A/N: Shout out to Kayla: Thanks for faithfully leaving a review of my chapters! :)

Chapter 5: Kagome, Kagome

Once the living space of a brilliant, inventive, and gentle-hearted teen, Donatello's room was now a tomb of meditation for Splinter. The ninjutsu master has channeled years of mental focus and discipline into finding his son in the spiritual plane. Donatello's energy was strongest and most intimate in his room so it made perfect sense for Splinter to meditate here. The thoughtful and gentle echoes of his curious aura had taken root in his room like spiritual moss and Splinter had easily felt its presence. Splinter knew to be careful, for the spirit world had no qualms with claiming living souls who wandered into its terrain.

He understood the dangers of piercing the veil of the supernatural during meditation. He knew going too far and too deep could have dire consequences. But he also knew above all else that his son needed to be found. Dwelling places carried echoes of memories and Donnie's room was no exception. If Splinter could collect these echoes, and combine them into one large ethereal echolocation, he could track Donnie's soul, and by proxy, his body's current location… if his soul was still connected to his body. Splinter tried not to dwell on the negative thought.

Initially, the echoes were mere impressions, faint and hard to contain, fizzling out before Splinter could wrap his mind around them. However, Splinter was not deterred. With the patience of an archaeologist, he brushed away the superficial layers until he connected with a delicate, priceless memory. It was a simple memory of a young Donatello sitting on his bed with a large book balanced on his knees, which were curled up to his chest. His face pressed between the pages as his eyes found wonder in The Journey to the Center of the Earth. By age ten, Donatello had completely outgrown bedtime stories and preferred to read in solitude, much to Splinter's disappointment. As Donatello turned the page of his book, the memory dissolved, fading away like a wisp of smoke.

Opening his eyes, Splinter hummed, frustration seeped into his normally composed countenance. He scanned Donatello's room. Spotting the small bookshelf, Splinter ran a slender finger over the weathered book spines until he found his son's beloved book from the faded memory. Plucking the book from its snug position on the shelf, he placed it in front of him and resumed his meditative position. The memory sharpened into focus, transforming from a shadowy vignette into a vibrant, panoramic scene.

Yes, much better, Splinter thought as he delved deeper into the memory. Just as he began to absorb the spiritual energy, the memory progressed before his eyes. He saw his past self open the bedroom door.

"Donatello, it is time for bed," he urged. "You and your brothers have training tomorrow."

"Okay, Sensei," ten-year-old Donatello sighed as he placed a scrap of paper between the pages of his book as a bookmark.

Splinter smiled softly. "We can read one more chapter together and then you must go to bed. How does that sound?" Splinter offered a compromise, a chance to spend extra time with his quietest son.

Donatello gave him a questioning look. "I can read books by myself, remember? Oh, but Mikey still has trouble reading; maybe you could read to him tonight," the young turtle suggested as he tried to be helpful.

Splinter hid his disappointment though his ears still dipped at Donnie's rejection. "Alright, my son. Good night."

Splinter's eyes stung with hurt. Why did such a trivial memory grip his heart so? Before he could reflect on the painful question further, the memory fractured. A web of cracks spread over the image before it finally shattered in his mind. His fists clenched in frustration as the memory disappeared before he could collect its spiritual energy. Despite the loss, this was still the longest a memory had maintained its form during Splinter's meditation.

He needed more relics of Donatello's past. A remote-controlled race car, a Rubik's cube, and a telescope are just a few of the cherished memorabilia that Splinter placed around himself. With a determined gleam in his eyes, he was confident. Surely he could siphon enough energy from these treasures of his son's past. Concentrating again, he conjured a maelstrom of memories:

"I'm not afraid of thunderstorms anymore."

"…It's okay, Master Splinter. Quantum mechanics can be difficult to grasp."

"I can fix it by myself."

"No!" Splinter exclaimed, his natural body pantomiming a grab for something just out of reach. For days, every memory of Donatello either corroded, faded, or withered away within his mind. Tears dampened the fur around his eyes as realization hit the most vulnerable aspect of his being. There was a pattern, a common factor within every memory—Donatello no longer needed him.

