At least he was still alive. Small comfort to Raphael when it had been his brother holding sword, dressed in the black of a Foot regular.
The cell was small, lit by a bare, buzzing bulb overhead. Raphael sat on the floor, shoulders slumped, fists clenched by. Every part of him ached…the gash along his plastron, the bruises all over his legs, the throbbing pulse at his temple from the blow from the sword hilt that had taken him down.
The gag in his mouth, thick leather locked behind his head, made his jaw throb, and no matter how he twisted his neck or yanked at the binding, it wouldn't budge.
He wanted to put his fist through the walls, but his knuckles were already bloodied.
The iron bars of the cell's front wall were thick and cold, scarred with scratches and dents. Beyond them, the hallway stretched into darkness. Keys hung from a peg on the far wall, glinting in the light, but without his gear—not even his belt or mask—escape was impossible.
Leo holding the blade
Leonardo, cold and unflinching, pressing the flat of his sword against Raphael's throat, threatening running the edge across his skin. The past had flickered between them so briefly-Splinter's condemnation, the confused shouting in the dojo.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to remember.
Then, a voice—quiet, curious.
"They said your name is Raphael."
His heart skipped a beat and he looked up. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his older brother watched him intently.
A black hood framed Leonardo's face half in shadow. His hands, wrapped tightly in black athletic tape, idly flipped a shuriken between his fingers.
A short black cloak hung from his shoulders, frayed at the edges, moving faintly with the stir of air. A katana rested at his hip in a simple leather sheathe on the belt strapped across his waist. His legs were wrapped at the ankles and lower thighs in black tape, with a small Foot sigil at the thigh like a stamp.
Raphael swallowed hard, his gag pulling tight against his jaw. He made a muffled sound, motioning at the gag. His eyes locked with Leonardo's, demanding he come closer.
Leonardo's lips curved into a sad smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I wish I could," he said, his voice soft. "I heard your voice when I caught you… when you yelled."
His gaze swept down Raphael's body slowly, lingering for just a moment too long before rising back to meet his gaze.
"It was… I don't know. It just drew me to you."
Raphael shuddered. His brother had looked at him before—with anger, with respect, even with affection—but never like this. Never with this quiet hunger.
He grunted, jabbing a finger at Leonardo and dragging it across his throat, then pointing back at himself. Was this what it had come to? Execution? His own brother delivering the final blow? His throat tightened, but he refused to look away.
Leonardo tilted his head, the hood shifting slightly to reveal more of his fac. His eyeridge lifted.
"You're going to kill me?" he asked, amused.
Raphael shook his head fiercely, frustration making his shoulders tense as he spun his finger in the air once. The universal gesture for keep going.
"Oh," Leonardo said, understanding now. "Am I going to kill you?"
Raphael nodded, his head bowing slightly as if his anger took a physical effort.
Leonardo didn't answer right away, watching him. Studying him. Smiling at what he saw.
"You…" Leonardo began, his voice light, "you're my prize. My reward." He shifted, standing upright now. "My master has generously allowed me to keep you as long as I want."
Raphael's eyes widened, the full weight of what Leonardo was saying sinking into him. He shook his head, smacking his hand against the wall.
Leonardo's smile didn't falter. If anything, he grew far more interested.
"I know it's also to keep me in line," he admitted, glancing to the side as if speaking to himself. "Something my master can hold over me. That's fine. I serve him loyally."
Raphael's breath hitched, his hands trembling. This couldn't be his brother. Not anymore. The face was the same, the voice familiar, but the soul behind them…
What had happened? After his brother fled into the darkness, driven away by their father?
Leonardo stepped closer, stopping just shy of the bars, close enough that Raphael could see the scars crisscrossing his exposed skin, the pale streaks of new wounds under the hood, edging out from under the wraps around his arms and legs.
Raphael jabbed his fingers toward Leonardo, then at his own head, his frustration obvious. He tried pulling at the gag again, shaking his head violently trying to wrestle it off. The leather strips just bit harder into his skin.
