This chapter is hereby dedicated to Stan Lee. A true storyteller.
"Is he gonna be OK Sensei?" Mikey asked sheepishly, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"Only time will tell." Was Splinter's vague reply as he adjusted the blanket under his eldest son's chin.
But the worry in their father's eyes did little to alleviate Mikey's fear.
"He'll be fine." Raph piped in with a grouchy snort. "Ain't no way Leo'll let a bunch of Foot keep him down for good."
Mikey nodded, liking the sentiment. But Leo's face looked so bruised and cut up… he'd never been hurt this bad before.
Placing a hand on Leo's shoulder, Mikey stared at his unconscious older brother. "We're here, Leo. And we still need you. So pull yourself together and get better, Okay?"
An unexpected groan slipped from Leo's lips, and Mikey couldn't help but grip his shoulder tighter.
"Do not fear, my son." Splinter rested a paw on top of Michelangelo's, wiping as much of the worry from his eyes as he could. "Your brother is still fighting. He will find a way back to us."
Mikey nodded, eyes fixed on his eldest brother. He had to be okay. He had to. Leo was the best fighter, the best strategist, the best at using swords—he was their leader. He was the most responsible and unbeatable guy Mikey knew (except for Sensei).
Without him… what on earth were they supposed to do?
"It's the same as last time. Last time, we were all scared and we huddled around you and we begged and we prayed and we told old stories to give you something to hold onto. Last time, we had hope you would be okay because you're Leo and you never give up. Last time… Last time you woke up. You opened your eyes and you healed and everything was back to normal." Placing a hand on the black bag in front of him, Mikey hesitated over the zipper. Casey was back inside, Don was lost in reconstructing his drone, and Sensei and April were focused on Raph when Mikey'd left, so no one was going to walk in and stop him.
Just one more look. Maybe his eyes would be open. Maybe he'd be OK. Maybe he'd pull off one of his crazy last minute come-backs. It's not like this was the first time Leo'd been "dead" before. They thought they'd lost him lots of times over the years. In explosions, fires, spaceships, even alternate dimensions. What if this was all part of some crazy plan Leo'd hatched up to take down the Purple Dragons?
What if…
"My son."
Michelangelo's hand pulled sharply back under his blanket. If Sensei saw—and Mikey was sure he did—he didn't say anything. Just quietly sat down, folding his legs beneath him, his robe brushing Mikey's blanket.
Silence descended.
Mikey gulped as he stared at the black bag before him. Stared and waited. Maybe it would move. Maybe it was all a trick. A nightmare. Maybe he'd wake up and find Leo sitting by his bed—because he somehow knew when Mikey was having a bad dream—waiting to comfort and reassure him. Maybe…
Sensei didn't speak. Didn't move. Just sat there, staring at Leo—the bag—with no expression on his face.
Mikey felt like he should say something. But what? The only thoughts in his head were of memories long past or denial of the present. "He didn't suffer." The words had tumbled from his lips so quickly, he scarcely recognized he'd been the one to utter them. He didn't need to look to know Splinter's gaze was now on him. Mikey shuddered in a breath. "It was barely twenty minutes from the time Raph called to the time we got to the roof. Don said with where the bullet hit—" his breath hitched involuntarily. Why was he saying any of this? Leo could still be— "He bled out quickly."
Splinter sighed a low breath through his nose, but remained silent. Mikey was shivering visibly by now. He didn't feel cold. Just numb. "Twenty minutes…" And the words kept coming. He couldn't stop them. "That would have been enough time to get him home. If we'd have left right away, it would have been enough time…" Leo could still be alive. He could still… it was a trick. An elaborate rouse for another one of Leo's crazy plans. He could… "We could have… if we'd just…" He held his breath, trying to hold the words in like he would a sneeze. But they blurted out of him all the same.
"He can't really be gone, Sensei! He's too important! He's too smart and too skilled and too… too good! Good people don't just die like that! He can't be gone. We had enough time to save him. Why didn't we save him!? He can't be—we still need him—he wouldn't just leave like that! It's a trick. It has to be." His hand shot forward to grab the zipper of the bag, fully determined to prove his theory right. Leo was alive somewhere, waiting for the perfect moment to make a miraculous return. He was—
In the blink of an eye, Mikey's hand was pulled away from the zipper, and his face buried in his Sensei's robe, an arm around his shoulder. clasping his shell in a firm hug. "My son. Your brother is—"
"NO! No he's not! He's not gone! He can't be! He wouldn't—"
"He gave his life—"
"No!"
"—Protecting what he loved."
"NO!"