His brilliant son, who absorbed information with lightning speed, had just as quickly let go of his father's hand, declaring his independence through his relentless quest for knowledge. The realization struck Splinter with a pain he had never fully admitted to himself until that moment, a deep ache that pierced his heart. With a shaky exhale, he looked around at the toys, trinkets, and doodads cluttering the bed and floor. Sadly, he had lost his connection to Donatello years ago. Never deterred, Splinter stroked his beard as he contemplated his next move. He needed to reach further back to a time when Donatello still looked up to him and clung to his every word. The connection would be stronger in those memories.

Pressed by paternal urgency and desperation, he dropped to the floor, on hands and knees, leaving no item unturned as he tried to find something, anything to connect with his son. Resting on his knees, his nose twitched as he tried to keep his emotions at bay. With slumped shoulders, he was ready to call it quits until his tail brushed against something under the bed. Coiling his tail around the object, he easily pulled it from its concealed location. Dropping the item in his hands, his eyes glossed over with sentiment once again.

A plastic dinosaur toy. A stegosaurus to be exact. He slowly took a seat on the bed, surprised by this long-forgotten plaything. He wiped away the cobwebs and dust balls, as he traced his fingers lovingly along the back plates of the little dinosaur.

"Papa, can we read the dinosaurs book tonight?"

Splinter remembered the memory like it was yesterday.

"Donatello, we have read this book many times."

"Please, Papa? I want to hear about the steggy-sore-us again. Please?"

Donatello was no older than four at the time and fascinated with dinosaurs. Night after night, he would beg Splinter to read to him from the big book of dinosaurs that Splinter had brought home from one of his dumpster scavengings. His gentle, curious eyes looked to Splinter with expectation and wonderment. This was also the tender age when Donatello sought him after a nightmare, took his words for the Bible, and still believed Splinter could do anything but fail as many young sons believed to be true of their fathers. The memory drew Splinter back into his lotus position. This was the Donatello that Splinter could connect with, the Donatello that still needed him.

He cradled his son's beloved dinosaur in his hands, its energy bursting with the innocence of a child's love and trust. It was the perfect tether to that precious moment in time. With laser-sharp focus, Splinter plunged into meditation. His determination penetrated each veil of consciousness as Splinter dived deeper and deeper into the echoes of the past. A flash of purple light momentarily blinded him before he found himself in the den. He smiled as he saw much smaller versions of his sons playing on the floor. Where was his past self? Surely he would not have left the little ones unattended. Somehow this memory felt different from the others. Splinter had been a bystander in previous memories but in this memory, his presence felt like something more. As a matter of fact, he felt everything… the warmth of the room, the crisp sound of his sons' laughter.

"Papa, Papa!"

Splinter's body stiffened at the sound of his soft-spoken son as hurried little feet rush to his side. Big, brown, tear-filled eyes stared up at him.

Splinter blinked in disbelief. This was a memory. How was it that this memory of Donatello could actually see him? And how was he able to feel the timid tugs on his robe?

"Raphie broke Stanley. Can you fix him?"

Four-year-old Donatello held the toy stegosaurus up to Splinter. One of its back legs had popped out of the hollow plastic joint. Taking the toy into his hands, Splinter knew he shouldn't be able to interact with memories, yet here he was holding this very real toy in his hands. This memory was more powerful than Splinter had originally presumed. Surely this was enough spiritual energy to track—

"Papa?…. Will you fix it?" His second youngest looked at him, his small sad face trusting wholly in Splinter, no doubt in his mind that he would make it all better.

"Of course Papa will fix it," Splinter murmured, his voice deep with warmth as he lifted the small turtle and balanced him on his hip. He walked over to the couch where his other sons played on the floor. Taking a seat on the couch, Splinter shifted Donatello to his lap as he turned the toy in question over in his hands a few times, still taking in the supernatural phenomenon before him.

"Ain't mean to do it," a little Raphael defended as he crossed his arms over his plastron.

"He was playing too rough, Master Splinter, that's how it got broke," Leonardo tattled as he apparently volunteered unsolicited information based on Raphael's glare.

"Donnie can play with my truck!" Michelangelo offered with sweet sincerity as he held the mentioned toy truck over his head.