Leonardo closed his hands around the bars, watching intently, trying to interpret the gestures.
"Am I…crazy?" he guessed.
He shifted slightly, the dark cloak draping over his frame rustling faintly. When Raphael shot him a glare, the smallest chuckle escaped his brother, quickly muffled behind his hand.
"I wish I could take that off you," Leonardo said. "I'm not allowed. Although… maybe I'll earn that right. I'd like to hear your voice again."
Raphael let out a muffled groan. He slumped back on the floor, sitting heavily with a dull whumph.
Leonardo pressed close to the bars, the faint light casting shadows across his face.
"Did I know you before?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Everyone says you're my brother, but…"
Raphael slowly lifted his head, his weary, bloodshot eyes locking with Leonardo's. It confirmed what he'd suspected, what Donatello and Michelangelo had suspected for days.
"It's true, isn't it?" Leonardo pressed.
Raphael nodded once.
Leonardo drew in a sharp breath, his fingers tightening on the bars.
"And the rat, he—" he began, only to stop abruptly when Raphael's expression shifted. His glare was sudden, sharp as a blade, cutting through the cold air between them. Leonardo stepped back instinctively, his hand raised.
"Oh," Leonardo murmured, his voice tinged with both curiosity and something else. "You don't like that."
His face curled into a faint smile, his teeth catching the light as his gaze flicked back to Raphael's face.
"But… wow. Wow."
Raphael frowned Leonardo's expression changed. Then it clicked. His brother was enjoying this—the anger, the fire in Raphael's eyes. It thrilled him in a way that made Raphael tense up.
"You don't like how the clan calls him, do you?" Leonardo continued, his tone casual, as though discussing the weather. He leaned his head against the bars, watching Raphael intently. "But I don't know any other way. Did I know him?"
Raphael's breath hitched. He paused, then slowly noded once. Yes. He had known Splinter, known their father, known the one who had cast Leonardo out into the cold. What could Raphael say now, when his brother stood on the other side of the bars?
Leonardo tilted his head, studying him with an almost childlike curiosity. "Did he hate me?"
Raphael flinched.
Leonardo shifted, staring at Raphael, but the answer didn't come immediately. Raphael warred inside himself. Reduced to a simple yes or no, he had to confront the question himself.
You couldn't hide it anymore—that you loved us. Not as a brother. And he couldn't handle it.
Finally, Raphael nodded once.
"Did I deserve it?" Leonardo asked.
Raphael could only stare at him. That answer was beyond him. Had been beyond him for days now. He knew what Splinter thought. But what he thought…was still too new.
Giving up on that question, Leonardo frowned, staring through him as another question struck him.
"And you?" Leonardo asked, gripping the bars so tight that his knuckles had turned pale. "Do you hate me?"
Raphael's breath caught in his throat, the lump there threatening to choke him. He closed his eyes and turned away, but with a slow, deliberate shake of his head, he answered.
Leonardo exhaled softly, the sound a mixture of relief and something else—something Raphael couldn't quite place.
"Why not?" Leonardo whispered. His voice was so quiet now, so unsure, that it made Raphael's chest ache all over again. "If he hates me…and I deserved it…why don't you?"
Raphael didn't answer. He couldn't. All he could do was sit there, his head bowed. Even if he hadn't been gagged, he couldn't have answered.
The faint flicker of the bulb caught Leonardo's face, highlighting an expression that Raphael couldn't quite read. It wasn't cold anymore, but it wasn't warm either.
"Why not?" Leonardo asked again, tilting his head in genuine confusion. "If I did something…I don't even know what it was."
Leonardo leaned more heavily against the bars now, his hood pulled low over his face as if to shield himself from Raphael's gaze.
"Maybe that's why Master found me," he murmured, more to himself than his brother. "I must have failed."
Raphael shook his head furiously, his muscles straining as he tried again to yank the gag loose, as his frustration turned into a muffled growl.
