Chapter 8: Descent

Leo leans into the chilly night air as he races across the rooftops. He can still feel the whispering touch of April's telepathy, like ghostly fingertips seeking the turmoil in his mind. Her psychic force pulls at his thoughts, peeling away his self-imposed defenses like the papery layers of an onion. The farther he runs, the more it pulls. The more it pulls, the more it hurts.

As he puts more distance between himself and April's apartment, the pull on his mind finally loosens, but it leaves his armor fragile. Toxic thoughts he's wrestled with for weeks begin to creep back, louder, and harder to silence. Leo pushes himself faster, heels skimming the edge of the next rooftop, his balance slipping before he catches it. Shadows of doubt seep through his resolve like poison spreading into an open wound with every stride he takes.

Failure.

Each step pounds through him like lead, the weight of guilt pressing down with every heavy footfall. Fragments of memories flash vividly through his mind. He sees Donnie's anguished face, his brother's body convulsing as the secondary mutation takes hold. Leo's breath catches, the echo of his brother's strangled cries tearing through him all over again.

The chaotic details of that tragic day replay in his mind: Mikey nearly bleeding out, bitten by Donnie in a moment of uncontrollable rage. And Leo—standing there, hesitating, the split-second he froze costing everything. EPF agents swarming in like a black tide, tranquilizers whizzing through the air. He'd been knocked out, useless, unable to protect Donnie or help Raphael. Now, Donnie is gone, lost to some unknown fate and Mikey, permanently maimed. Leo failed to protect them, failed to make the right call, and now they are both paying for his mistakes, bearing a burden they never deserved.

Liar.

How many times had he instilled false hope in Raphael and Michelangelo? He can still see Raph's desperate eyes, Mikey's frightened face as he promised, over and over, that they'd save Donnie, that they'd find a way to stop the mutation before it consumed him. How many times had he given false reassurance to Donnie? He hears his own voice, steady and certain, telling Donnie he could lean on him, count on him no matter what. But each promise shatters now, hollow as glass, as he remembers the fear and helplessness in Donnie's eyes just before he changed, before his brilliant younger brother twisted into something unrecognizable, something monstrous. Those lies—those empty reassurances—echo in the dark corners of Leo's soul. Each promise, once so solid, now feels like a betrayal, a wound that bleeds with every beat of his heart.

As leader, he's trained himself down to the bone for this—this singular purpose he swore to fulfill with every grueling hour of training, every scar, every sacrifice: Protect his brothers. Keep them safe. Those words had become the mantra of his heartbeat, a steady cadence that gave him purpose, shaped him as brother, son, and leader. But now? Now he feels those same words rotting in his chest, twisted and empty, as his brothers suffer, bearing the scars of Leo's failures, his indecisiveness. Each misstep, each wrong choice clings to them like shadows, unshakable, unforgiving.

And what is he, really, if his leadership has only left them to bleed out in a pit of hopelessness? Every time he catches the bitterness in Raphael's gaze, the answer, a single word, carves itself deeper, twisting in his gut, sharper than any wound he's taken on the battlefield:

Worthless.

Failure. Liar. Worthless. Each word chips away at his definition of self, molding and sculpting something darker and self-debasing in its place. His foot catches on a loose tile, sending him sprawling onto the cold, hard surface of a roof. He ignores the pain that shoots through his already injured arm as he pushes himself up. His breaths are shallow as he braces himself against an old air conditioning unit. Berating voices of his own creation grow louder and louder in his head. He couldn't stop the EPF from taking Donnie. He failed Mikey. Failed his family. The guilt is a beast gnawing at his nerves, relentless and merciless. He's going to bring Donnie home, fix everything, and make things right, if only he could make the loop of condemnation stop.

If only he could find a moment of peace.

As he steadies himself to stave off the rising panic, his arm brushes against something tucked away on the backside of the AC unit—a half-empty case of beer, likely left by a maintenance crew. Leo stares at the unassuming alcohol. The bitter, frigid wind brushes against his face, but it isn't enough to cool the inflammation of guilt corroding inside him. April had dug up emotions he couldn't afford to feel right now, and Leo isn't sure he has the strength to hide them behind another armor of callus and stone.