Splinter stared at his sons. These were the years of innocence. No Footbots, no Kraang, just him and his boys. They depended on him for food, shelter, protection, and their overall well-being. He would ensure his children never endured the sufferings of the outside world. He would protect them at all costs.

But he needed to use this spiritual energy to find Donatello and—

No. That wasn't right. Donatello was not lost. He was right here, on his lap. He wiped the tears from the young turtle's cheek before they had the chance to travel down his face. "There, there, little one," he placated and bounced Donnie on his knee while popping the dinosaur's leg back in place. "All fixed." As he handed the toy back to Donatello, the young turtle's eyes lit up and a gapped-tooth smile stretched across his face.

"Thank you, Papa," Donatello whispered as he leaned against Splinter's chest while rotating the toy dinosaur in his small hands.

Splinter was needed here. The weight of their trust was more valuable than bricks of gold. His bond with these children, like a steel wire rope, was stronger than ever. They do not know of his future failures and shortcomings. The thief called Time had not stolen precious moments from their father-son relationships yet. He would not allow such things to separate him from his sons. Not again. He would stay here. Yes, he would stay with them, teach them, protect them, love them.

…

Weeks later, Splinter still keeps his oath and remains with his sons. Deep within the recesses of his mind, where warped memories and wistful thinking intertwine, and reality and illusion are one and the same, Splinter remains.

When food is given to him, he eats. When questions are asked, he answers. The outside whispers make his fur itch with a creeping sense of unease, but he learns to ignore the tendrils of distractions that grab at his consciousness until all he sees is the joy in their smiling faces, all he hears are the squeals of their laughter, and all he feels is the unconditional love of his boys.

Fire is his compatible element, yet lately it seems to be working against Raphael as he burns the candle from both ends tending to both Michelangelo and Master Splinter, squashing senseless fires igniting from Leo, all while finishing various repairs in the lair. With the recent medication crisis with Mikey averted, Raph was back to a semi-routine of normalcy. Well, as normal as things could be for the time being. After Mikey was taken off the high dose of painkillers, he no longer suffered from night terrors but from full-fledged nightmares. Raph can see the terror in Mikey's pinpoint pupils when he wakes him from his nightmares, a silent testament to the horrors that still grip his little brother's mind. Mikey is very vague about the content of his dreams and Raph doesn't push him, hoping his brother will talk about it in his own time.

Finished with Mikey's midday physical therapy, he left his brother watching TV in the den. With heaviness that outweighs the very shell on his back, Raph approaches Donnie's room to collect Master Splinter's lunch tray. He enters, the ambiance from a nearby lamp bathing the room in a sullenness easily mistaken for the solemnity of meditation. He masterfully steps over and around the various objects littering the floor and bed around Master Splinter as he sits still as a statue on Donnie's bed. Raph sighs. Splinter barely touched the ham and cheese sandwich Raph had prepared for him.

The second eldest does his best not to bother Master Splinter while he meditates. He is no expert on spiritual refinement—he often performed the bare minimum in training—but Raph is pretty sure proper nutrition was important. The mind, body, and soul were connected… and all that jazz. He watches Splinter for a few minutes. His body is rigid as he sits cross-legged, hands in lap, facing the opposite wall. On the outside, Splinter has the poise of meditation but Raphael doesn't feel the peacefulness that usually accompanies his father's spiritual environment. Instead, there's an unease that marks his arms with goosebumps as he hugs himself.

"Master Splinter," Raph spoke, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room, "I brought some food. You gotta eat. It'll keep your strength up while ya meditatin'." Raph waits for a response, for any indication that his Sensei hears him. Lately, his meditation has been so deep, that Raph has to call his name several times before he finally answers.

Today, Splinter surprises him with an answer after only two calls of his name. "What do you need, my son?"

"I… I just wanna make sure you're eating, that's all." Concern laces the teen's voice as picks up the food tray for emphasis.

"Peanut butter and jelly," Splinters breathes out.

