A/N: Thank you for sticking around even though I've been so mean to the guys. I kinda feared all the readers would mysteriously drop off the radar. I promise your questions will be answered in time (or at least most of them will be). Meanwhile, here's Chapter 4. Review responses will as usual be posted at Stealthy Stories. Check my profile for the link. At the moment, I'm pursuing this certain authoress to beta read this for me, but I have the attention span of a two year-old, so I kinda went ahead and posted this even though it probably needs fixing. I think we're about halfway through this fic now, so hopefully you'll stick around for the rest. Thanks! Don't forget to drop that review before you leave.

Chapter 4

I didn't know whether or not to be thankful that Mikey had come with me to look at the motion detector. Obviously, knowing the outcome, it filled me with more relief than I could ever contain, but at the same time...

What about the others? Sensei, Raph... Leo. He offered to come with me, he did; and I turned him down. Did that make me responsible? And, even if I had known what I knew now, would I have acted any different? If someone had told me that my family was about to be gunned down by a bunch of armed psychopaths, and that I could only save one of them, would I have chosen differently?

I know. It was a stupid hypothetical situation. Why would I have been given a warning for what happened? And why would I only have the chance to save one of them? It was stupid, and the thought didn't make any sense at all, but... I couldn't help but wonder.

Had I been forced into picking only one of them to come with me, would I have chosen differently?

I seriously doubted it.

Even if I had been given the heartbreaking option to choose, I felt painfully certain Mike would still be the one running beside me right now.

It wasn't that I loved him any more than I did the others - of course not. I loved them all more than I was ever able to tell them. But my instinct to protect burned so much stronger for Mikey than it had for any of the others. Age difference or not, he was my little brother, and I couldn't bare the thought of him dying, no matter what the scenario.

I couldn't believe I was actually thinking these thoughts, only minutes after having lost the rest of my family. Their bodies weren't even cold yet, figuratively speaking, and I was already more or less thankful that things had turned out the way they had. I decided this must have been the true definition of evil. Sure, many people I'd come across over the years had lied and cheated, killed and raped, but to actually know that you would choose a certain loved one over the others...

I felt so disgusted with myself.

I briefly wondered if the others knew what I was thinking. Could they hear my traitorous thoughts, now that they were dead? I didn't really believe in the afterlife – I trusted more in science and proof – but I couldn't help but wonder if it was my conscience that was haunting me, or the letdown spirits of my own family.

Whatever it was, it wasn't something I could outrun, especially not when our pace had slowed down as much as it had. And to top it all off, I feared we were lost. Somewhere in the darkness of these tunnels and my thoughts, I'd lost my focus... and my way.

Mikey felt so heavy next to me, and I wondered if it was because he barely made any effort to move on his own, or if it was my own bullet wound that was starting to have its effect on me. Either way, we were moving way too slow for my liking. We were barely trudging through the cold water, basically just trying to stay upright. And that's when it suddenly hit me.

"Hold on," I abruptly ordered, stopping in my tracks, holding on to Michelangelo with all my might, knowing he was my dearest and only remaining family member.

"What is it?" he fearfully whispered, looking at me with those big, innocent eyes of his, making me feel as though I was a lifetime older than him.

"Listen," I quietly told him, turning my head around to stare down the narrow tunnel behind us, appearing almost hauntingly endless in the consuming darkness.

Mike, sweaty and pale, slowly turned his head to follow my gaze, and I could distinctly feel how weak he was in his knees when they seemed to give way at his movement, even if only for a short, uncontrolled second. I possessively held on to him, knowing that second was only one of many moments where he would slip just a little bit farther from my helplessly clawing grasp.

"I... I don't hear anything," he finally said after awhile, turning back to me in search for answers.

"Exactly," I allowed myself a brief smile. "No splashing. No running. I think they've fallen behind."

I was almost ecstatic to see relief wash over his face; the feeling seemed to have been absent for far too long, and it looked so much better on him compared to the defeat, hopelessness and desolation he'd been weighed down by ever since the gruesome discovery. Sadly, my happiness was taken away almost as fast as I'd found it.

"Good, cuz I really need to rest," he mumbled, lowering his head and panting heavily.

"What?" I questioned in panic. "No. No! No, we've gotta keep moving. This is our chance to lose them."

"I'm serious, Donnie," he breathed, shaking the head that still hung in exhaustion. "I can't run any farther."

Stubbornly tightening my hold around his shell, I proceeded to walk, purposely ignoring him. "Well, you're just gonna have to."

"Donnie, please."

His weak, pleading voice stopped me almost instantly, awakening feelings inside of me I just couldn't deny, and I woefully turned around to look at him, my broken heart taking yet another blow.

"I... I really need to sit down," he said, looking right at me, the seriousness in his gaze far more powerful than I could have ever prepared myself for. "Juz for a little while. Please."