"You're mad," Leonardo said, looking up at him again. "Good. Anger looks good on you."
Raphael shot him a scathing look, his teeth grinding behind the gag.
Leonardo's smile faded, and he tilted his head to the side, as if trying to piece together the thoughts flashing in Raphael's eyes. "Do you think I'm wrong?" he asked quietly, almost gently. "About him? About us?"
Raphael paused, his breath coming in heavy through his nose. He nodded once, sharply, and then again, more deliberately. He locked eyes with Leonardo, willing him to see the truth there.
"I wish I remembered," Leonardo said. "I wish I knew what it was like...to be your brother. But I don't."
Raphael made a noise of protest, his shoulders tensing as he gripped the edges of the bench. Don't leave, he wanted to say, Don't go back to them. But Leonardo was already stepping away from the bars, giving Raphael one last appraising look.
And then he was gone, leaving Raphael alone in the cold cell.
The next day, Raphael heard no sounds but the occasional distant voice or footstep. The cut along his side healed slowly and stung more than he wanted to admit. The ache in his jaw from the gag hadn't lessened. He flexed his fingers, willing the soreness from his body, when a shift in the room's air made him made him tense, look up, and startle so that his shell hit the wall.
How long had Leonardo been watching him? Raphael felt a small lift of pride. Even caged, gagged, and stripped of every weapon, his brother still found him dangerous.
"They're looking for you," Leonardo said.
Raphael nodded once, the motion clipped and tense. They'd be coming for him. They wouldn't leave him here. They couldn't.
Leonardo's expression didn't change, but his gaze seemed distant for a moment, as though he were looking beyond the confines of the cell.
"They're even more fierce without you," he continued. "They're…absolutely stunning to watch."
Raphael's stomach twisted at the words, the bare openness in the way Leonardo described them. He shifted uncomfortably, his fists clenching at his sides. Stunning. He hated hearing them described like that, knowing how Leonardo's interest had changed. Intensified.
Leonardo noticed his reaction.
"That's why I left, isn't it?" he asked. He didn't sound angry, just resigned.
Raphael lowered his gaze, turning, but Leonardo had seen his expression.
"It is," he murmured, almost to himself. "I knew it."
He pushed off the wall, pacing a step closer, his fingers brushing the hilt of his katana as though for reassurance.
"Can you imagine it?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly despite its even tone. "So disgusting that your family has to throw you away."
Raphael flinched, but Leonardo's words came faster with growing certainty.
"Am I disgusting?" he asked, searching Raphael's face for an answer. "I don't feel like you're my brother. Maybe I didn't then, either."
The anger in his voice was clear. Raphael's heart clenched as he met his brother's eyes, pity softening his glare despite the tightness in his chest.
Leonardo's expression hardened instantly.
"So I am disgusting," he said coldly.
Raphael shook his head, trying once more at the gag and growling, glaring at Leonardo, trying to will him to take it off.
Leonardo didn't relent, his growing smirk aimed at wounding Raphael. "But the rat thinks so," he said, watching Raphael's fists tighten at his sides. He chuckled softly, humorlessly. "The rat hates me."
Raphael's glare burned hotter, and Leonardo's smirk deepened, feeding off his anger like fuel.
"I imagine I must have served him as faithfully as I serve Master Saki now. So that means I must have hidden it from him… for years, probably. Years of hiding how I felt. That I adored you."
Raphael turned, refusing to look at him
"Did you even have a clue?" Leonardo asked.
Raphael closed his eyes tightly. He hated this—hated how his brother's words crawled under his skin.
Leonardo nodded to himself, as if Raphael's silence was all the confirmation he needed.
"So I hid it that well… for years. And that wasn't good enough."
"Oh." Leonardo's voice dropped lower, quieter, almost a whisper. "Oh, that hit a nerve I didn't know about. Not good enough… yes. I know that feeling."