Dumbfounded by the request, Raph stares at Splinter who still has not moved nor opened his eyes. His father never made requests; Raphael just dutifully brought food to him. Sometimes Splinter ate it, but most times he didn't. Shaking his head in momentary surprise, Raph quickly obliges, leaving and returning with the requested peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"Here ya go, Sensei." Raph sets the plate beside his meditating Sensei. He allows a small smile to curve his lips, grateful for any lucid interaction with Splinter amid the troubles currently encroaching in their lives.

Splinter's whiskers twitch as he sniffs the air twice. His hand leaves his lap, gingerly feeling the bed for the source of the nutty and fruity scent invading his nostrils. Raphael nudges the plate toward Splinter's fingertip. The gesture is enough for Splinter to take hold of the sandwich and take a tentative bite. Raph sighs with relief to see him eating with more interest than he has in weeks.

"Would you like some?" Splinter offers, a ghost of a smile creases his muzzle. "It is your favorite."

Raph raises a brow as Splinter extends his sandwich-holding hand toward him. "Uh, I'm good, I just—" Raph cringed at the metallic symphony of objects crashing somewhere within the lair. "I should check that…," Raph says slowly as he backs away before dashing out of the room. A glance to the side reveals an empty den. "All he had to do was sit there and watch TV. How hard is that?" Raph grouses as he continues his hurried trek.

Raph comes to a halt at the dojo entrance, taking in the disaster before him. The weapons rack is overturned, its dangerous contents scattered haphazardly across the floor. And in the middle of it all, Mikey sat on his knees with his shell facing Raph. "Sewer apples…" Raphael says under his breath as he recovers his senses and rushes toward his younger brother. "Mike, are you hurt?" Raph's voice rises with concern, his heart pounding in his chest.

"…No," came his brother's distant answer.

Taking large steps over the toppled weapons and shoving some of them aside with his feet, Raph makes a path toward Mikey. When he is within arm's length he hefts his brother up by the cuff of his shell pulling him roughly to his feet. "Good, now what the shell are you doin' in here?!" Raph's tone is sharp, edged with worry as he notices Mikey cradling his injured arm. Raph takes hold of his arm but Mikey pulls away, defiance darkening his sky-blue eyes. Mikey remains silent with a scowl that looks misplaced on his freckled face as he looks away from Raph's intense glare. "This is the part where you give an answer that ain't stupid," Raph lets the sarcasm fly as he crosses his arms.

"Don't be mad," Mikey pleads with a pout.

"I'm not mad," Raph grumbles, as his clenched fists and furrowed brow betray him.

"Yes, you are!" Mikey insists, his voice rising slightly with a whine.

"I SAID I'M NOT MAD," Raph erupts before sighing and dialing back his volume a few decibels as he rubs his temples. "I'm not mad."

Mikey gives him a wary look. " I… I was training," Mikey mumbles.

"What?!" Raph thunders with wide eyes.

"You said you wouldn't be mad!" Mikey echoes Raph's tone.

"That was before you decided to train with one good arm!" Raph starts shouting again as he tries to understand why Mikey would risk aggravating his injury. "What part of your pea-sized brain thought this was a good idea?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the part that thought it would be fun to try ninja moves with a busted arm," Mikey answers, an uncharacteristic bitterness in his tone. Raphael's expression shifts from disbelief to outright exasperation, his patience wearing thin. Without a second thought, he raises his hand and delivers a sharp smack to the back of Mikey's head.

"Ow! Dude! What was that for?" Mikey protests, rubbing the back of his head with his good hand.

"When you give stupid answers, you get stupid prizes," Raph snaps back. He is angry, absolutely livid but more than anything Raphael is terrified. He could have easily walked into a different scene in the dojo, one where Mikey was a turtle pin cushion, impaled with sharp, pointy weapons.

Mikey lets out a sound of frustration. "I'm tired of being a burden! I thought if I started training again, I would get better quicker, then we could look for Donnie together. You're always stuck here with me and Leo's out there alone looking for Donnie." As Mikey confesses his true intent, Raph watches an array of emotions transpire across his face, each one darker than the one before it.

"You're not a burden, Mike." Raph's voice is still firm though it lacks its original bark. "And I told you don't worry about Leo. He's a big turtle, he can take care of himself." The last thing Raph wants is Mikey stressing about their idiot older brother and his new dark and broody Batman wannabe persona.

