Part 6
Leonardo felt like he was looking over his shoulder the whole way home, and he opened the door half expecting a fist. Instead the lair was quiet and dark, save for the thin blue light coming from beneath Donatello's door.
He crossed the room, his feet dragging, and leaned against the door. He knocked once, hoping his brother hadn't gone to sleep—
The door opened. He stumbled forward a step, caught hastily in Donatello's arms.
"Leo?"
Donatello put his hand under his brother's face, tilting his head up. Small bruises, a scratch, but it was his hollow eyes that made him realize something had gone wrong. He brought his brother into the lab and set him down in his chair.
"What happ—"
His question faded when he saw the deep bruise on his brother's shoulder. As he slowly pulled the scarf loose and let it pool on the floor, he revealed a mess of blood on Leonardo's arm.
"Raph found you," Donatello said, then sighed at Leonardo in frustration. "Dammit, I didn't think he'd...did he get you with the chain?"
"Once," Leonardo said quietly. "And he landed a punch. That was it."
Donatello glanced at his bleeding arm, then back up at him, hoping for more information.
"Will it need stitches?" Leonardo asked, eyes shut.
"Can't tell yet"
Donatello looked over him to make sure there were no more major injuries. Not content with that, he lightly touched his brother's plastron and ran his hands down Leonardo's body, over his other arm, along the sides of his shell. He knelt and followed Leonardo's legs, pausing as his brother winced.
"And your ankle's kind of swollen," Donatello said, gently pressing his fingertips along the joint. "Probably not a sprain, though. Landed hard, huh?"
"Yeah, a couple times."
"Stay put. I gotta get some things."
He went to the back of the lab, grabbing a clean bucket and then sweeping his hand over the medical supplies he needed. Bandages tumbled in, followed by needle and sutures just in case, then a wash cloth and antiseptic spray. He dumped it out on his work table beside Leonardo, then took the bucket to the kitchen and put it in the sink to fill. In the freezer, he took a handful of the many ice packs they kept ready.
"Hold this against your shoulder," Donatello said as he came back, placing the cold pack on the bruise on Leonardo's shoulder. "Maybe we can keep the swelling from getting worse."
With his good hand, Leonardo held the pack more gingerly than Donatello had, tensing as his brother began to wash the blood from his arm and side. Donatello brought his magnifying glass to bear, shining his desk lamp directly on the wound as he searched for and found a half dozen slivers, gingerly pulling them out with tweezers.
"Don't tense up," Donatello said. "Just makes it harder to get them out."
"I didn't think there'd be pieces," Leonardo whispered, but he forced that arm to relax.
"Ibuprofen or aspirin?" Donatello asked quietly, dropping the bloody glass on table.
"Aspirin," Leonardo muttered. "Works faster."
Donatello paused, looking over the wound one more time, then breathed out.
"No stitches," he said in relief. "It's not that deep. I'm gonna wash it out again, then bandage it up."
Leonardo nodded once, fidgeting as the cold water stung along the cuts. The antibacterial spray burned worse, and he turned his head, pressing the pack a little tighter. Donatello added a couple home-made butterfly bandages to keep the wound securely closed. Then finally the real bandages went on, wrapping from wrist to elbow.
"Okay," Donatello sighed, rising. "I'll go get the aspirin. Just wait—"
"Here."
A bottle sailed through the room, forcing Donatello to catch it in midair. It bounced in his hands for a few seconds before he finally clutched it tight. Then he held his breath and looked up at Raphael, who leaned one arm up against the door frame.
Donatello quietly took a step between him and Leonardo. Behind him, his brother turned his head just enough to see Raphael from the corner of his eye.
Raphael had shed his armor, revealing nothing more than a handful of light bruises. The armor was worth every rivet, and where Leonardo had nearly come apart, Raphael felt nothing worse than a few aches and a deep sense of betrayal.
He filled the doorway, throwing a long shadow over them both, and he looked from Donatello to Leonardo, then back again. Nodding his head as if he'd figured something out, he said nothing, merely turned and headed to his room.
Donatello watched him for a moment, just to make sure that he didn't suddenly double back to pounce. The suspicion was unfair, he knew, but he could only see the evidence before him. The blood. The deep bruising. The...pain killers? He tipped out a few pills and held them out to his brother.