Mikey shoved Splinter aside, grabbing the zipper and yanking it open. His desperation turned to horror as he starred at the sallow skin and closed eyes. The blue bandana. The leather hilted katana.
Leo.
A wail bubbled in Mikey's throat, starting low as he stared and stared and…
It was really Leo. He really left.
His lament grew louder and louder, tears pouring down his cheeks. His heart throbbed so hard, he was sure he was dying.
Not a nightmare. No last minute save. He was… he was really…
"My son." Warm arms wrapped around Mikey's quaking body, pulling him close. This time, Mikey didn't move to push him away. He wrapped his own arms around his father's body, clinging to him for dear life.
"He can't be… Sensei, he's… He can't…"
Leo couldn't be dead.
Splinter's heart was beating out of his chest. His legs moved so swiftly beneath him, he'd nearly tripped thrice as he flew from roof to roof. And his nerves ignited ever more the moment he spotted the smoke.
His sons were there. He knew. They were always in the middle of the fire.
Barely a heartbeat later he was standing adjacent to the smouldering pile of wood and concrete that used to be a warehouse, eyes searching in constant desperation for three green shells.
Nothing. No sign of them. No proof they'd been here other than the flames. What if they…
No. He would know. He'd have felt it. The empty void in his soul would have swallowed him entirely.
Focus. Don't panic. They were alive. Where would they have escaped? Underground or—
His eyes narrowed on a small blot of blood speckled on the far ledge of the roof. The limited trail continued to the edge, and as Splinter jumped to the adjacent building, he found more. They were alive. Injured, but alive.
Splinter forced himself to breathe. Think.
If they were injured, they were surely headed home. The sirens had all died down which meant they weren't pursuing anything, but staying with the burnt building, so his sons should be clear to find a sheltered alley and duck into the sewers. And there were no other tracks on the roof to indicate an enemy following behind.
They would head home by the safest route, which was the sewers. Unless their injuries were great, in which case they would opt for speed, sticking to the rooftops as much as possible. Either way, if Splinter doubled back, he would surely meet them en route, or at the very least at home.
His feet were already in flight before the thought landed.
They were alive. Injured, but alive.
Possibly dying.
He picked up his speed.
"Ow! That hurts!"
"Mikey, I haven't even touched you yet."
"Oh." Mikey tensed his body, waiting with bated breath as his brother approached with the needle again. "Wait!"
"Will you quit being such a child and sit still!"
"Newsflash bro: I AM a child! And so are you! You're ten years old, Don, how do you know how to use a needle?"
"The same way I knew how to fix that N64 in the living room: I read about it." Don lifted the needle once more.
"OW!"
"Still haven't touched you." Don groaned, washing a hand over his face before looking to Leo with exasperation. "Will you keep him still, please? I can't give him his shot with him moving around and shouting every time I look at him."
"I don't want a shot!" Mikey pled. "Raph's the one who's sick, why do I need a shot!?"
"Because flu's are contagious, and you'll get sick if you don't. Besides, Sensei had to go to a lot of trouble to get this stuff, we can't let it go to waste."
"But Donnieeeeeee!" Mikey widened his eyes and pouted his lip, attempting to sway his brother with his innocent face.
Don rolled his eyes and looked to Leo once more. "You see what I have to deal with?"
The older turtle's lip quirked up in a grin and he shook his head in amusement. The minute he was close enough, Mikey grabbed his arm with both hands, holding on for dear life.
"Please don't make me do it, Leo! I think I'd rather get sick! What's a little runny nose compared to a giant needle!?"
"It's a lot more than that, Mike. It's a cough and nausea and a bad fever." Mikey gave him a 'so?' shrug, so Leo elaborated. "Fevers are dangerous, Mikey. Especially to us." Don noticed him glance at the door. "And do you really want to be nauseous? You couldn't eat pizza for a week at least."
Mikey was aghast. "A WEEK!?" He looked from Leo to Don to the needle and couldn't help but inch away from the pointy object. "But… But…"
Leo moved behind him, holding his shoulder with one hand and holding out the other in offering. "Just squeeze my hand if it hurts. I promise it will be over quick."
Mikey pouted but nodded in defeat. "Ok. But if I turn into some sort of monster because Dee mixed the medicine wrong, I'm coming for you two first."
Don rolled his eyes as Leo gripped his brother's shoulder tighter. "I've got you, Mikey. Nothing's going to happen."
It was the calm of his brother's eyes that really hit home. Mikey nodded, held out his arm, and squeezed his eyes shut. "Ok, Dee, do it. I'm ready for it. Just do it quick and get it over wi—"
"Done."
Mikey stared at his arm as his brother placed a He-Man bandaid over the area. "That was it?"