"It doesn't matter now anyway. I can't even hold my chuck." Mikey demonstrates, pulling one of his nunchucks from his belt only for it to slip out of the weak grip of his shaky hand. "The other one went airborne when I was trying to do my 'figure eight and left no crumbs' special move. And then this happened," Mikey gestures to the mess of weapons surrounding them. "My arm is completely useless. I'm useless!" In frustration, Mikey kicks at his nunchuck. Raphael seriously doubts a single 'flying' nunchuck caused this mess, but knew from experience that dark thoughts like Mikey's could give way to destructive tantrums.

Mikey's words weigh heavily in the dojo like a dark cloud as empathy washes over Raph's inflamed temperament. Letting out a slow, deep breath, Raph remembers to be a flame lighting a candle and not a blaze engulfing a forest.

"You're not a burden," Raphael emphasizes again as he rests his hand on Mikey's shoulder. "And you're not useless. You're recovering."

"It's taking forever!" Mikey complains, his impatience and irritation evident as he turns away from Raph.

"Hey, come on, don't be like that." Raph turns Mikey by the shoulder so they are face to face. "Mikey, your arm injury was serious. You could've lost it." Raph's tone is softer but still holds the truth and sincerity of the situation. "It's gonna take time and a lot of physical therapy before you're back to full strength." Raph squeezes Mikey's shoulder when he feels the forlorn slump in his posture. "But you don't gotta do it alone."

The lift in Mikey's spirit is slight but still enough for Raph to notice. "So, you'll help me train?"

Raph smirks. "After we build up those muscles with therapy. Deal?" He extends his fist to Mikey.

Mikey contemplates his offer with a sigh. "Deal," he agrees to the compromise and Raph's heart lightens when Mikey gives a half-hearted smile and bumps his fist with his own.

"Now will ya go watch TV, already? It figures you'd choose today to ignore the one thing no one has to nag you about, to do the one thing Sensei has to hassle you over," Raph teases. It's not every day that Mikey trades TV time for training. "Oh, shell! Gotta check on Sensei." He'd almost forgotten. He hopes Sensei ate the sandwich he made for him.

"I can do it," Mikey volunteers, the hopefulness in his voice is hard to ignore.

Raph hesitates but sighs and nods. After that improv heart-to-heart, he can't stand the thought of Mikey feeling inadequate. "Just take Master Splinter's plate, but do not disturb him, got it?"

"Roger that!" Mikey saluted him with his good arm before hopscotching through the litter of weapons to exit the dojo. Looking heavenward, Raphael gives a loud, exasperated groan as he sets the weapons rack right-side up before starting the grueling task of returning the weapons to their proper locations.

Bounding for Donnie's room, Mikey is feeling a little better after talking to Raph. Sure, he's not allowed to train right now but at least Raph doesn't think he's dead weight. He's even letting him help out with Master Splinter.

Take Sensei's plate and don't disturb him, got it! Mikey confirms in his head as he pushes the door open. Splinter is in the same meditation position he's always in when Mikey sneaks a look into Donnie's room. Curious, he stands there for a few moments. Usually, Mikey was too loopy on meds to really take notice of his Sensei. Now that his mind was clear of medicinal fog, he couldn't help but be drawn to Splinter's spiritual state. After his arm injury, Mikey lost his ability to see auras but sometimes he can still feel the emotional energy around certain people and places. Case in point: Raph. When Raph blew a fuse in the dojo, Mikey could sense the buzz of topsy-turvy emotions around his older brother. Raph was like a kernel of sweet kettle popcorn—loud and fiery, but over in flash, leaving a salty-sweet aftermath.

And right now seeing Sensei in Donnie's room is sending all sorts of energy vibrating through Mikey. Unlike Raph, the energy around Splinter was humid and stagnant. Taking a step forward, Mikey yelps in surprise as something squishes under his foot. Lifting his foot, he peels a flattened peanut butter and jelly sandwich from the sole. He looks at Master Splinter who's still in deep meditation before shifting his eyes from left to right. Satisfied that no one was watching, Mikey holds his head back capturing the sandwich in his mouth and causing his cheeks to puff out. A little crunchy, but not bad.