After a pause, he nodded to himself once, his voice growing more confident.
"But my master let me keep you," he said. "He lets me keep you. I earned that. He values my service."
The words crushed Raphael. His fists shook, and he couldn't stop the tear that slid down his cheek, wiping it away angrily. That his brother could find value in this—the phantom pain of that final night lingered in every word Leonardo spoke, his memory loss no shield against the scars inside him.
Leonardo stepped closer, his hands curling around the iron bars, his gaze fixed on Raphael's hunched shoulders.
"I wonder," he murmured, almost to himself, "will he let me keep the other two? They aren't as powerful as you, but…they're so…"
Raphael turned sharply, his head jerking away as if he could physically escape the words. This was too much. All of it was too much.
Leonardo sighed, his breath fogging faintly in the cold air.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to hurt you. I don't have anyone else to say these things to, and…" He laughed bitterly. "I guess I never did before, either."
Raphael didn't look at him.
Leonardo took a deep breath, stepping back from the bars as he reached into his knapsack.
"I'm not allowed to stay for long," he said, his voice steady again. "I have duties… responsibilities. But… I wanted to bring you this."
Raphael looked up briefly, his stomach sinking at the faint smile on Leonardo's lips. His brother set the book carefully inside the cell before picking up his knapsack and retreating toward the shadows. By the time Raphael gathered the will to look at it, Leonardo was gone, as silent as when he'd arrived.
The 36 Stratagems. Raphael stared at it for a long moment, his chest tight with unspoken grief and frustration. Slowly, he crossed the cell, his hands shaking as he picked it up. The leather binding was cracked, the pages old and brittle.
He flipped it open, his breath catching when he saw the familiar scrawl of Leonardo's handwriting in the margins. Notes, underlines, highlights—all of it meticulously thought out. Each page carried fragments of his brother's thoughts, snippets of examples from history tied to each stratagem.
Raphael's heart ached as he read, the notes drawing him in despite himself. It was a window into Leonardo's mind, a glimpse of the brother he'd known before everything fell apart. For the first time since Leonardo had reappeared, Raphael felt something like hope. Small and fragile, but there.
He turned the pages slowly, carefully, needing to see what was left of his brother in the words scratched into the yellowing paper.
Raphael hadn't moved from the floor, unable to sleep in the cold. He heard the faint scrape of something being set down and looked up to see his brother standing beside the bars. A tray of food rested on the floor beside him—rice, fish, vegetables—but it was almost an insult.
"I got you more this time," Leonardo said, sounding keen on him responding. "Because of your good behavior. You didn't try to attack me. Didn't try to escape."
Raphael snorted, a sharp sound that broke the quiet like shattering glass. He didn't even look at Leonardo as he sat up against the wall, arms crossed, ignoring the meal. He motioned vaguely to the gag, then turned his head away, jaw tight with frustration. He couldn't eat like this.
If anything, Leonardo looked pleased by Raphael's defiance.
"I thought you'd say that," he murmured. "Which is why I got permission for something else." He turned, reaching toward the peg on the wall where the keys hung, the metal jingling faintly as he selected one.
He turned back to Raphael, holding up the key with an almost teasing wave. "Will you let me take that off?"
The words startled Raphael. He hesitated, glancing at Leonardo's outstretched hand. Did he want to risk it? Did he trust his brother—this creature that barely resembled the Leonardo he knew—not to use the opportunity against him?
After a beat, Raphael swallowed hard and stood, crossing the cell to stop just short of Leonardo, looking down at him. Had his older brother always been a head shorter than him? Leonardo motioned for him to turn, and he did so slowly.
The key slid into the lock with a faint click, and Raphael felt Leonardo's hands brush the back of his neck as the straps loosened. His brother's fingers lingered, just barely grazing his skin. The hesitation was so slight that Raphael almost missed it, but the chill it sent down his spine was unmistakable. Then he stepped away, yanking the gag free and tossing it onto the bench with a sigh of relief.
