Updates are going to be a touch irregular again but only because I'm back to school full time plus my job. But we're so close to the end! I'm really dedicated to trying to get this bad boy finished at the end of the day, so hopefully the next update will be soon : )
Special thanks to Ikara, Vampy, Rhodesincolumbus, and Heather for the feedback and support on AO3 and tumblr!
TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, and LeatherHead © Mirage Studios
story © Turtlefreak121
Flicker
Chapter Fourteen: The Best That One Can
There was very little he could do, but Splinter never resigned himself to beinguseless no matter how much his old bones may have felt it.
With two buckets of bleach, three unopened sponges, and a finely cleaned mop he had spent the whole night inspecting and sanitizing to his own satisfaction, and the long rolls of plastic which Casey Jones had managed to supply for them, Master Splinter set out to complete the one task he knew he could perform better in this process than any of his sons or extended family.
On his hands and knees, Splinter began the process of painstakingly cleaning each brick and crevice in the cleaned out laboratory of LeatherHead's home.
With his sponges and mop, the bleach, and other various antiseptics and mopping soaps his family supplied for him at each and every request, Master Splinter started in the very furthest corner of the room and brick by brick cleaned the room from floor to wall to ceiling.
He went over each corner three then four then six times before moving on to his second wash.
Between drying periods, Splinter checked on the other preparations.
Splinter watched as his healthy sons and Casey scrapped together operating tables and beds, or as April and Michelangelo returned from a visit with the mysterious friends they had in the Justice Force, carrying in pieces of technology that the old rat master could not begin to decipher for himself.
But mostly he watched studiously as LeatherHead and April practiced their approaches and planned out their courses of action.
The heated debates between them worried Splinter's soul, but not as much as the fact that Donatello seemed actively participating in all of the activities at once when he wasn't staring off and hearing nothing from them.
Master Splinter took notice of how Donatello avoided not him but the room which was designated for the risky operation at hand.
He could not blame his son for that, a touch of mortality even Donatello was not fully prepared to face.
After the last wash of the room, Master Splinter grabbed the rolls of plastic and then began the process of rolling them out on the floors, overlapping every piece so as to not leave a corner or strip bear. Then he began hanging them from the walls and ceiling.
It took hours, and not long into it the feel of the plastic numbed his nimble fingers and caused his joints to ache.
But he continued. It was the very least he could do.
His attention to detail was all but unmatched among their close family, and his natural cleanly habits had made him uniquely qualified for the daunting task of preparing the room for his son's upcoming procedure.
More than all of that, however, Splinter had a duty to the room which held the fate of his son. He blessed each stroke of his hands, whispered reverences to each roll of the plastics, and asked for the benevolence of each spirit which passed through their world as he did each task.
It was a humbling task that he and he alone had the compulsion to do.
With his work complete, Splinter left the room to tell April and LeatherHead of its preparedness. He was not expecting to see all four of his sons waiting on him.
Waiting on him in civilian disguises no less.
Splinter stared hard at his children and thrashed his tail. "Is there a plan you wish to inform me of, my sons? On the night where this endeavor is most imminent?"
The entire time he was hardly able to take his eyes off of Donatello. His son seemed quiet and at ease despite everything. Comfortable, even.
"Yes, Master," Leonardo answered.
"With Donny about to, y'know, go through a bunch of stuff," Michelangelo began to explain, grabbing Donatello's shoulders. "We figured he needs one night before it all to just, relax a bit! Get his spirits up! Happy brain's a healthy brain and all that – want him to be all happy thoughts for this… whatever this is."
Splinter hardened his gaze, unsure of the true nature of the request.
Raphael stepped forward. "We want to take Don out for some air and relax him, Sensei. Let it be healthy for him and everything."
Donatello forced a small smile toward their father. "I actually asked for it, Master Splinter."
"We just didn't want to do anything rash without your knowledge or say so first," Leonardo continued. "We are taking the utmost caution. But this is… It's important to keep Don in good spirits and all, Master Splinter."
"Yeah! We read it in an article and stuff," Michelangelo said, producing a wrinkled up science journal for him.
