Hey guys! I'm back! *coughs* finally. And per all of your requests, I tried to make this one a bit longer than usual. Which is a habit it will try to enforce in the future as well.

Thank you all for being so patient with me and for your input! It really means a lot!

Alright, I'm going to warn you all ahead of time. I am no medic, so please, please, please forgive my ignorance of medical terms and such. I've tried to be as accurate and as logical as I could based on the research I did online. But that still doesn't mean I'm accurate. So for any medical lovers, this might make you cringe.

Thank you for reading! Enjoy!!

_

Chapter 16

Michelangelo heard Donatello's fast approaching footsteps long before he actually saw him.

"Donnie!" he shouted desperately, "We're over here!"

Well that was dumb. He probably already knows where I am.

"Mikey!" Donnie called back, not slackening his pace, "How's Leo?"

"Not good," Mikey answered worriedly.

He looked down at Leo's unconscious body as Donatello slid into a kneeling position next to them.

"Let me see him."

Mikey nodded, gently releasing his death grip on Leo's limp form so Donnie could see him more clearly, and the purple masked turtle instantly checked Leo's wrist for a pulse. His red-brown eyes caught sight of the orange strip of cloth tied to Leo's arm and he gave Mikey a searching glance before turning back to Leo.

Mikey still felt scared, but the relief of someone being there eased his fear. He wasn't alone anymore. And Donnie knew what to do. It seemed like the nightmare was almost over.

"Oh no," Donatello whispered under his breath, feeling Leo's forehead with the back of his hand.

Mikey looked up at Donnie's face in alarm.

"What?" he forced himself to ask, panic spilling into his voice, "What's wrong?!"

Donatello didn't answer as he reached into his leather satchel and pulled out a dart-like, capped needle.

"Donnie!" Mikey cried, frightened at the sight of the needle, "What are you doing?!"

"He's going into hypovolemic shock," Donnie answered, almost calmly, as he uncapped the needle and drove it into Leo's forearm, "We need to get him back to the lair. Fast!"

"Okay, but, how will we do that exactly?"

"We'll have to carry him," Donnie answered.

Removing the needle from Leo's arm he recapped it, and tucked it back away into his satchel.

"What'd you give him?" Mikey asked, his attention reverting back to the needle.

"Just a small dose of epinephrine to help his heart rate," Donatello answered, "Now help me pick him up. You take his legs and I'll take his head. We'll carry him back that way."

"Okay, but-" Mikey's voice caught in his throat, "Will- will he be ok D?"

The tear that escaped Donatello's eye was answer enough to Mikey's question.

"There's no time Mikey," Donnie whispered, "We need to get him back to the lair so I can treat him properly. Give him to me."

Mikey nodded, the tears welling up in his eyes for what felt like the one hundredth time. And for the one hundredth time he tried to hold them back. As gently as he possibly could, he shifted Leo's limp body into Donatello's outstretched arms. Then he moved down and carefully tried to grab Leo's ankles, but the thick oily water coating his skin made it difficult to get a good grip.

"Alright, ready?" Donnie asked, his arms wrapped firmly around Leo's chest, and hooking under his shoulders.

Mikey bit his lip and nodded, trying to stay concentrated on keeping his hands firmly wrapped around Leo's ankles. Donatello nodded back encouragingly.

"On three. One. Two.."

Mikey braced himself.

"Three!"

He stood up and was caught off guard by how light Leo's body had become. His grip slipped and one of Leo's legs fell back down with a wet thud.

"Oops!" Mikey yelped.

Donnie sighed in frustration his brow furrowing.

"This would've been too clumsy anyway. I'll just carry him," he said quickly, "That way you can call Raph and fill him in on what's happened."

Donatello gently set Leo back down, shifting into a better position, slipping one arm under Leo's shell to brace his back and the other under his legs.

Mikey quickly released his grip on Leo's other leg and watched Donnie anxiously, tears falling down his face as he fidgeted.

"Are you sure you can carry him by yourself?" he asked, fear squeaking into his voice.

"Yeah," Donnie answered, and Mikey almost thought he heard his voice catch, "You felt how light he was. But if I need help, I'll ask, ok?"

"Okay," Mikey agreed.

Donatello braced himself, gritting his teeth as he picked Leo's limp form up off the sewer floor with a grunt.

"You got him?" Mikey asked, stepping forward, anxious to help.

"Yeah. Yeah I got him," he reassured before grimacing, "He may be lighter but he's still heavy. Now I need you to call Raph and tell him to meet us at the lair."

"Um. I can't."

"This isn't the time to joke around Mikey!" Donnie said, turning and hurrying back into the maze of the sewers.

"I'm not joking!" Mikey cried, darting after him, "My t-phone d-" he cringed, quickly trying to avoid the 'd' word, "I mean, ran out of battery!"

Donatello stopped with an agitated groan.

"You can use mine then."

"Where is it?" Mikey instantly asked, pouncing on the idea of being helpful.

"It's hooked onto my shoulder strap, you just need to unclip it," Donnie instructed, rolling one of his shoulders.

