A/N: Wow. Would ya look at that. This is fresh out of the oven. I just finished typing up the last word to this chapter, and I can barely even believe it myself. But it would seem as if I've updated 'Hunted'. And not a day too soon, I guess. But you know how writer's block can be. And it's not that I'm over it. I've still got the block, but I simply had to work around it to be able to move on with this story. This chapter resembles very little to what I had in mind at first. Many things I wanted included in this story had to be taken out, but it's just cuz they were so long and boring to type up. I figured that if it was too boring to write, it probably wasn't that excited to read about either. And so this is the result of me working around that. I hope you like, and if not, well... that's okay, too. But either way, I'd be really happy if you left some sort of comment. Thank you for being so patient with this, your reviews and kind remindings mean the world to me, where this story in particular has a special place in my heart. Lame, I know - but true. Anyway, for review responses check Stealthy Stories. If you can't find 'em, drop me a PM or something and I'll give better directions. As for now, enjoy.

Chapter 5

"Mikey... Mike? Mikey!"

Shaking his body with hands so frightened they were barely able to grasp on to him, I held my breath when awaiting his reaction. A sound, a movement... anything! But the seconds went by and his head still hung forward, almost as if his neck had been snapped. He looked like a worn rag doll someone had carelessly tossed aside, and refusing to think the unthinkable I stubbornly pulled him into my arms, pressing his slumped form against my tightened chest. I could then feel his warm breath brush against my wet skin, right above my plastron where all of us seemed extra sensitive to touch; it was dangerously irregular and very faint, but at least there was still life in his lungs to be saved.

The realization instantly woke up my "medical instincts", as my brothers would call... used to call it.

I just couldn't get used to having to think of them in past tense, and each time I had to remind myself of that it was like coming home to find them dead all over again. The soft sound of the radio playing in the spine chilling silence, the blood painted bathroom, Raph's butchered face...

Even now I felt my stomach churning at the memory. It was still so fresh. Even the harsh scent of iron coming from our own wounds – our blood – reminded me of that bathroom. The blood, the tub, the loud gunshots bouncing off of it... the blood.

Oh god, all that blood. There had been no need to check for a pulse on Raphael, because all that blood screamed death. Nobody could lose that much and live. You only had to take one step into that room and knowit was already too late. All that was left to do for that person was to mourn them.

But I didn't have the time to mourn them, not now, not when my little brother was still depending on me to save him. And so I gently let go of him, making sure he was still leaning on me, and then quickly moved my hands behind my head to untie my bandanna. The pain in my left shoulder was unbearable, as if all the nerves connected to that muscle carried shots of electricity throughout my limb and down then my spine. It hurt so bad; I had to bite down just to keep myself from screaming, but I needed that arm.

It simply had to function.

It took me a while to untie the knot, but when I finally did a thrilling wave of success coursed through me with newfound energy as I began to tie the tourniquet around his right shoulder, its strangling grasp causing his features to twist in torment. Silly as it may have been, I felt like I could do anything. If I could just suppress my own pain and weakness, maybe then we actually stood a chance. Maybe then I could salvage what was left of my family and fight for the ones we'd lost... the ones they'd so heartlessly taken from us.

I knew I wasn't fit to fight those guys, were they to find us. They carried weapons I'd only ever seen in movies, and I couldn't even carry my own brother, but the thought of shoving the edge of my staff into that oh so fragile spot in the back of their heads sure did sound appealing. I was not a violent person; in fact, I'd always seen violence as a sort of last resort solution, but the fantasy of their sapless bodies collapsing in the cold, condemning sewage stream brought the warmest of smiles to my face.

It was justice, and the thought seemed more beautiful than anything else at the moment. They'd killed them in our own home, brought down the illusion of a place we'd always found safe and comforting. They'd put out their lives in a matter of short, simple minutes that could never be undone, and I wanted to restore the honor to my fallen family. I wanted... I wanted to kill them.

I wanted to stand with their murdered bodies at my feet.

Not knowing how long I'd been lost in these consuming thoughts, I was quickly brought back to reality once Mikey stirred in my embrace. A faint moan and a slight twist of his head against my plastron, but it was all he needed to gather my full attention. I instantly grabbed a gentle hold of him, lifting his head up by his chin and searching for contact in eyes that were tightly shut. There wasn't any source of light in those cold tunnels they'd trapped us in, but I could still make out wrinkles of agony on his features. His face was twisted in the kind of pain time could never heal. Even while unconscious, the memories seemed to haunt him, and I wasn't the least bit surprised when I found out with whom his thoughts were.