Since he couldn't use his left hand and his right was holding the ice pack, Leonardo bowed his head and nuzzled the pills from Donatello's hand, taking them without water.
"You don't think he'll tell Splinter, will he?" Donatello asked.
He came close, putting his arm around Leonardo, careful not to touch his shoulder. When Leonardo refused to move, he put his hand to his brother's temple, nudging him lightly. With a tired sigh, Leonardo tilted his head to rest on Donatello's shoulder.
"...no." Why was it so hard to talk? Leonardo felt like he was forcing out every word. "I warned him if he tells Splinter, then so will I."
Donatello whistled low. "A real nuclear option...mutual assured destruction."
He held him for a moment longer, looking over him one more time, then changed out the ice pack.
"So are you going to tell me what happened?"
Reluctant, Leonardo stared at the floor, seeing but not seeing the spare parts and wires and notes pushed against the wall. The bare concrete was easier to think about without having to relive anything of Raphael—the look when Raphael realized who he'd been chasing, and his face changed from shock to hurt—
Donatello bent forward to see his face. Soft brown eyes looked up at him, quiet and patient. Leonardo closed his eyes and looked away, but he nodded once. His brother had patched him back together, was still patching him together. He deserved a reply.
Leonardo started to shrug, hissing as he moved the wrong shoulder.
"I got too close," he said. "And then I couldn't shake him. I went through a window and then..."
He chuckled once, then again as the absurdity struck him.
"And then I took the stairs while he took the elevator."
Not pushing for more, Donatello mentally filled in some of the blanks. For whatever reason, Leonardo had let Raphael see him, and then he never managed to put any real distance between them. They must have run for several blocks as Leonardo hoped Raphael would tire, but he'd hurt himself and worn himself out. And then Raphael didn't have to be faster. Without that one advantage, Leonardo had fallen.
"Silly turtle," Donatello said, brushing his knuckles across his brother's face. "Even the world's fastest cheetah has to slow down sometime."
Leonardo didn't laugh, but he managed a faint smile. He tilted his head to feel his brother's hand, then tilted a little more, resting more and more on his fingertips. He was so tired that Donatello's hand felt like a pillow.
"You're gonna sleep in my bed tonight," Donatello said. "Your futon would just make it hurt more."
"I won't argue. Just..."
Leonardo put his hand to his satchel, surprised that it hadn't torn off during the whole night. He tried to lift the strap, but it refused to move. Or he simply couldn't move it. Donatello came behind him and gently pulled the canvas up and off of him, setting the bag on the table.
"You mean after all that?" Donatello asked, opening it and pulling out a comic book encased in plastic, a sticker with a grade and appraisal stamp in the corner. "You still got it?"
"It's still in one piece?" Leonardo said, looking over his shoulder. He half-smiled to see it. "Oh good. That would've really sucked."
Donatello studied the cover, a man in a gray costume on a yellow background. "Detective Comics 27...y'know, I think I'm more awed by this than I was by Ptolemy's maps."
Leonardo chuckled. "It's kinda why my left side is all busted up. I had the comic on my right."
"So you sacrificed your arm," Donatello said, "to save Batman. Worth it."
He came up behind him, helping his brother up and letting Leonardo put his good arm over his shoulders. With small steps, they slowly fell in synch, quietly moving through the lair toward his room. As they came to the doorway, Donatello spotted Michelangelo watching from Raphael's door. They shared a brief wince, and then Donatello took his brother to bed, closing the door behind themselves.
Murmurs, soft voices, the sound of a mattress weighed down and blankets rustling...Michelangelo listened for a minute, catching the sound of them rising and falling.
"Do you think he hates me?"
"No..." Donatello sighed heavily, followed by the sound of him climbing into bed. "I kinda think he hates us both."
"Mm."
The click of a lamp and the light under the door turned dark.
"Well...he always hates me anyway..."
The voices faded into sleep. Michelangelo eavesdropped a moment longer, then joined Raphael at the edge of his hammock, sitting down and letting the netting force him to sit flush against his brother. Neither spoke, although Raphael put his arm around him and held him tight.
Raphael grit his teeth, screwing his eyes shut. Leonardo's scarf had lain so casually forgotten on the floor...of course Donatello knew. Had known when Raphael asked for help with the searches online. Had known at the breakfast table as Raphael swore he was being played.