Mikey reached over Leo's lifeless form and snatched the t-phone off of the leather strap with a chilled shiver.

"Got it!" Mikey announced.

"Great," Donnie responded, picking up his pace and hurrying off in the direction of the lair, "Now call Raph!"

Mikey fell back behind his purple masked brother, trying to dial in Raph's number as quickly as he could. But his hands were shaking so hard, even doing that was proving more difficult than he'd have liked.

When he finally got it, he held the device to his ear expectantly.

"Please pick up Raph."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Raphael felt his t-phone come to life at his side and pulled it out to look at the screen.

"Donnie," he muttered, "Doesn't he know when to give it a rest?"

The only reason Raph hesitated to hang it up right away, was the barely audible voice of caution in his head that made him wonder if it was important.

Could he have found Leo? The quiet voice asked. He glanced at the time on his t-phone screen.

Nah. He dismissed the thought with a shrug, There's no way he could've found Leo that quickly. He's probably still just frustrated and wants to chomp my ear off.

It made sense to Raph. After all, that's what he would do.

Besides, he'd been searching up here for hours and found nothing. What made him think Donnie could find Leo just like that?

His mind eased at his explanation and he didn't feel the least bit guilty hitting the 'decline' button and sliding the device back into his belt.

Sorry Donnie. But I have more important things to do than listen to your lectures.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michelangelo pulled his brother's t-phone away from his ear and stared at the screen with wide terrified eyes.

"Donnie!" Mikey shouted after his brother, "Raph's not picking up!"

"Then call Sensei!" Donatello shouted back, not slowing his pace for a second, "And tell him to get the lab ready! I'll tell you what he needs to set up so listen carefully!"

Mikey dialed in their Sensei's number and quickly hit 'call'.

It felt so weird. They never called Splinter directly unless it was an actual 'there-might-not-be-a-way-to-get-out-of-this-alive' emergency.

And knowing that only made the seriousness of the situation even more crippling to Mikey. The gravity of reality weighted on his heart, gripping him with fear.

His eyes burned from his tears, which seemed to have run out, leaving his face raw as he listened to the agonizingly drawn out ring of the t-phone. Like a mocking voice threatening to condemn him with another rejected call.

"Please pick up Sensei," he whispered desperately, clutching the phone with both hands, his knuckles going white, "Please answer."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Splinter sat underneath the dojo tree, trying to keep his mind calm. Trying, and failing miserably.

Splinter had sensed something was amiss earlier that morning, but he'd foolishly dismissed it. And when he'd stood outside Leonardo's room he knew in his gut that something was wrong.

In the many years he'd spent raising his precious sons, his acute rat senses had grown attuned to their habits. If all the lights were turned out leaving him with zero visibility he would not only be able to identify them as his sons, but would also be able to discern one from the other.

The way they carried themselves as they walked, how they talked, and even how they breathed, was familiar to him. And on occasion he has even found himself able to tell them apart by the very beat of their hearts.

Now that he could reflect on it, Splinter realized that that was what had nagged at him earlier that morning, when he'd paused in front of his eldest son's room door. There had been no steady breaths to indicate Leonardo's slumber, and, worst of all, there had been no heartbeat.

Of course, the idea of his eldest son's absence hadn't crossed his mind until he'd seen the empty room and untouched bed covers with his eyes.

And that had been his downfall.

A good ninja never relies on eyesight alone. He reprimanded himself, dread wrenching in his gut, And a good father should know better by now.

Now, one of his dear children was missing. Mortally wounded, or captured by the Shredder and tortured for all he knew.

The image of the charred remains of the warehouse planted itself into his mind. What if Leonardo hadn't made it out alive?

The idea of his son screaming for help in the ravaging fire, slowly suffocating and burning to death stabbed his heart with an unbearable all to familiar pain.

He brought a hand up to his face, grief and fear overpowering him.

"Oh my son," he whispered, a slight tremor overtaking his voice. Splinter felt as though he'd failed the only thing he could not afford to fail. He failed as a father, he failed as a Sensei, and he'd failed Leonardo.

Tears sprang into his eyes dampening the fur on his face.

His fur. Another cruel reminder of how much of his life had been torn from him. All he had left, were his sons. The only light in those dark sewers came from their smiling faces. Was the world so cruel as to tear them away from him too? One by one?

The ringing of a telephone interrupted his thoughts. Though it was not the ring of just any telephone. Splinter had both dreaded and prayed for that sound ever since Donatello and Michelangelo has left the lair in search for their brother.

It was the cheese phone.

Getting to his feet, Splinter hurried into his room where the cheese phone sat on a pedestal under a glass lid. Quickly removing the glass lid he placed a hand in the cheese looking telephone as it rang. He hesitated for a moment, a horrible dread knitting his stomach.

When he answered this call he knew what he was going to hear, at least to some extent, and was almost to afraid to hear it. The tidings of that one single phone call could change his and his son's lives forever.

But he shouldn't, couldn't, no wouldn't ignore it. Not this time.

Splinter picked up the receiver, "Moshi moshi," he answered, steeling the tremble from his voice.

And his nightmare began.