Master Splinter accepted the paper but did not look to read it for himself just yet. Instead he looked to his sons and felt the ache deep in his heart. The fear that seized him in the wake of everything about to happen, the anxiety rolling off of his children. Everything.
He took a breath and nodded. "Of course, my sons. But not for long. Not too far. And please be gentle–"
Without warning, Donatello wrapped his arms around Master Splinter's neck. It was an action that shocked all parties, but soon melted into something warm and painful in Splinter's chest.
He hugged his son back.
"Be in good spirits, my son," he whispered. "They are well earned."
"Okay," Donatello said back, moving back to his brothers as they headed out the door.
Watching his sons, Master Splinter waited, then moved to where April and LeatherHead worked. He still needed to let them know the room was finished, then he needed to lie down and allow himself to be winded.
There were tears in his eyes that were not deserved yet.
It shouldn't have surprised Don that their first stop was pizza. Because of course their first stop was pizza. There was hardly any way it would have been otherwise.
But it did. He hadn't even thought of pizza since the whole business with his brain had begun – maybe before that even.
As he sat on their favorite overlook with his siblings, really taking in the sights of their city, he felt a certain tug beneath the surface of his carapace. A subtle pinging that ached him from beak to toe.
He knew he had wasted a lot of time by ignoring his own problems and he had maybe made things worse. And he knew that the sticky notes collected on his forearm at the moment were likely not going to continue being of help keeping his thoughts straight if things got worse, but as he looked at his family – as he looked at the jovial tone they had forced just for his sake that night – he only felt bad that all the weeks of conflict and strife over his behavior could have been better spent doing exactly this with his loved ones.
That, more than not accepting there was something wrong with him, more than anything, he regretted.
"You usually hate that many olives on your pizza, Don," Mike joked, bumping shoulders with Donatello again as he laughed.
"Yeah," Don said with a soft laugh. "I guess you're right. Explains why I don't like it."
There was a small flicker of pain on his brother's face that immediately Don caught. Even if Mikey did his level best to disguise it directly afterward.
"It's fine, Mikey. We're all fine," Don assured him, not missing how Raph threw his crust down into the alley below, apparently having lost his appetite at the unexpected reminder of the impending procedure. "Right? We'll get through."
"You, Donny. You will get through," Raphael corrected, giving Don a glare. "You're the one taking the risk here."
"We all are," Don argued gently. "You guys look way more worse for wear over this right now than I do."
They all shifted, but rather than away from Don they came a bit closer. Mike and Leo suddenly touched shoulders with him from where they sat. And even Raphael was noticeably closer, a hand reaching back behind Mike's shell and grasping Don's shoulders firmly.
It was the silent solidarity that really got Don. He lowered his pizza and shakily looked to his hands before reaching for a pen in his belt loop, writing the moment down on a sticky note to join his collection.
He was so dedicated to chronicling the moment as quickly as he could, Don ignored the spots in his vision and the low hum beginning to invade his ears. None of it was as important as making sure he didn't forget the moment with his brothers.
"Easy, Donny," Raphael's voice carried.
It was enough to make Don realize that his brothers were holding him back a bit from a sway that nearly sent him rolling forward off their perch on the roof.
"Maybe we should get somewhere not so, y'know, high," Mike pointed out, clapping Don's shoulder a few times for good measure.
Leo's eyes settled on Don's, managing to hold his gaze even in the growing spottiness. "Is there anything you want to do next, Don? It's your night."
Smiling a bit, Don nodded and ignored the way his whole world shook around the small motion. "Yeah, actually, it's been… well, not on my mind, but I've needed to go there for a while."
The other three looked to each other, visibly confused for a moment, before focusing back on Don.
"Sure, Don. Anything you need," Leo assured him once more.
"I need to go to the lair," Don explained. "The old one – the original lair."
Raph huffed and looked off. "It's not around anymore, Don. It's rubble–"
Mikey elbowed their red banded brother sternly and gave him a warning look before glancing back to Leo. "It'll be a little tricky, but we can do it if that's what you really want, Don. Right, Leo?"
"Of course," their eldest said as he got to his feet and offered Donatello a hand. "Is it what you want, Don?"
