contact with me the entire time.

When trying to get comfortable on the ground, Don winced as he was forced to move his injured arm. He placed the staff in the snow on his left side and moved his hand to put pressure on his wound, his fingers gripping around the harmed biceps as if he was trying to choke it.

I didn't like the thought of leaving him in the snow, but I didn't have any other option. I reached behind my shell for my swords, biting my cheek when moving my swollen arm and kept my eyes locked on Don, who at the moment was looking over his shoulder, staring at Raphael as he fought, killed. He soon turned back to meet my eyes, a hidden trace of fear lurking in his chocolate brown depths.

"You sure you'll be okay?" I asked him, not wanting to leave him alone like this, vulnerable.

"Leo, they need you out there," he answered, noble as he was. "Don't worry about me."

With one last nod, I reluctantly turned away from him and hurried off to Raph, who had been forced to hold our stand against the Foot all by himself. I knew he would never willingly admit to it, but the fighting was starting to affect his energy, his breathing transforming into panting.

Reaching up to my red clad brother, I turned to look at him with my katana in my hands, witnessing as he spun a lethal kick that eliminated three of our enemies at once, their bodies landing in the snow. With rugged breaths, he turned to look at me, both his sais covered in the blood of those who no longer stood.

"The hell happened ta ya!" he yelled, anger obvious in his accusing eyes.

"I don't know," I told him, unsure of what to say. There was nothing I could say to explain myself. Nothing that excused my actions, or lack of actions.

"You don't know?" he cried, hurriedly glancing at the ninja that raced towards him. "Ye fuckin' almost cost us a brotha'!" With his attention turned to the ninja, he jumped aside as he attacked, coming up behind him to plunge one of his sais into the lower back of the black clad warrior, causing him to gasp in pain. Raph took the opportunity to look at Mike, still unconscious; his body slumped against the cement wall he hit, his head lolled to one side.

I was forced to turn my eyes back to the last group of ninjas that stood on the roof of the building next to ours, their red bandannas flapping in the chilly wind of the night. There were seven of them. Was this the last group, we might just make it.

Raphael retreated his sai from the back of the dying warrior, the man coughing as he dropped to the ground. Ready to take on the next one, Raph turned back to me with anger in his eyes. "Check Mikey," he told me, panting.

"Raph, there's seven of them. You-"

"You deaf?" he questioned, his chest heaving up and down with his tired breaths. "Check. Mikey." He left no room for argument in his voice, his eyes turning away from me to prepare himself for the last attackers.

Silenced, I sheathed both my swords behind my back and hurried off to check up on Michelangelo, the lifeless body of his would-be killer lying across from him. Avoiding the clay, I crouched down in front of my youngest brother, relieved to see air reeking from between his lips, dissolving into the cold winter night. I lifted my right hand to make sure his pulse was steady, noticing Don's blood covering my fingers. I swallowed once and pressed them to his throat, relieved to feel stable beats against my tips, even though they were low.

It wasn't anything a warm bed couldn't fix.

I removed my touch from his throat and slipped my hand back behind his head, my palm making contact with a large bump. Carefully running my fingers across it, I felt something wet and warm against my skin.

Blood.

A bucket of ice-cold water washed over me, creeping inside my very soul with its numbing force. My pulse started to race, fear building up with it. Weren't Donnie's injures enough? I couldn't bear the thought of losing one of my brothers, much less two. Quickly, I pulled Mikey's face into my embrace, reaching behind him to look at the wound, while at the same time trying to be careful with his head in my arms.

My thumping heart began to calm down, a breath of relief escaping my lips. It turned out it wasn't so bad. There was a small crack caused by the impact. But it didn't appear to need any stitches. The wound was small enough to tape together. Nonetheless, it would probably hurt a great deal once he came to.

As soon as the thought left me, he began to stir in my arms, muffled words spoken into my plastron. I was incredibly relieved to find him waking up, groaning as he fought to lift his head. Supporting his shoulders with my hands, I helped him into a seated position, his back leaned against the wall.

"Ow.." he moaned, gripping his head with his right hand as his eyes fluttered open. "Something hurts.." He caught me looking at him and his eyes widened with confusion, pain still visible in them. "My head's killing me." Rubbing his bump, he closed his eyes in suffering.

"You got kicked into a wall," I told him, cautious eyes studying him, making sure he was as okay as he appeared.

He quickly opened his eyes to look at me, the information dawning on him. "Well, that explains a lot," he said, that light, characteristic tone returning to his voice. He placed his hands on each side of his body, his palms sinking into the snow. Gritting his teeth, he painfully began to rise, and I instantly pulled my good arm around him, helping him stand.

Once he was on his feet I bent back down and fetched his nunchakus, which he dropped the moment he crashed into the wall. I rose and held out them to him, noticing an unnerving look beginning to take form on his face.

"Uh oh.." Realizing something, Mikey bent forward - away from me - and retched. His shoulders contracted when he fought for the vomit to surface, hulking as the gastric juice spilled onto the snow, traces of dinner lying in the puddle.

Concussion... I realized, recalling the time I threw up after Don accidentally hit me on the head with his bo during practice, all those years ago. It made sense. It had been a powerful kick that sent Mike flying, and the wall he crashed into was very hard, to say the least.

I took the time to check up on Raph while Mike was puking, noticing there were only two ninjas left standing. Nonetheless, they had just joined the fight, unlike Raph, who had done most of the job by himself. And there were many things that stood against him. It was late, it was cold and he was tired. I could tell, because like I mentioned before, his breathing had gotten rugged and violent. He no longer had the power to be as offensive in his attacks like he usually was when fighting, and the soldiers seemed to have noticed this, as they attacked him in synchronization with each other. They attacked from opposite sides, teasing him, trying to tire him.