Mikey stops mid-chew as muffled sounds come from Master Splinter. He mumbles, no hums, a tune. A faint broken melody that intrigues Mikey and makes his heart skip several beats. Slowly swallowing the mush of sandwich in his mouth, Mikey takes a tentative step toward Splinter. His Sensei hasn't moved, still facing the opposite wall as Mikey approaches his side, a ghost of a smile curving his lips. Master Splinter's hum transitions to a whispered song.

"The bird in the cage… will it come out in the evening of the dawn…" Splinter's voice staggers and lilts like a broken jack-n-box.

Despite the stifling warmth in the room, Mikey shivers as the eerie child-like melody triggers a long-forgotten memory, compelling him to continue the verse. "The crane and turtle slipped," he sings with a mixture of confusion and apprehension, his injured arm shakes as he reaches out, mere inches from his father. "Who is behind you now?" He finishes the song, releasing a shaky breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"I have you, my little Nikkō!" Splinter whispers with a full smile. His reflexes catch Mikey off guard as Splinter grabs Mikey's arm.

Mikey gasps at the unexpected jump-scare, his arm aching from the sudden grip. "Splinter… are… are you okay?" Mikey asks, his voice inexplicably small and full of worry as he slowly pulls his arm from Splinter's loosened grip.

Master Splinter turns to Mikey, his eyes opened yet unseeing. "What is wrong, my child? You have always liked this game," Splinter questions with a hint of disappointment and confusion in his gaze, a neutral expression settled across his face.

"I… I thought you were looking for Donnie?" Mikey asks. The air is thick and plugs Mikey's ears like a plane at high altitude until the only thing he hears is the pounding of his heart.

"Mikey!"

The orange-band turtle nearly jumps out of his shell as he lets out a girlish scream. Spinning around, he's once again face-to-face with a glaring Raphael.

"Dude, you had one job… one." Raph holds up a single finger for emphasis. He rubs his hand down his face, before swiping the empty plate from the bed.

"My boys…" Splinter lets out a lazy sigh before closing his eyes again and facing the wall.

"M'sorry, Sensei, we'll get outta your hair," Raph bows his head before grabbing the stubs of Mikey's mask tails. "Come on," Raph grumbles, pulling Mikey backward.

"But… but… did you see—?" Mikey stammers, pointing at Splinter while trying to crane his neck to get Raph's attention while his brother all but drags him out of the room. Raph gently closes the door behind them as Mikey readjusts his mask. "Raph! Splinter's—"

"—trying to find Donnie and doesn't need any distractions." Raph half whispers, half growls. Mikey can hear the rumble of frustration just below his words.

"But, I don't think—" Mikey tries again only for Raphael to interrupt him once more.

"Enough, Mikey!" Instead of the volcanic explosion he's anticipating, Raph's voice cracks instead, fists clenched at his sides as he looks at the floor. Mikey is thankful for Raph's downward gaze as he feels the pinprick of tears in his eyes. "You are tap-dancing on my last nerve and I can't…" He stops mid-rant and it's silent for a beat before Raph looks up at Mikey again with a twitchy eye. That's new. "Just go watch TV, Mike."

The downtrodden look in Raphael's eyes makes Mikey swallow whatever concerns he had about Splinter, afraid another word might completely shatter his older brother. Nodding dumbly, Michelangelo shuffles to the pit, crawls on the couch, and curls his knees to his chest. Moments later, a forceful clank of the turnstile, reveals Leo as he stalks into the lair looking like he lost a fight with a switchblade. His black-clad eldest brother heads straight for the dojo without sparing Mikey a first glance.

"What the shell are you doing with my sais, Leo?" Raph levels from somewhere behind Mikey. That question was all it took for Leo to blow up at Raph.

Mikey closes his eyes as he hugs himself a little tighter, trying to block out Leo's snide response to Raph. His arm hurt, his head hurt, but mostly his heart hurt. He rubs his thumb over Donnie's shell piece, dangling around his neck, as a form of self-comfort. In Donnie's good-bye video, he had wanted Mikey to keep everyone together, and it was proving to be a nearly impossible task as he watched Leonardo become a stranger, Raphael begin to crack, and his father become lost to something Mikey couldn't see. It wasn't fair for Donnie to ask this of him. Didn't Donnie know that they were the ones who were supposed to keep him together?