I didn't like this new look on him; it was as though he'd seen a glimpse of his own future. I much rather preferred it when he was in shock, too far gone to move or even think on his own command – at least then I could do something to help him. At least then I could move and think for him. But now...

How was I supposed to help someone that had come to terms with the thought that he was beyond help – and, what was more important – had grown to accept that. How?

It was only another reason for my throat to tear up, and I stubbornly pushed down the tears, addressing my little brother with a pleading, almost inaudible voice. "Mikey, please... just a little bit farther. You won't even have to run. We can walk. I- I could carry you. Just... just a for a few more minutes."

But he sadly shook his head at me, and the blood he was covered in suddenly felt more tangible than it had before, more wet against my fingertips. God, he was bleeding so much. To think of all the blood he must have lost since we'd left the lair... I was surprised that he was even conscious, not to mention still standing – right here beside me.

He was a whole lot stronger than any of us had ever given him credit for. Unfortunately, he also knew his limits... as did I, no matter how bad I wanted to deny it.

"Okay," I said, the forced word never leaving my trembling lips, a big part of me still refusing to give in to the thought that this was as far as Michelangelo would get. "Okay," I repeated, finding my voice on the second attempt. "But we can't stop here," I firmly added. "We'll have to find someplace where we can take some sort of cover, or at least be prepared for them if or when they catch up with us. Okay?"

He nodded in understanding, although I could tell he would've much rather preferred to just take a seat right where we stood. He didn't seem to care that we were almost knee-deep in sewage water. I guess he just felt compelled to compromise.

Adjusting my hold around him, I winced silently when I was reminded of the wound right beneath my left shoulder blade. It was pulsating fiercely, and while I felt as though my left arm was nothing but a frozen block of ice, the wound itself seemed to burn with the heat of the sun. Mikey didn't know I'd been shot, and I didn't plan to tell him about it. He'd only worry about me and, well... he really needed to be more concerned with himself right now.

Almost cradling him next to me, I made sure he had a solid hold around my neck before I slowly picked up our pace, watching him wince in pain with each heavy step we took. If I'd had the power, I would have picked him up in my arms and just run till my legs couldn't carry us any farther, but I didn't. So instead I settled for walking in his pace, carefully scanning the oval brick walls around us for any sort of space we could crawl inside and just disappear from sight.

Who was I kidding? There was no "space" for us to crawl inside. I hadn't been able to fit inside those tunnels since I was a child, and even then I ended up getting stuck! These big shells of ours just wasn't meant for crawling into crowded spaces. But as we trudged through the numbing stream, things finally began to look familiar to me.

I recognized this tunnel.

Up ahead, beyond what the eye could see, there was a rusty iron ladder leading up to a certain manhole we'd used on more than one occasion. It led straight to a darkened alley in the out parts of Manhattan, in walking distance of an old pizza restaurant. The place should have gone out of business eons ago, but the lack of up keeping did wonders for keeping us somewhat anonymous the few times we actually came inside to order dinner.

The manhole was obviously unimportant to me, the daylight having robbed us of any chance to surface from this closed up hell, but the tunnel on our right wasn't. We wouldn't be able to access it until a few yards up ahead where the two tunnels flowed together and created just the one path. I knew Mikey didn't have the strength to go down that tunnel, but at least we would be somewhat protected from sight. We would hear it if they came, and we'd be prepared for them. It wasn't my best plan, I had to admit, but strategy had always been Leo's department anyw...

I felt an instant stab of pain to my chest when his name crossed my mind, a pain that was quickly replaced with feelings of grief and shame. It occurred to me then that I would never be able to say his name – or the others', for that matter – without being pulled down by the clawing grasp of my own guilt. How sad, really. Every good memory I had of them had been cruelly overshadowed by the very last one. I would forevermore connect their faces with nothing but pain, suffering and self-loathing. Although I had a feeling forever was going to be cut short for me, and even if the thought of being separated from Mikey scared me senseless, the concept of dying in itself almost felt soothing, in a pathetic, weak and selfish sort of way.

I had never been a morbid person, in fact, I had always considered myself someone who hungered and thirsted for life's many unexplored mysteries – perhaps not in the blissful sense that Michelangelo did – but I had never found company in the thoughts of darkness and nonexistence. Death had always been something I'd feared, something I hadn't spent much time thinking about because of that fear. But if the rest of my life was going to be like this...

Well, would it truly be so terrible if it didn't last much longer?

As if he'd overheard my thoughts and purposely tried to interrupt them, Michelangelo then tripped over his own feet. I was able to hold on to him and keep him from landing in the cold water, but his entire weight depending on me to hold him up took more energy than I'd expected. I felt the lactic acid pumping through my right arm, my muscles burning fiercely in protest, and my legs shook beneath me as I gritted my teeth and attempted to pull him back up to his feet.