However, Raph knew they were toying with him - and it only infuriated him more. Stubbornly, he blocked their punches, contracting in tune with their movements, trying to spare his energy until he had a good chance to strike. He found himself jumping back and forth in between his enemies, the two of them systematically working together to wear him out.

I wondered to myself; how much longer could his patience last? Raphael had never been one to stand by and take punches from anyone, no matter what the situation. He usually fought with his heart, his passion - not with his mind. Sooner or later, they would make some kind of move that would push him over the edge and urge him to attack.

"Oh, man..."

Mikey's nauseous tone of voice caused me to turn back to him, watching him as he clutched his head in pain, trying to keep the world from spinning. "Remind me to never get kicked into a wall again," he groaned, spitting in the snow to get rid of the sour aftertaste in his mouth.

"Are you gonna be okay?" I asked, ignoring his weak attempt to joke. I placed a concerned hand on his shoulder, causing him to turn to look at me, dizziness shining through in his eyes.

"Yeah," he replied, a smile tugging at the right corner of his mouth. "Just give me five minutes, will ya?" Titling his head, he noticed something, his eyes studying me with curiosity. "Dude, where's your bandanna?" he asked, his clueless voice filled with innocence.

I swallowed hard, doing my best to keep eye contact with him, but for some reason my eyes seemed to waver, avoiding his child like stare. "I gotta go help Raph," I told him, my voice stern and serious. "You need to keep Don company."

"Sure thing," he said, tucking his chucks into his belt as he nodded. "S' he hurt?" he asked in a casual tone of voice. He had no idea how bad things were. And I had to tell him.

I didn't want to.

My lingering silence caused worry to wash over his features, his eyes urging me to answer him. "Leo?"

Damn.

"He got cut pretty bad," I finally revealed, causing his face to drop. "I used my bandanna to dress the wound.. but you need to keep pressure on it."

"Wh... is he gonna be okay?" he asked, a glint of hope shining through his worried gaze.

"He's over there," I told him, motioning with my head to the left side of the rooftop, "behind the chimney." I had placed him behind the chimney so the Foot wouldn't see him. Unfortunately, he was turned away from our sight, as well. It troubled me.

Without another word spoken, Mikey hurried across the roof, worry evident in his every movement.

Forcing myself to focus, I reached back behind my shell for my katana, arming myself with them before I rushed up to Raph, who was still being bullied by the last two ninjas, his defensive movements becoming slower and slower, the cold and the fighting starting to take its toll on him.

"Hey!" I called out to his two Foot members, standing fifteen feet away from them with my swords held in front of me.

All of them turned to look at me, Raph panting heavily as he got a chance to rest. One of his friends was armed with a bo, while the other one held a katana in his grip.

I knew exactly which one I wanted to fight. And he seemed to notice, as he suddenly lost all focus in Raphael and headed in my direction, his steps careful, his eyes calculating; trying to read my body language for my next move.

This one was better than the rest, smarter - as was his friend. They didn't rush to attack like the rest of the clan had. Instead, they took their time to learn our style and plan their movements. Was it not for the fact that they lacked all honor and attacked Raph in pair, they might have resembled real ninjas.

Raphael took the opportunity to hurl at his opponent, managing to slit the man in his side, ripping his clothes and cutting into his flesh. A mere second later, the both of them found themselves staring at each other, a few feet's distance between them. The man pressed his hand to the wound, taking a short moment to look at it, his muffled voice hissing behind his mask once he discovered his own blood-print on his palm. Turning back to Raph with dark eyes, the ninja grabbed a firmer hold of his staff, twirling it in his hands with a whooshing noise, before he pointed it at my brother - and charged.

Me, I found myself staring into the eyes of my opponent, the both of us poised with our katana in our hands, waiting for the other person to act; make the first move. I mentally reminded myself to control my left arm. It wasn't broken, but comparing with earlier experiences I figured it was strained. And while that didn't take as long to heal, it hurt just as bad to move. I could not let him see that. For if I did, then he would've found my Achilles' heal - and an opening to attack.

Finally, he sprung at me.

His katana came at a horizontal strike, aiming for my right hip. Luckily, I managed to block it, my left blade connecting with his, pain travelling up my arm at the sudden movement. Even so, I kept my face solemn, refusing to let him know of my injury. Locking his eyes with mine, he retreated his sword, quick to spun a kick, missing my waistline by a few inches. In return I dropped to the ground, trying to pull out his legs from underneath him with my right foot. Prepared, he leaped into the air, rising his sword for a downward hit.

I rolled over on my shell, his blade missing me by mere centimeters as it connected with the ground, leaving a cleaving mark in the snow.

He was good.

I got the feeling Shredder had put in extra time when it came to these two, almost as if he had trained them by himself. Did he really want us dead that badly? Because that man rarely spent any time with anyone other than himself, not unless he gained something from it...

"Leo, he's unconscious!"

Mikey's splitting cry was filled with anguish, panic and fear, enough to pause all of us in our stance. Enough for my thoughts to travel elsewhere.

Don!

The world hit me like a smarting slap in the face, leaving me bruised and shocked. The thought of Donnie not making it suddenly felt real. It felt like a future, instead of just being the possibility for one. I could picture my brothers and myself as we carried his lifeless body into the dimness of our home, tears spilling from our eyes when placing his limp form on his bed.

I could feel it as though I had lived it. And it snaked around my being like a rope designed to cut off all oxygen; suffocating me. I felt reality's hands clasped around my throat, the sense of choking altering something within me. Suppressed instincts I had long since buried vigorously came to life, filling my body with energy that reached all the way out to the tips of my fingers.

My fear of losing him grew immense, and the need to save him overtook me.