His hand drifts toward the can, fingertips grazing its metal surface. Leo's never tasted alcohol before. Not even that time Raphael, all cocky smirks and taunts, shoved a bottle toward him at thirteen and dared him to take a sip. Leo had held firm then, feeling pride in his own restraint. Focus and discipline, he'd told himself. Those mattered more than a moment's thrill.

He's watched strangers in the back alleys, eyes glazed and distant, calmed by a few long pulls from a bottle. That haze turned them untouchable, unreachable by the troubles of the world.

And tonight… he needs that invincibility. His mind is a battlefield, every failure, every mistake, building layer upon layer into a deafening cacophony he can't escape.

What would Father say? The thought slices through him, sharp with judgment. Splinter's voice, calm and resolute, rises in his mind, reminding him of everything he was taught—restraint, control, strength without shortcuts. The idea of betraying that feels wrong, like a sour taste he can't swallow. But then another image filters through the noise, gentler, the memory of Splinter at the family shrine, taking his own slow sip of sake with quiet reverence. That single gesture, deliberate and unhurried, had nothing to do with escape, but seemed to bring him peace rather than cloud his mind. If Splinter could drink with a steady and grounded grace, maybe Leo could, too. Maybe just this once, he could let himself drift and allow the noise to fade to ease the bruising ache in his chest.

His fingers curl around the can. The release of compressed air hisses, a faint whispering relief as he pulls back the tab. He brings the can to his lips, letting the first sip slide past his tongue. The taste is sharp and bitter, searing down his throat, and he coughs, his body recoiling instinctively.

But beneath the harsh burn, there is a numbness that mutes the restless thoughts that have kept his mind pacing through sleepless nights. As the burn settles, a warmth unfurls slowly, pooling in his gut, pressing down on the roiling mass of toxic emotions and regrets. He takes another swig, feeling the sting smooth the rough edges of his mind, pushing the accusing voices deeper into the background. One more drink, and another, reduces the noise to nothing more than faint murmurs in the corners of his consciousness. The roaring beast of guilt is now a mere ache instead of its usual gnashing claws. Everything is quieter now. Not gone, but quieter. Manageable.

The can hangs empty from his hand, the bitter aftertaste still lingering on his tongue, and for the first time in a long time, his mind wasn't screaming at him. He doesn't know how long this peace will last, but for now, he savors the moment. He lets the beer slip from his hand with a clatter as a warm buzz in his veins wraps around him, offering a sense of false comfort. He blinks once, then twice, clearing the fuzzy edges of his peripheral vision, before stumbling toward the fire escape. Tipsy enough to be clumsy but not drunk enough to be careless, Leo climbs down the fire escape with unsteady steps and continues his descent into the underground tunnels through an alley manhole. The familiar path to the lair offers little comfort as the numbing effect of the alcohol replaces the guilt with something nameless but just as heavy.

When he reaches the lair, he pauses at the entrance, peering inside. Raph and Mikey's voices drift up from the den, a low murmur blending into the stillness. Leo edges along the wall hoping to sulk by unseen. He has no such luck. Mikey calls out to him, his voice hopeful, but Leo ignores him, whether it's drowsiness from the alcohol or a sudden pang of shame he doesn't know; he only knows he can't face them right now. He silently slips into his room, closing the door behind him with a soft click before he lets himself sink onto his bed. As he lies there, the haze of alcohol dulling his senses, Leo wonders how long it will be before turmoil steals his peace of mind once again. He closes his eyes and sees Donatello. He'll never stop searching for his brother, even as it brings the slow erosion of everything that once held him in the light.

A/N: I know this chapter is on the shorter side, but I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I know you guys are probably wondering, 'everybody's talking about Donnie but where in the world is he?' Well stay tuned, you will find out soon enough! And that's all I'll say on that matter ;)

And you guys so much for your continued support in the form of comments and kudos. I appreciate them. I read every comment and I love reading your thoughts and your cries of emotional brokenness after reading these chapters, lol. I'm joking, but seriously leave comments tell me what you think so far!

Have a great day on purpose!
~Poetique