Had laughed.
Raphael lay his head on Michelangelo's shoulder, hiding his face against his throat.
It was so obvious now, Donatello laughing and snickering at Raphael's frustration. That Leonardo was right under his nosing, stealing—
"I'm going to sleep," Raphael muttered.
"'kay." Michelangelo slowly withdrew his arm, sighing. "Want me to stay?"
"...yeah."
Raphael lay back, arranging himself on the hammock in a smooth flop, kicking off his kneepads and tossing his mask wherever it fell. Michelangelo gave him a moment to get comfortable, then slipped off his own gear and climbed in after him. Raphael always slept on his shell, so Michelangelo lay down by his side, almost on top of him.
"Geez," Michelangelo whispered, "when you gonna stop growing, huh?"
That brought a smile. With his littler brother's head on his shoulder, Raphael's feet still passed his by an inch.
"You're lucky I drink so much beer," Raphael said. "Stunted my growth."
With Michelangelo's soft mutters in his ears, Raphael closed his eyes. Sleep came slowly. His mind refused to rest, replaying the chase over and over, replaying breakfast. He remembered chasing Fantasma...Leonardo...across Chinatown. The way Fanta—Leonardo seemed to laugh. Like stepping on Raphael was so much fun.
The dream crept up on him. He couldn't tell where the chase changed—he was chasing Leonardo across the roof, then through the city, heading for the train station. Leonardo had lost his scarf—no, he didn't have it, looking over his shoulder several times as if he could will his brothers to catch up with him.
"Hurry up!" Leonardo yelled, his voice growing fainter with the wind. "I have to keep him in sight or I'll lose him!"
"Wait!" Raphael tried to run but the concrete was wet and thick like mud.
Far ahead, the assassin was a small figure on the horizon but Raphael saw him impossibly clearly—wearing black, holding a gun as big as a canon. There were bullets around him, ricocheting off the concrete, hitting Raphael's black skin and reflecting off as if he were armored. In the midst of the bullets, April was crouching down, hands over her head, screaming as each shot narrowly missed.
"Don't worry," Raphael yelled, trying to reach her, "we'll stop him!"
The assassin split into three figures, all of them stepping up onto a train that began rolling down the rail. Leonardo stood on the platform, holding out his hand to Raphael.
"Please!" Leonardo yelled. "Don't let me go alone!"
"Stay here!" Raphael called out, but his voice refused to do more than whisper. "Just stay here!"
"Raph, please!"
A deep shadow began to loom up in his dream. Like a wall of darkness, it covered up the city, the train, falling over his brother and wrapping up around him so that Raphael could only see his eyes beneath his hood.
"Leo!"
Something hit him from behind—Michelangelo stumbled into him, crying in pain—they tumbled to the ground in a tangle, sinking into concrete. Raphael swore desperately, pushing himself up as he tried to breathe. In the distance, Leonardo fell silent and vanished. Everything vanished. Raphael was left sinking deeper and deeper, drowning—
"Raph, dude, wake up..."
"Raph?"
"Don't make me get the cold water..."
Raphael blinked slowly, groaning as his room gradually came into focus. There was light coming from outside, silhouetting his little brother in front of him. He frowned. His little brother had a bucket.
"If you throw that at me," Raphael muttered, "I am putting your head in the toilet."
"Awww." With a pout, Michelangelo set the bucket down with water sloshing over his hands. "You're no fun."
"I ain't in the mood," Raphael said. Yawning, he swung his legs off the hammock and scratched the side of his shell. "What time is it?"
"Like nine," Michelangelo said. "Looks like everyone slept in."
Raphael blinked. "And Splinter?"
"...him, too."
What should have been a welcome respite was instead a gnawing ball of anxiety. Splinter slept later and later, rarely remarking upon it. Raphael had known that his father wouldn't live forever, but to be faced with the signs of his aging...
"Breakfast is on," Michelangelo said. "We're, uh, we're the last ones."
Raphael gripped the edge of his hammock. Which meant that their brothers were already at the table. Did he really want to face them right now? He could always grab leftovers afterward.
The hammock rope creaked audibly as his hands tightened into fists. Oh yes. He wanted to face them.