Raphael worked his jaw, rubbing at the raw marks left behind. His throat felt tight. So many questions he'd thought to ask before, but now, with the gag removed, he found himself unable to start.
Leonardo broke the silence first, his gaze flicking briefly to the book on the bench.
"So you read it?" he asked. He wasn't looking directly at Raphael, his gaze resting somewhere on the edge of the tray. "That's…good. I know how boring it is. Alone."
Raphael clenched his teeth. "How'd you forget?" he demanded.
Leonardo looked startled by the question.
"How should I know?" he said, amused. "I forgot." But his smiled faded when he saw the wounded look in Raphael's eyes. He straightened slightly. "I know what you're really asking."
He leaned back against the wall, his gaze fixed on point beyond the bars.
"I woke up here," he began, his tone distant. "I was so cold. My arms were covered in…well. But they asked me so many things, and I couldn't remember anything. And I guess they liked my answers. That whole time is kind of a blur."
Raphael stepped closer, his hands gripping the bars tightly.
"Arms covered in what?" he demanded.
Leonardo lowered his eyes. Bit his lip. Then shook his head once.
"I'm so stupid," he said, more to himself than Raphael. "Why should I care now?"
He reached for the athletic tape on his arms, the motion harsh and deliberate as he began unwinding it, letting it pile on the floor. As the last layer fell away, Raphael's breath caught.
Long scars marred Leonardo's inner arm, from wrist to elbow, deep and deliberate, their jagged lines stark against his green skin.
"You…" Raphael couldn't say anything else, his mouth parting as he dragged in air. So that's what had happened that night.
Leonardo's gaze hardened.
"Why would you care?" he said. "Why should anyone care? I'm so awful you can't hardly look at me. I'm so awful I was thrown out—why shouldn't I have tried? Why shouldn't I throw me away, too?"
Raphael couldn't think of what to say. He reached out, his hand tout toward his brother, but Leonardo straightened, moving away. He began rewrapping his arms, hiding the scars from view with mechanical precision.
"Stay back," he said, his tone mocking. "Probably contagious. Wouldn't want to catch it. Maybe you can't hide it like I did… for years…"
His voice cracked, and he coughed once, pulling his hood back into place and tugging the edges of his cloak tighter.
"Master… you are so wise," he muttered to himself. "He makes me remember my place. Here."
"No," Raphael growled, his voice firm and furious. "That's wrong. Saki is evil, Leo. The things he does—they're evil. You'd never have served him."
Leonardo stilled, his hand pausing mid-wrap as he looked at Raphael. For a long moment, he said nothing, his expression unreadable.
"Am I still your brother?" he asked at last.
Raphael stared at Leonardo, struggling for an answer he didn't have.
Leonardo smiled then, but it was hollow and bitter.
"Just enough to make me worse either way," he murmured. He finished wrapping his arms, the scars vanishing beneath the tape as though they'd never existed.
Raphael called his name again, but Leonardo cut him off.
"Don't call me that," he said, his tone conversational but forced. "I'm not that anymore."
"Then what do I call you?" Raphael asked, his frustration bleeding into his voice. "What does he call you?"
Leonardo's lips curved into a tight smile. "Nothing. His command is absolute. He says kill—I don't need to be chosen. I simply obey."
"Nothing?" Raphael repeated.
Leonardo's smile froze, hardening into a glare. "Nothing at all," he said sharply. "It's good enough."
He turned, silent as he walked away. Raphael watched him fade into the darkness, no idea how to bring his brother back. If that was even possible.
The sharp clank of the iron door unlocking jolted Raphael from restless sleep. He blinked, his bleary vision struggling to focus as he pushed himself upright. A blur of motion stumbled into the cell and, instinctively, Raphael caught the figure, his reflexes kicking in before his mind caught up. His hands closed around a familiar form.
"Donnie?" he murmured, recognizing the feel of him before the muffled voice confirmed it. His brother sagged into his grip, bound hands trembling as Raphael quickly eased him down to the floor.