"...Raph."

Sadness blossomed inside of me as he twisted against my body, our dead brother's name leaving his lips in short, desperate murmurs. But I wasn't quite sure if it truly was the memories visiting him, or if he simply thought I was Raph. His skin had become hot and sweaty, and so who knew what words of illusion that fever of his whispered to him.

Swallowing the burning lump that had gathered in my throat, the loud sound of it echoing in my head only seemed to remind me of how alone I truly was. The only family I had left was hallucinating in my arms, and the cold brick walls of these deserted tunnels did very little to comfort me. I felt like the ending was closing in on me, and the thought of our time running out pushed me into working faster. Hurriedly, almost panicking, I leaned Michelangelo back with his shell against the tunnel wall. I then moved into another position for better reach, and with my padded knees pressed to the hard, wet ground I searchingly moved my hands behind his head to work on the knot of his mask.

My fingers nearly stumbled over one another in my hurry, where I felt as though Death was now only standing a few feet away from us, observing me with a silent, confident smile on his soulless features. I almost felt like he admired me in his silence, yet at the same time mocked me for even trying. He was confident of his victory, and with Mike's feverish mumbling it was starting to get very hard to prove him otherwise.

But my medical instincts were still taking the lead, and with silent, neglected tears running down my cheeks I slipped his mask off of his face, moving it down to tie it around his blood covered thigh. It only reached around the limb twice, and I felt like I was gradually giving in when I was forced to finish it with a desperately tight knot.

Then, staring into thin air, as if challenging Death to even try, I protectively wrapped my arms around his warm body and tried to find a comfortable position. I finally settled for stretching out my legs on the cold, uneven ground, my heels occasionally brushing the surface of the freezing water. I proceeded to pull Mikey's sapless body towards me, twisted in some awkward position where the only thing holding his heavy head up was my plastron. He was lying face down, with his shoulders pushed together by my guarding hold, and both his arms lay limp at his sides.

Tiredly, I rested my right cheek on top of his head, and sitting like that I could taste the salt of my own tears as they followed a stubborn trail down to the left corner of my mouth. I felt my Bo staff being pushed against my neck where I sat against the wall, and realized then for the first time that I still had it on me. Not that it mattered. What use was it to me when I couldn't even use my arm? Was use was it to me when my enemies were armed to their teeth? I didn't stand a chance to their guns. The only hope I really had was that they wouldn't find us. That Michelangelo would last till darkness fell and we'd be able to leave this cold prison of ours.

Maybe then I could get him to April's. I had left some stuff at her place, in case of an emergency, and with her help I might actually be able to put him back together... if he lasted that long.

The thought of April made me remember something else. Instinctively moving my hand down to my felt, I was surprised to find that it was still there.

My cell phone.

Whilst still holding on to Mikey, I pulled it up and flipped it open, the green display providing me with light I hadn't seen for hours. Squeezing my unaccustomed eyes, I instantly opened my phonebook where April's two phone numbers stood right at the top of the short list.

April cell.

April home.

I debated which one to try first and decided it was best to call her cell. She always had her cell phone on, and she always answered when you called. I couldn't recall a single time she hadn't picked up.

But just when I was about to push the green button for 'dial', something inside of me stopped me.

It was probably our only chance. A while longer in this hell and Mikey risked bleeding to death. If I could only get my hands on the proper equipment he would at least have a shot at survival, but...

But what about April?

For as long as the city still glowed with light and life, Mikey and I were stuck down here. Could I really ask her to come down here when I knew for a fact that some of those trigger-happy bastards were still alive? Searching these tunnels right at this very moment. It was like asking her to join us in the car as it sank to the bottom of the sea.

The sound of my sniffles echoed in the tunnels, and the artificial green light coming from the tiny display finally went out, once again leaving me in complete darkness.

I loved Mikey more than anything and would give my life to save him, but I couldn't ask April to do the same thing. I know I wouldn't have to. The minute I'd tell her what had happened, both she and Casey would go down the first manhole in sight.