"Yup."
"Well why didn't you just do that to begin with? We could have been done a long time ago. Jeeze, Dee!"
Don face-palmed and turned away from his brother, silently trying to calm himself down.
"So are we done? Can I go now?"
Leo nodded. "Just remember to keep the noise down. Raph needs his rest."
"You got it, bro!" Mikey zipped out, heading for the living room. A moment later, he popped his head back through the door, finding his eldest brother's eyes. "Hey Leo."
"Hm?"
In the blink of an eye he was at his brother's side, wrapping his arms around his waist and hugging tight. "Thanks." And he was gone again.
Leo shook his head.
"Why will he listen to you and not me?" Don griped, placing the needle down and putting away the small vial of medicine.
"Because I'm the wise older brother with a calming voice, and you're the mad scientist with a needle."
Don couldn't help a small laugh at how accurate that probably was to Mikey's thought process. He turned back to his older brother, who was staring at the door again. "He's gonna be okay." Leo glanced at him, prompting Don to continue. "His fever's already going down and his stomach is settling enough that he can have broth. I'm sure he'll be back to punching walls by the end of the week."
"I know."
"Then why the face?"
"I just…" Leo sighed. "I don't know, Don. Anytime you guys are sick, I get this feeling in my stomach like I wanna throw up, but don't. What would you call that?"
"Anxiety?"
"Yeah."
Don nodded. It made sense, but there really was nothing to worry about. Raph was through the worst of it, he just needed sleep and he'd be fine. …Right? "…Do you wanna go check on him? Just to make sure he's not too cold."
Leo couldn't have nodded faster. "Okay."
Don fiddled with a screw he couldn't seem to tighten properly.
Even when they were young, Leo'd always been anxious. Always been worried.
He loosened the screw, realigned it, and tried again, finally successful in his attempt. He picked up the next one, twisting it into place with delicate precision.
But back then he was more open about. Before he was made leader, he opened up to Don all the time: about his insecurities, about his fears, about… anything.
Another screw in place, Don reattached the wires he'd cut, slowly making sure everything was put together the way it was meant to be.
Back then, Leo'd play games with them all the time, he'd run around the lair with wild abandon, and he'd even been known to pull a prank or two (so long as it wasn't on Sensei).
Adjusting the plastic edging around the propellers, Don spun them to make sure they were centered and fastened.
Back then Leo was free. Free to be himself. To play and explore and make mistakes. Then they grew up.
Grasping the screen by the edges, Don placed it over the camera lens and used a q-tip to clean it and press it gently into place.
Suddenly Leo had responsibility. He had to take care of everyone. He had to lead. Be an example. Be perfect.
The panel was placed on top over the new circuitry, carefully screwed and glued so it would remain where it should, despite it's dented, slightly deformed shape.
He no longer opened up. He no longer let his brothers see the cracks in his flawless persona. He closed off. To keep them same. To keep them from worrying. To protect them from his fears.
Flipping over to lay on it's back, Don attached the legs, standing it up to make sure they were even and secure.
But Don had always wondered… if Leo had been anxious when they were kids, how much worse had it gotten when they grew up? How difficult it must have been to deal with.
A quick test proved the lights, the propellers, and the camera were all working smoothly.
He'd always wondered what kind of a toll leadership took on his eldest brother. …Now he knew.
Everything was in perfect order. Completely rebuilt. Even improved upon.
Leadership had taken his life.
Don placed his finished drone on the table, turning it off to preserve battery power. All the parts that had been strewn about on the coffee table had disappeared to create this machine. It had taken him all evening, but he'd done it. Without the help of his tools from home.
He'd fixed it. So why… why did it still hurt? Why did his chest still tighten when he breathed? Why did his stomach still churn? Why did his mind shut down every time he thought of…
"I've got you. Nothing's going to happen."
It couldn't be fixed. It never would be… Leo… Leo was…
Jolting to his feet, Don headed for the door, grabbing a blanket and the cup of tea Sensei had handed him after coming in from the barn a few minutes ago. "I'm gonna check on Mikey." And he abruptly left the cabin, leaving a worried Splinter to sit in the living room alone.
"Don't be such a baby, just let him look at it!"
Michelangelo. Splinter's sharp ears picked up his son's voice before even entering the lair.
"How many times I gotta say it? I'm fine!"
Raphael. His booming tone was recognizable even at such a distance.
"You could have muscular damage."
Donatello. They were all here. All safe.