"C'mon, Mikey," I hissed through my teeth, trying to tap into strength that just wouldn't be found. "It's only a few more steps. Mikey, c'mon. Just a few mo--" My plea was rudely cut short as my knees ultimately gave in to the overweight and the two of us landed in the freezing stream. For a moment or two, my face was under water, and in my panic I swallowed a few mouthfuls of bacteria infested fluid that tasted of mud, iron and cold. Lifting my head almost immediately, I loudly gasped for air, pulling up a coughing Michelangelo next to me.

"Mikey, c'mon. Get up. We can't stay in the water. You have to get up." I somehow managed to stumble to my feet and moved to stand in front of him, slipping in my arms underneath his and pulling him up by his armpits. "C'mon, bro... Get up...Up..." He was so heavy. How I'd ever been able to throw him over my shoulder during morning practice was beyond me.

To my relief, he began to move, tiredly struggling to stand on his injured leg. The water must have felt like acid in his wound, I know it did in mine. I just felt like I wanted to beat the living out of anyone or anything that touched it. Finally, he seemed to have found his foothold again, and with his help I managed to pull him up out of the water. I felt him leaning into my embrace, exhaustion weighing down his limbs, and I instantly snaked my arms around him, thankful for every little act of miracle we were given.

It was so nice to hold someone solid in my arms; someone that was living and breathing, taking comfort in my embrace. It didn't even matter to me that this someone reeked of blood and sweat, shaking helplessly because of the unmerciful cold. I was only thankful that he was alive, that I wasn't alone.

Having drawn strength from this, I found myself panting in relief, tightening my hold on my little brother. "You're doing great, Mikey. I'm so proud of you. You're doing great." I felt the tears build up, yet I insisted on holding them back. There was probably enough time for me to shed a tear or two, but in my heart I knew that if I gave just one drop of pain the OK to slip by my control, I would be helpless to stop the thousand others that would follow.

"Now c'mon," I said, parting myself from him to search eye contact, "we have to keep moving. I swear... it's just a few more steps." Eyes closed in agony; he repeatedly shook his head, once again seeking shelter in my arms. "Mikey, c'mon, " I insisted, holding him away from my body, trying to get him to stand on his own. "I know you can do it. Just a few more steps and then we rest. Okay?"

Swallowing water and tears, he then nodded, finally opening his swollen eyes to look at me. "Okay," he said, still nodding, as though he was trying to convince himself of it.

I quickly moved my right arm around his shell and took his left wrist to cradle his other arm around my neck, taking slow, careful steps as if to test his strength. He looked like a walking corpse, but walk he did.

A victorious sensation washed over me. I felt like I had cheated Death, tricked him into letting me keep my little brother for another few more minutes. I knew it was Death that had been pulling and grabbing at him, taking every chance he got to try and steal him from my arms, but yet again he'd lost. I wouldn't give him up – not for anything in the world.

He couldn't have him, not Mikey.

Making sure Mike stayed on his feet, I expectantly looked ahead of me; waiting for the corner I knew would come. I realized then that Mike wasn't the only one who needed rest. The thought of sitting down sure did sound appealing. I couldn't remember ever having been this exhausted before – both physically and mentally. Every square inch of my mind, body and soul was begging for me to sit, just lean back and do nothing.

Thankfully, the corner did come; I noticed the brickwork ending a few yards up ahead. "There it is," I told him, picking up our pace as we stumbled through the water. "It's right there. Just a few more steps."

I felt like I was running, my breathing harsh and shallow, but in truth I was barely even walking. My legs seemed to stumble over one another in a drunken haze, and Mikey's nearly sapless body considerably weighed down my left side. Then, finally rounding the corner, I walked through the shallow water, my eyes locked on the dry piece of sidewalk that ran right next to the underground stream. Upon reaching it, I heavily dropped Mikey on the muddy concrete ground, collapsing right next to him on his right, leaning my shell against the slippery brick wall behind me.

I had never breathed so hard in my entire life. It was as though each breath carried with it a thousand others I'd earlier been denied. I felt like I was a newborn, breathing only for the first time, the sensation of air coming in and out of my lungs almost foreign to me.

I felt alive.

Looking over my left shoulder, I realized to my always-present horror that Mikey seemed far from it. His back was also leaned against the wall, but his tired head rested silently on his right shoulder, eyes closed in what I hoped was merely unconsciousness.

I imagined Death's presence again, having snuck up on my brother when I wasn't watching. It was as though I could see him reach his bony arms around Mikey and gradually pull him further away from me. I instantly reached out and grabbed for him, my hands nervously fumbling over his sweaty, blood-painted form.

He was just going to have to fight me for him, because, like I said earlier, there was no chance I'd give him up.