And so that was why I on pure will swallowed the tears that tore at my throat and finally flipped the phone shut. The echo of it lingered behind like a stabbing reminder of my fatal decision. I felt like I'd sentenced my little brother to death – my own flesh and blood – burning up in my arms, completely oblivious to me making this decision over his head. But I just couldn't do it. I couldn't put my friends at risk, even at the possibility of saving Mikey's life.

I couldn't.

Still sniffling, I slid the phone back down my belt and twisted slightly, my shell making an awkward sound as it scraped against the brick wall. I adjusted my hold on Mike and slowly leaned down to plant a careful, apologizing kiss on top of his head, a kiss that tasted of blood, tears and warmth.

I didn't know what was going to happen next, but what I did know was that no matter what it was, I wouldn't leave him. He was all I had left and for me to let go of him, someone would physically have to pry my cold, dead fingers off of him.

I wasn't leaving.

"Raph? Raph, no... No, stay there. No..."

I mournfully held him closer, feeling his fragile body shake in my arms. He'd been talking like this for some time, and, strange as it was, his voice had become more lucid with time's passing. At first I'd thought he believed I was Raph, but the more I listened the more I realized he wasn't even here to know someone was holding him.

"No, don't... Raph... Raph! Don't do it..."

He was someplace else. Someplace where Raphael was in danger, and he seemed unable to help him. His feverish pleas sounded so helpless, like he was talking to a person who couldn't even hear him.

"He's behind you… Behind you, Raph… He's behin..."

"Schhh..." I softly hushed him, holding him closer, willing for the power to protect him from this never-ending nightmare. "It's okay. There's no one there."

"Raph...? Raph, look out...You need to... Behind you..."

He was panting for air between every other word, yet he just wouldn't stop talking. No matter what I did, he only seemed to have one thing on his mind.

"You're just dreaming, Mikey. It's just a dream. It'll go away if you just wake up."

"Behind you, Raph!"

He twisted violently in my arms, partially because of his wounds and fever, but mostly because of the effect the dream had on him. It was tearing him apart and I couldn't do a single thing to stop it.

"Watch out... He's got a gun... He's got a… Raph... behind you..."

"Mike--"

"Raph, look out! Behind you!"

Helpless tears twisted my features, and I held him as close as I possibly could, but the more he squirmed the further I felt he was slipping, no matter how tight I held him. It was like he was slipping right through my very hands.

"Mikey... Bro, you need to wake up. It's just a dr--"

"No! No, Raph! No... Don't..."

I could barely speak through my tears, and I buried my face in the small dent of his left temple, praying for the insanity to stop. Praying for my brother to come back to me. "Mikey, you need to wake up for me. It's just a dream, it'll--"

"Raph? No! Raph!"

"You need to wake up. You need to... Please wake up," I pleadingly whispered.

But just like Raph seemed unable to hear him in his dream, Mikey was unable to hear me. He was panting so hard, and what had once been him twisting and turning in protest had now turned into feverish shudders, completely out of anyone's control. His breath was rugged and shallow, and I could feel his entire body cramp up in my arms. The tears I'd been left alone with came harder, louder, and I buried my face deeper in his temple, where I was actually able to hear his teeth as they clattered uncontrollably against each other.

"Raph..."

Holding onto his head with my right hand, tenderly cupping his left cheek as I held him against my own face, I did my best to ease my tears, hoping that my calm would somehow calm him. "It's okay, Mikey. It's okay. Just... just relax." It was so hard to silent my tears when I knew what was happening; when I knew the only thing left for me to do for him was to hold him. "I'm right here."

"Raph... Raph, no..."

"It's okay," I uttered weakly through my tears. "I'm here. You're doing great, Mikey. You're doing great... I'm so proud of you. Just relax and everything'll... Everything'll be fine. Just relax."

"Raph... Ra…Rah..."

Constantly caressing his cheek with my thumb, I remained focused on talking to him, calming him. I tried not to think about the long seconds that would pass between each of his breaths, I tried not to think about the fact that his body barely even shook anymore, and I tried not to think about the teeth that no longer clattered. Even the obsessive murmurs of Raph's name had stopped, but I tried not to think about any of that.

"You're doing great, Mikey. You've been so good. So good... Just relax and it'll be fine. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. Right here..."