He's not sure how long he's been curled up staring at his reflection in the TV screen, but it's long enough for the yelling to stop and for Leo to leave again. More time passes before Mikey feels a shift of weight beside him on the couch. The TV comes to life as a news anchor appears on the screen. Sitting cross-armed beside him, Raph clears his throat as his arm casually brushes against Mikey's shoulder. Mikey ignores him, unsure if he's in for another tongue-lashing or not. With a heavy sigh, Raph drapes his arm on the back of the couch behind Mikey, leaving an open space at his side. Neither of them speaks or moves as they both absently stare at the TV. Physical forms of affection have always been a source of comfort for Mikey, and he knows it's the reason Raph is sitting here offering physical contact as an unspoken olive branch. Without a second thought, Mikey scoots over to fill the little-brother-size space at Raphael's side. Raph lowers his arm until it wraps around the back of Mikey's shell. Two pats on his carapace reinforce the apology and Mikey accepts as he leans a little deeper against Raph.

The NYPD is joined by the Earth Protection Force as they continue to investigate the aftermath of the mutant attack in Chinatown six weeks ago. The EPF has declared all mutants a threat to humanity. Any mutant sightings should be reported to…

As the evening news drones on, Mikey finds himself fighting to keep his eyes open. The soft scritches Raph gives his shell aren't helping either as he lets out a deep sigh and finally succumbs to sleep.

As the week comes to an end, Raphael struggles to stand strong under the pressure. His emerald green skin betrays the toll of skipped meals and sleepless nights, as pale undertones start to show through the once-vibrant surface. Dark circles cling heavily under his eyes like stubborn shadows. Coffee is no longer a cure-all and seems to add to his haggard appearance. Raph still holds strong and pushes through. He pushes through exhaustion, through his brothers' issues, through his worry for Donatello, and through the persistent ache as his soul continues to fray. With fiery determination, he burns those frayed ends, demanding more of himself as he forces his spirit to persevere, only for the threads of his inner strength to unravel again. This time the flame of will-power that ignites him is barely a flicker, too weak to mend the frayed ends of his soul much less burn bright for his family.

The heavyweight champion of stress wins as Raph rubs his twitchy eye. He's tired. God, he is so tired. He hates it, this feeling of fatigue that makes his voice waver with emotion over the smallest things and blow up in anger. He's trying so hard not to be that person again, not to be angry. But if he's honest, Raphael is angry all the time. He's been trying to do better, to curve the anger into something productive as he takes care of his family. But underneath, the anger is still there. His snappish attitude toward Mikey earlier this week was evidence of his dormant anger seeking an outlet. But now, even with his walls of self-control eroded, Raphael can't find the strength to unleash the frustration he feels.

Raph shuffles wearily to Donatello's door. He doesn't knock, knowing he won't get an answer, as he steps inside the room. Nothing has changed. Donnie's things are still strewn across the floor in a semicircle around Master Splinter, who is still on Donnie's bed meditating. Has Splinter left the room at all this week? Raphael can't remember.

Raph cautiously steps over the various toys and trinkets on the floor as he approaches Splinter. He doesn't want to disturb his Sensei but he knows he is not strong enough not to. Taking a breath he kneels at the bedside, his head bowed respectfully.

"Master Splinter, I know you didn't wanna be interrupted but I need..." Raph struggles with the words he knows he must say.

"Yasashī senshi," Splinter says warmly while remaining stock still. "What troubles you?"

"I've tried to keep things running in the lair like Donnie did but every time I fix one thing, something else falls apart. And… and I'm trying to be strong for them like you said, Sensei, but Mikey's still struggling with his arm… his nightmares are getting worse and Leo, he… he's been actin' crazy and he won't listen." Raph's sentences run together like the cars of a train right before a collision. His fingers grip his knees to steady his shaking frame. "I'm trying, but I ain't strong enough." The admission hurts Raphael far worse than any blow from a Footbot, his voice barely above a whisper. He was supposed to be the inextinguishable flame for his family, but he had no more fuel to keep the light burning.