"Just let me look and make sure the bullet—"
Splinter's heart spiked so hard and fast, he nearly fell to the floor winded. A bullet. They'd been shot. Again. His fear prevented him from being subtle. "My sons!" He burst through the doors to the medical room, eyes darting about until they found each child: Michelangelo stood near the cabinets full of bandages, frozen in a moment of handing several to his elder brother, Donatello, who was poised tall over Raphael, one hand on his shoulder, looking to be forcing—or attempting to force—him to sit in the stool. Raphael held a hand over his arm, and it wasn't until Donatello released his brother that Splinter noted the blood. Donatello's hand was covered in it.
Raphael had turned away to hide his left from view, but Splinter was already at his side.
"Raphael."
"He's okay, Sensei." Don was quick to explain. "A bullet graze on his upper left shoulder and a mild concussion. Nothing that can't be fixed, if he'd just let me take a look at it." Don glared at his older brother, directing the second half of that sentence right to his face.
Raph had suddenly gone silent, eyes glaring holes through the floor.
"Sit." Splinter's voice was gentle but commanding, and his son didn't put up a fight, slowly lowering himself onto the stool. His hand still covered the wound on his shoulder firmly. Splinter placed his palm on top of his son's, gently lifting it away to reveal the blood covered gash. It took every ounce of concentration to keep his fear from screeching across his face in that moment. It wasn't life threatening, it was a graze, but the fact that it had been so close…
He held his hand out to Donatello. "A cloth, please." His son dutifully handed him the wet rag he'd been trying to clean his brother's wound with. Splinter gently placed it atop the injury. It only took a minute to clean away all the blood, at which point Splinter had Donatello examine the gash once more, make sure there was no further damage.
All was well. His son would recover. Splinter stitched up the wound himself.
No one spoke. Not a word. Not even Michelangelo, who was normally quick to add noise where there was none. The walls of the lair were void of any sound. All that could be heard was the breathing patterns of the three turtles, and Splinter carefully listened to each one. Michelangelo breathed in hitches, as though he was holding his breath in fear and then releasing it as he convinced himself everything was alright. Donatello breathed deep and measured, clearly attempting to hold in a powerful bout of anger. And Raphael barely breathed at all. Hardly blinked. Just glared at the floor as though it was the source of all his problems in the world.
They were distant. Not just from him but from each other. Splinter had expected a level of isolation from his children after such a grave loss, but he'd hoped their grief would eventually draw them closer together. If they continued on this path…
As he finished the stitches, Splinter placed the needle on the metal tray beside him, examining his work to be sure it was enough, and closed his eyes, breathing in a deep, low breath. "My sons,"
"It's not what you think, Sensei!" Michelangelo, already presuming they were in trouble, tried to explain. "We had to go! They'd taken it and were displaying it like a—"
"You didn't have to go." Donatello's anger bubbled with every word he spoke. "And you certainly didn't have to go alone. You could have told us, we would have helped!"
"I told you, we didn't have time! We had to move quick or we would have lost our window of attack!" Or at least that was the excuse Mikey was sticking to so as not to throw Raph under the bus. Truth was, they probably could have called Don in. Or Splinter. But Raph was on the warpath, and Mikey had known there was no way he would've waited for backup.
Don seethed. "You blew up their base! You didn't just infiltrate without backup, you blew up the hornet's nest! Now they're going to come after us with a vengeance and we don't have the strength to fight them off if we're found."
"So we lay low. We stay down here until things cool off."
"That's what we were doing before you two decided to go gallivanting off playing vigilante!" Donatello threw his arms in the air in angry exasperation. "UGH! You guys are infuriating! It's no wonder Leo—"
The minute the name left his lips, a grenade may as well have gone off. Everyone fell immediately silent when Raph's eyes snapped over to his brother's, piercing him with their rage.
"Enough." Splinter stood, blocking the brothers from glaring at one another. "What is done is done. We cannot change it now. I am simply grateful you all came home safe." His emphatic tone cooled the animosity of the room somewhat, his children's shoulders all suddenly slouching in guilt. He continued. "Raphael. Michelangelo." Only the younger met his gaze. "Help me understand. What had they taken?"
Mikey turned to his older brother in red, waiting for him to reply, but was once again met with silence.
Splinter was about to pry once more when Michelangelo turned to take something from the counter behind him. His demeanour changed immediately, taking on a sombre reverence as he held out the item in his hand. Splinter felt his fur stand on end.
Leonardo's missing katana.
If you'd had as many "almost" deaths as Leonardo, your family and friends would probably be skeptical at your funeral too. It's why Superman won't have anyone show up if he ever actually kicks the bucket one day.
End of Line
-TRAaP
P.S- Again, this chapter utilizes some weird jumps, so please let me know if it is confusing.