The iron door slammed shut, and Raphael whipped his head around to see a Foot Clan ninja twisting the lock into place before stalking away. But his attention snapped back to Donatello, slumped against him, breathing hard.
"You okay?" Raphael asked, knowing he wasn't but prompting him to answer. His hands found steel cuffs binding Donatello's wrists in front of him, their edges dug into his skin. But the gag tied around his mouth was simple enough—a rag knotted at the back. Raphael yanked it free, tossing it aside.
Donatello coughed as the fabric left his mouth, his voice hoarse and ragged.
"Can't say I'm glad to see ya," Raphael muttered, holding him tight. "But damn, I'm glad to see ya."
Donatello shook his head once, then winced sharply as the headache flared painfully.
"You're alive," he rasped. "He said you were alive, but… we didn't think we could believe him."
"Who?" Raphael asked. "Leo?"
Donatello's lips tightened, and he nodded. "Yeah. Man, that was… a nasty surprise. I think he was just playing with us the first time, but then Mikey got serious and…" His voice wavered, and he glanced away. "And he got us separated."
Raphael's jaw clenched. "He did this to you?" he asked.
Donatello shook his head, wincing again as the motion jostled his aching body. "No, he… got me from behind. I think. He's a lot faster than I remember. He used my own staff." He flexed his bound hands, grimacing at the pressure. "But then he told them to take me here. I don't…" He trailed off, his brow furrowing.
Raphael frowned. "Them? Who's them?"
A familiar voice answered from the doorway. "My men."
Donatello cried out, startled, his body jerking as if he expected another attack. Raphael immediately shifted, putting himself between Donatello and Leonardo.
"Come to see what you did to him?" Raphael growled. "Come to gloat?"
Leonardo stood just outside the bars, his hood drawn low, the dim light catching the glint of his narrowed eyes. He looked from Raphael to Donatello, his expression unreadable.
"I took him alive," he said simply. "I didn't have to."
The coldness of the statement made Raphael snarl. "You didn't have to… Bullshit. You absolutely had to. You wanted to leer at him like we're your own goddamn harem."
Leonardo didn't move. "So I should have let him die?"
"You shouldn't have fought him," Raphael snapped. "You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be—" He cut himself off abruptly, the words dying in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to say the rest, to admit how impossible it all was.
"I tried dying," he said, as if it were a consolation. "I think. Failure at everything, I guess."
Raphael's mouth snapped shut.
"You should be proud of him," Leonardo said, tipping his head at Donatello. "He was doing so well… until I got him alone. Then he was so soft. It was pure fun to catch him. Like a little bird in a snare."
Donatello's bruised face twisted with anger, his voice rising despite his hoarseness.
"You mean Mikey's a bird. 'Cause you can't catch him. You tried everything, and he practically flew around you."
"Mikey's always been better than you," Raphael said. "Hell, let us outta here, and the two of us could probably take ya."
The faintest flicker of a smile crossed Leonardo's face, though his eyes remained distant. "He is… an amazing fighter. You're all… so amazing. So…" He turned slightly, the edge of his hood hiding his expression. "So amazing…"
Donatello pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, bringing his bound hands against his chest. "Leo—"
"Don't call me that," Leonardo interrupted sharply, his voice cracking at the edges.
But Donatello pressed on. "Leo, what Splinter did was wrong, but this doesn't make it any better. You're my brother. Come home. We can…we can try to fix this. We can try—"
Leonardo looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"Fix me?" he repeated, his voice dripping with disbelief. "I already tried that. Ask him—the fix didn't take."
Donatello's face fell, the hope draining from his eyes as Leonardo laughed again, the sound hollow and filled with self-loathing.
"Take me home? Oh, the rat would love…"
The pain in Donatello's face softened something in Leonardo. His posture shifted slightly.