"Yes," Don replied without hesitation. He took his brother's hand and pulled himself back to his feet, swaying slightly and being immediately held up by all of his siblings. "Yeah, let's do it."
They all began their descent from the rooftop. Muscle memory for the action was so ingrained in Don he nearly allowed it to take over – he had to keep focus.
That was his struggle, he had learned. The moment he wasn't focused things began to slip from him, and the static that clung to the edges of his vision began to win over and the sensations around him would be lost.
And the worst part of all of it was that he would not care once it started, if it could even be argued that his mind was able to retain true understanding of it at all.
So while fear clearly grew just beneath the surface of each and every bit of his family's actions that night, Don knew he was making the right choice for himself ultimately.
The only choice he could make for himself ultimately.
The trip to the old lair did not take much time. Not with his brother pushing each other around and attempting brevity as best they could, and not with Don scrambling to read over rushed sticky notes, committing the memories of each ones he could see clearly in his own mind.
But just as his brothers had warned, once they got there they were faced with the crumbled remains of their old home and not much else.
Don stood at what was once their door and felt the static clog his brain a bit more with the disappointment. Color drained from his vision.
"This what you wanted, Don?" Leonardo asked, a bit awkward and stiff about it.
"Yeah," Don said, though his voice wasn't convincing even to his own crackling ears.
Michelangelo came up and threw his hands onto Don's shoulders, squeezing them a bit. "It's okay, Don. I really miss it sometimes, too."
Biting his lip, Don shook his head lightly, the world spinning a bit around him in response. "It's not that, Mikey. Not really. I was… Well, I was kind of hoping to find something while we were here and…"
There was an uncomfortable shift shared by all of his brothers at once, though only Raphael went so far as to let out a loud growl and shake his head.
"Let me guess, they happen to be a ring of keys?" Raph asked only to get elbowed by both Leo and Mikey at once. He didn't seem apologetic even with the elbows, however, and glared back at them.
The bare mention of his keys got Don's attention, and he nearly began to turn and look for them, but he noticed the sticky notes instead – and how grayed it all seemed as that creeping sense of deja vu began once more.
He grabbed a sticky note and clutched it tightly to keep the thoughts at bay for just a little longer.
"Do you remember," Don said, turning to his brothers. "Us living here. And it was black and white."
A beat of silence carried on between them for just a moment too long. They all glanced to each other then back to Don. Varied expressions of worry were clear on their faces upon doing so.
"Uh, no," Mike offered out loud.
Don wasn't discouraged by the response, however. He knew what he was talking about was real, if only he could make sense out of it. He brazenly continued.
"We were here and there was this couple," Don explained, ignoring the scene playing out in his head with perfect timing. "They were dressed so neat – like they were going somewhere important. And the weather was nice. They had to be from a movie, they had to–"
Then, at once, it clicked. Don gasped. His brothers jolted forward to him.
"Don!? Are you alright!?" they all called out discordantly.
"It was a movie," Don continued, turning back toward where their home should have been. He raised his hands up and let out a small laugh in relief. "They've been from a movie! This whole time I was thinking of them and they were just from an old black and white–"
Leo tilted his head. "Donny, you'll have to catch us up a bit. We don't know what you're talking about. At all."
"The first television I made for us," Don laughed, voice warm and fond even in his throat. "Remember? I didn't figure out how to completely rewire it or the cable yet, so the picture was all black-and-white for us at first?"
"Whoa!" Mike shouted out, eyes widened. "I do remember that!"
"I haven't thought about that in forever," Raph marveled.
"The first thing we ever watched was some dumb romantic comedy that was running on syndication," Don laughed, rubbing his face. "That's what I've been thinking of – that's what I've been remembering. I… I know I'm sick, but I just needed to know I wasn't making that up – I had to force myself to remember what was so important about that. And now I know – it's the first thing we all watched together like that." He looked at them. "My brain doesn't want to forget it more than anything else for some reason."
The words hadn't even finished leaving his mouth when he was jumped to enclose him in a hug.
Don hugged them all back without hesitation.
He hoped he would never need a sticky note or coaxing from his loved ones to remember how much they all meant to him in that moment.