Acutely aware of his own footsteps, Raphael went side by side with his little brother. Together they made a pair sitting opposite of Leonardo and Donatello. Splinter sat quietly at the head of the table, nursing his tea.
Awkward silence. Leonardo looked only at his rice and eggs. Donatello hid behind his coffee and laptop—look at him typing so much, working so hard. Type type type. Raphael pulled over the cereal and picked out all the marshmallows, piling them beside his bowl.
More silence. Rice and eggs were super fascinating today. Donatello must have had fifty tabs open for all the clicking and reading he was doing.
In the light, the shadow on Leonardo's shoulder had turned dark, clearly visible around the ice pack draped over his shell. Despite the constant cold, the bruise had still spread and swollen slightly. Raphael wondered if he'd left a bone bruise. Since Leonardo held almost perfectly still, that was probably the reason. Or maybe it was his forearm, still swathed in bandages. A tiny bit of red poked out from along one edge. The wound was still weeping.
The bottle of aspirin stood beside Donatello's coffee. Raphael wondered why it wasn't by Leonardo, then figured his brother couldn't open it one-handed.
Michelangelo looked at all of them in turn, constantly glancing back at Raphael. Usually the breakfast table wasn't this silent, and even if it was, the television would play a comfortable background noise. Today the tv was off, probably in hopes that Raphael might sleep through breakfast, and the silence grew thicker and thicker, a heavy hum in Michelangelo's ears that made the lair feel like it was full of water, swallowing sound and slowly rising over his head—
"I'm going out today," Michelangelo said suddenly. He smiled as they all lifted their heads or glanced at him. "I wanted to get a camera. Like, a good one. I've found some cool places and I wanted to record going through them."
Donatello's brow furrowed, about to ask something. He glanced at Raphael and looked back at his laptop.
"Like urban exploration videos," Michelangelo said, talking when no one else would. "They're super popular. And we see so many cool things that no one else sees 'cause it's all hidden."
"Is..." Donatello started, still staring at the laptop. "Is it going to come from the junk yard? You might have better luck at a pawn shop or..."
"Yeah, kinda," Michelangelo said without elaborating.
Leonardo hesitated, visibly struggling with himself. Then he let out a sigh.
"Just don't get seen," he said.
"Yeah," Raphael said, a touch too loud. "'Cause it sucks getting caught."
Michelangelo and Donatello both winced.
Leonardo looked up at him and didn't reply.
"I see no reason against it," Splinter said, "as long as you are cautious. Even for a trained ninja, the city's ruins and abandoned sites can be dangerous."
"Gotcha, sensei." Michelangelo nodded obediently. "I won't be going anywhere 'till I get used to the camera. I don't want to be messing with buttons when I need to be paying attention."
"Good," Splinter said. He turned his attention to his eldest son. "And you? Will you stay in to rest?"
Everyone stopped, waiting for Leonardo's response. His wounds looked less severe under bandages and hidden by ice packs, but the slump of his shoulders and the hollows of his eyes betrayed how harshly the night had treated him. He froze, feeling all of them studying him.
Then he lifted his head, facing not Splinter but Raphael.
"I'm going out tonight," he said.
Raphael's eyes narrowed.
"Really?"
"I ran across a firefight between the Latin Kings and Diablo Puerto," Leonardo said, all but daring him to contradict. "So they're trying to defend territory. I'll probably find their base of operations soon."
"Huh." Raphael's mouth twisted. "Gonna run any errands while you're out?"
"Yeah," Leonardo said. "One."
Donatello looked between them, reaching out to touch Leonardo's hand and trying to remind him not to antagonize Raphael. It didn't matter. Their fight hadn't ended. They just couldn't fight out in the open.
"Yeah?" Raphael motioned at his arm. "All busted up like that?"
"Last night I had to get in the middle of a fight," Leonardo said, overemphasizing choice words. "I won't make that mistake again."
Bristling, Raphael banished the thought of being saved twice. Trust his stuck-up, teacher's-pet brother to hit below the belt.
"Probably it's those errands that're putting you in harm's way," he said lowly.
"We'll see," Leonardo said. And then spite made him smile. "Or you won't."
Donatello squeezed his eyes shut, as did Michelangelo beside him. With that, the challenge had been thrown.