"Dammit… no. No. I'm not here to rub this in your face." He gestured vaguely toward Donatello. "I just…wanted to see you. To make sure they brought you in safely."
"Why them?" Raphael said. "Why not you?"
"Testing that I would," Leonardo said as if it were obvious. He straightened slightly, his eyes cold. "My loyalty is absolute."
"Loyalty?" Raphael spat. "Bullshit. We were your family."
Leonardo's eyes narrowed. "And what changed that?"
The question took all the air out of the room. They stared at each other, locked in quiet detente.
"Did…" Donatello tried, his voice trailing. "Did you really…?"
"Be more specific," Leonardo said in cold mockery. "I don't remember anything from before."
The admission caught Donatello's attention, his eyes widening.
"You don't remember?" he asked, his voice rising in excitement. "Then this might be post-traumatic amnesia, maybe even dissociative amnesia—did you suffer a head wound? Can you let me see if there are any scars indicating trauma? Or maybe—"
Leonardo stepped back sharply, his posture stiffening as he glared at Donatello.
"Oh," he muttered, his voice low and filled with venom. "I remember this. Oh, I don't like this feeling at all."
Donatello flinched. "No, no, I… I didn't mean to…" His voice turned pleading. "Did you really…like us? That way?"
Leonardo turned sharply, pulling his hood close, his torn cloak tight.
"You are cruel. I get it. I get it. I just…"
"Leo!" Donatello cried, reaching out as if he could physically pull his brother back. But Leonardo was already retreating, his steps swift and loud, moving faster, almost running.
Hours slipped by, marked by the trays of food slid through the bars by nameless Foot soldiers. The monotony was broken only by Donatello, who leaned heavily against Raphael, trying not to move his hands in the tight cuffs.
"Mikey's so serious," Donatello said. "It kills me to see it. And Splinter…"
Raphael glanced down at him, shifting slightly to adjust his hold as Donatello leaned more heavily against him.
"What about Splinter?"
"He won't even say his name," Donatello whispered. "He calls him a traitor. Trash." He swallowed hard, his hands trembling faintly. "And… and the way he says it, Raph—it's so angry."
Raphael stiffened. The word trash echoed in his mind, heavy and venomous. So awful I was thrown out—why shouldn't I have tried? Why shouldn't I throw me away, too?
"We've been looking for you," Donatello said. "Chasing down leads. Mikey's…he's getting cutthroat. I've never seen him like that. It's…he's scary."
The raw emotion in Donatello's voice twisted in Raphael's chest. He shifted, trying to ease his brother's tension.
"If only Leo hadn't changed," Raphael muttered, his voice low and bitter.
Donatello shook his head faintly.
"He tried to hide it. He really tried…" His looked up at his brother, wanting to see his eyes for the answer. "Raph…from what he said—did he try to kill himself?"
"He—" Raphael started. "I saw the scars. The wraps on his arms are hiding them, but you can see the ends of 'em. They...yeah. It was legit."
Donatello stared at the wall, his face pale and drawn. "I'm glad he didn't."
From the shadows beyond the bars, a quiet voice responded. "How kind."
"Quit doing that," Raphael said, refusing to look at him. He could see his brother out of the corner of his eye, leaning against the wall, listening in on them while they didn't notice.
Leonardo shrugged. "It's all I'm good at," he replied, his tone artificially light.
Donatello turned his head, sick at seeing him so changed. "Did you just come to make fun of us?"
Raphael cut in before Leonardo could respond. "He's jealous."
Leonardo didn't say anything. He stepped closer, sliding a small tray through the bars. On it sat a cup of water and two aspirin. Then, to their surprise, he sat down at their level, the hood shifted enough that they could see his face fully for the first time, now crossed by a haphazard gauze dressing. The cut was close to his eyes, across his nose, over his cheeks. A near miss.
"Damn…" Raphael said, his voice trailing off as he leaned closer, trying to get a better look.
Leonardo shrugged. "The rat."