Splinter's hand rubs across his bowed head but his touch feels hollow. "My brave little turtle. You needn't worry about your brothers; they are fine."

Raph lifts his head, a line of confusion creasing his brow as he shakes his head. "No, they're not, Sensei. I don't know how to help them anymore and—"

"Perhaps it is time for a nap. You will feel better after you have rested, little one."

"Sensei?…" Raphael's voice is laced with concern at Splinter's odd response. He stands, slowly inching his way around the bed until he is directly in front of Splinter's seated form. Splinter's eyes slowly open, revealing an unfocused gaze that startles Raph. "Maybe you should take a break from meditatin'," Raph suggests, his voice deepening as he tries to push down the fear in the back of his throat. "We'll find Donnie another way."

"There is no need to look for your brother. He is right here." Splinter points behind Raphael. A chill runs up Raph's shell as he cranes his neck to the empty space behind him. His heartbeat quickens as Splinter's lilted words sink in. He wasn't sure what supernatural presence Splinter was seeing and it didn't matter as a sense of urgency overwhelms Raph.

"Splinter, ya gotta wake up, now." Raph's voice teeters on the edge of panic as he shakes Splinter by his broad arms—arms that once cradled a young Raphael when he was scared, arms he now desperately needs to embrace him and promise that everything will be okay.

"I am more awake than I have ever been," Splinter smiles, his tone relaxed and pleasant in an unnatural way.

Raphael looks into Splinter's eyes searching for understanding, any type of recognition in his hazy countenance. "Dad? … Dad, please," Raph croaks, waiting and clenching tightly to hope.

Splinter hums a mysterious tune as he closes his eyes again.

Raph's hands slide morosely down Splinter's arms as he steps back. How long had Splinter been like this without Raph noticing? He never bothered Splinter for fear of interrupting his progress with locating Donatello. Had his father actually been the one lost this whole time?

"Raph?" His younger brother's hesitant voice jerks Raph from his thoughts. As Mikey comes to his side, he silently watches their father. The brothers share a look both mirroring the concern in the other.

"There's… there's something wrong with Splinter," Raph states quietly.

"I know." Raph gives Mikey a questioning frown, waiting for his brother to elaborate. "I tried to tell you earlier but… I think it was a bad time…" Mikey trails off as he looks back at Splinter. "Kagome, Kagome."

"What?" Raph's face scrunches up in confusion.

"Kagome, Kagome—the song he's humming. It's the game Splinter used to play with us when we were little, remember?" Raph thinks back and vaguely remembers the game Mikey is referring to… a fuzzy memory of being surrounded by the giggling voices of his brothers.

"He's been calling me 'Yasashī senshi'. He hasn't called me that since we were five." Raph murmurs, slowly putting pieces together that still didn't make sense. "He told me Donnie was in this room. Do you… see anything?"

"I can't see auras anymore, bro," Mikey says giving an apologetic shrug.

Oh, yeah. He'd forgotten about that. "Well, can you feel something, anything?" Raph asks, hoping for any clue to the spiritual vice their Sensei was trapped in.

"Just the same creepy vibe you're probably feeling right now." Raph nods at his brother's emotional analysis. "Wherever Sensei is, I think he's stuck," Mikey whispers, pointing to Splinter's forehead.

Raph sighs as he walks out of the room to think, Mikey close on his heels. "It's super weird and it don't look good," Mikey adds. "Who should we call?"

Raph straightens his stance. No time to fall apart. With determination as his fuel, he lights the flame one more time for his father's sake.

"Dude, you're supposed to say Ghostb—."

"If you finish that sentence, I will smack you," Raph threatens, more bark than bite, at his little brother's horribly timed joke. In actuality, Raph is grateful for Mikey's presence, glad he doesn't have to deal with this alone. Raph huffs as a half-smile curves his lips despite himself.

Mikey smirks before giving a brisk nod and patting Raph on the shell. "I'll call April."

TBC!

Translations:

Nikkō – Sunlight/Sunshine

Yasashī senshi– Gentle warrior

A/N: I had some technical difficulties with this website last week. I appreciate your patience and support. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't forget to leave a review!

See you next chapter!

~Poetique