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TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, and LeatherHead © Mirage Studios
story © Turtlefreak121

Flicker
Chapter Seven: Paths Burned Before

As they walked, Michelangelo focused on his feet.

He noticed for the first time that, as they walked, their feet didn't really make much of an impression on the tunnel's ground. Consider the grime of the sewers, Mike assumed that their steps would have left at least something behind.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. They had trained so much throughout their lives to step so lightly that they wouldn't make a sound. It was instinct by that point.

But looking up, he watched Donatello's movements were more direct, controlled as they carrie themselves closer to home. He could see his brother become more alert, wrinkles growing beneath his eyes at some sort of distant conscious realization.

Like he was waking up while walking.

But all Mike could think – all he could see – was that beastly flicker in Don's eyes as he rushed past them earlier. Like a truly terrifying blast from the past.

It also reminded Mike that while Raph and Leo had gone out to find and help Don, Mikey had remained at the store. That Mikey was the one brother that showed he may not be all there for his brother.

Ahead of Don, Leo and Raph were leading the way home. Raphael drudged forward, his head lowered as though he was charging toward the Lair and never looking back. On the other hand, Leonardo turned to gaze over his shoulder every few moments. Checking on them.

True to form, though, not a single one of them made an audible noise.

The quiet was enough tension on its own.

At least, it had been until Don uttered, "There's something wrong with me."

Which was one statement that immediately made Mike's skin crawl for its general creep factor.

Everyone stopped in their tracks and looked at Don. But he didn't seem deterred, if anything he looked downright determined as he glared back at them.

It was the most Don that Don had looked in a while.

"What is it?" he demanded. "What's wrong with me? Does anyone know yet?"

Leo rubbed at the back of his neck. "It's… We don't know. We haven't even fully figured out if it is something wrong or just some sort of other explanation."

"I think we all know there's something wrong," Don said firmly, despite the volume of his voice notably dropping. "I'm not that crazy. I know there's something wrong, Leo."

Raph wiped a hand over his face and shook his head before stepping toward the center. "Can we please just make it the rest of the way home?" he asked, though it wasn't really a question.

"That sounds like a good idea," Mike was quick to second.

The sooner the better the less awkward.

Their trek continued in silence, but Mike was more observant of the other's steps than his own that time around.

Specifically Don's. Where, unlike the rest of them, Donny was leaving a drag line for his knuckled over toes every couple of steps. Except there looked like there was nothing wrong with his feet. At least not that Mike could see from the outside, nor had there been an opportunity he was aware of for Don to have hurt himself.

It was like Don didn't even know he was slightly dragging his toes.

Not wanting to thin anymore on it until at least they got home, Mike just made a quiet note of it to tell the others later.

There was the tinge of worry in his chest. The same as it always was when his sons were not within his sights. But at least over the years he had become far better at preoccupying himself, ignoring the instinct to find them and return them to his side, but the worry never truly left. As it never should.

He was their father and he would scorn the day that he was not anxious for their safety.

But the air of the night was different. More anxious and unsure.

The worry had been more persistent since Donatello's incidents, but even that did not fully explain the stale air of his sons' approach. It was enough to keep his face at a firm frown as the door to the sewers opened and his sons shuffled in – morose and unsure themselves.

"Hello, my sons," he said gently. "I am so very glad you are home safe and sound."

They looked at him, silent and uncertain still.

It was as if they were filled with dread over the night as well.

Somewhat surprisingly, Donatello broke the mold first, stepping away from his brothers. There was a tiredness – an age to Donatello's eyes that did not belong there. A face full of what seemed to be enough regret for a lifetime.

"I'm sorry," he told them. He paused, looking away from their blank expressions. But his voice was surprisingly firm and normal from what the last few weeks had brought them. "I don't know what happened."

When none of them replied or met Splinter's questioning gaze, it left the old father to grab Donatello's shoulder and begin leading him toward the stairs.

"Whatever has come this night, it is now over, my son," Splinter assured him. "And you are tired, Donatello. Please go to bed. Worry and apologies are for tomorrow."

Reluctantly, the teenager followed his father's lead. He was slow, but not sickly.

Once Donatello was on his way without Splinter's guiding hand, the old rat turned to the rest of his family. He looked at them expectantly.

Raphael was the first to step forward. "Master, I'm really tired, too. I'm just going to crash. Leo and Mikey can update you," he announced, not sounding the least bit like he was awaiting for approval for the plan.

Splinter watched after him as Raph took to the stairs. His eyes fell on the last two.

"Were the matters of the night truly so difficult?" Splinter asked Leonardo and Michelangelo. "It has been a long time since I have felt such an atmosphere of dread around my family."

"It was not a good night, Master, no," Leonardo confirmed with a bow of his head.

"Don ran away from April and us and, well, acted really weird," Mike dared to explain. Unusual for the youngest turtle, he was wearing a vivid scowl at the memory. "He wasn't acting like himself at all, he was acting like… like when that outbreak was happening."

The very mention of that dark time in his family's past caused Master Splinter to turn immediately toward his sun. There was a thin glare between them. "That is a most terrible thing to say, Michelangelo."

"But it's the truth, Sensei," Mike insisted. He then remembered himself and lowered his head. "It was the first thing I thought when I saw his eyes. It was bad. Like, really bad."

"He's still Don, though," Leonardo interrupted. "Something's up, but there's no doubt that Don's still functioning as himself. He has strange episodes, I guess you could call them, but then he's back to Don. We can't jump to conclusions like this. We just can't."

Putting a hand to his chin carefully, Splinter breathed a sigh. "Leonardo, Michelangelo is entitled to his viewpoint, just as we are ours," Splinter sighed. "But please. This is your brother we are speaking of, Michelangelo."

"How do we know what this thing is, though?" Mike questioned genuinely.

"We wait," the master responded simply. "From now on, the three of you may continue your rooftop exercises but you shall leave Donatello here with me. If he is unsettled in mind or spirit, he should remain where he is safe and under care."

"Yes, Master," Leonardo answered with a dissatisfied frown set on his beak. He folded his arms and looked away. There seemed to be an almost discomfort at the declaration.

Strangely enough, Michelangelo did not answer at all but rather nodded with a frighted look upon his face. There was some sense of relief, however, that Splinter could detect.

"Very good," Splinter stated before heading toward Donatello's room. "Get some rest, my sons. I will talk to you all in more detail about this night later. For now I shall watch over Donatello."

And with that he left them, entered the room for his sickened son, and was somewhat surprised to see an already sleeping form.

He hoped the others could find rest as quickly and settled himself on the floor, meditating on the situation and doing as much as he could to avoid thoughts of snapping jaws and a monster within.