Raphael's eyes traced the jagged line of the wound. His throat tightened. He remembered Splinter's fury the night he cast Leonardo out, the seething anger that lingered for days. But this? This was something else entirely.
"He wants you back," Leonardo said quietly. "Very badly."
No one spoke for a moment. Donatello reached for the tray, his hands fumbling with the water and aspirin. He hesitated only briefly before swallowing the pills, the ache in his body overpowering any concern for their source.
He looked at Leonardo, trying to see his eyes. "Thanks."
Leonardo said nothing.
"I wish I'd said something," Donatello said, his voice thick. "That night. I was too surprised. I should have said something. Stopped him."
Raphael grimaced. "Splinter wasn't gonna stop. He was—"
"Would it have changed anything?" Leonardo said. His voice was calm, almost resigned. "I think you're lying. There's no way that rat was anything to me."
"He's your father," Donatello said.
"What the hell was the mother?" Leonardo laughed, but his laugh faded at their looks, at how his disbelief hurt them. "You really think...no. No, you have to be lying. He's not my father. This isn't a lovetap."
Donatello waved his hands at the cell, wincing at the pain of moving in the cuffs. "And this isn't a hotel. These aren't bracelets. Raph said you have permission to keep us—what if that changes? Of course Splinter's trying hard to capture you—we could die any minute."
"He's trying to kill me, not catch me," Leonardo chuckled. "Hard to question me if I'm dead."
"Look," Raphael said. "Let us out, we go home, we explain you lost your memory—"
"—and he claws my throat out," Leonardo said too cheerfully. "You're right, what a great idea. All your plans must go so well."
Silence.
Donatello looked like he'd been insulted, and Raphael shifted again, glaring at the far wall.
Leonardo huffed. "Now what did I say?"
"...you were the one with the plans," Donatello said.
Leonardo looked at him blankly.
"You were the one calling most of the shots," Raphael said. "You were...fuck. If any of us was leader, it was you."
A long moment passed as Leonardo considered that. A thin line of blood formed along the bandage on his face, following the slash.
"You're telling me things I want to hear," Leonardo said slowly. "Lies I want to hear."
Raphael snorted. "If that was true, I'da told you I wanted to fuck ya."
Donatello winced at that. "Raph…"
"What's worse, Donny," he demanded, "sticking us here to look at us or wishing we'd bend over for him?"
Leonardo's look darkened. "I think I liked you better when you were gagged."
"Sure ya would," Raphael said. "Bet it keeps you up at night, gags, cuffs, us locked up waiting for you."
"...do you want me to?"
"Keep dreamin'," Raphael growled, looking away.
"Oh my god," Donatello said groaned in sheer frustration, "both of you never stop arguing."
Raphael huffed. On the other side of the bars, Leonardo sat down hard against the wall, one knee up to his chest, glaring at nothing.
"He started it," Leonardo grumbled.
Donatello's sudden glare made him flinch.
"And I," Donatello said, "like you a lot better when you're disciplined. I swear to god, you're a bigger child than Mikey sometimes."
"That might sting more," Leonardo said, "if I remembered this Mikey. Because if that's the one of you in orange, sorry, I just know him as a little nightmare with the most amazing eyes."
"Jesus," Raphael muttered. "All of us?
"You say that like I can help it?" Leonardo rubbed the back of his hand aganist his eyes, wincing as he pulled at the wound there. "I think we've established I'm sick and trash and—"
"Please stop," Donatello said, the softness in his voice cutting Leonardo off as if he'd yelled. "You're not trash. You're my brother."
"Only when it's convenient for you all."
Donatello ignored that. "And I'm taking you back."
"...what?" Leonardo asked, confused.
"Unconscious or willing, that's up to you," Donatello said. "But I'm taking you home."
Leonardo would have laughed, but the serious tone, the clear intent, made it less of a threat and more of a promise.
"Your father," he whispered. "He'll kill me."
Shaking his head slowly, convincing himself as much as his brother, Donatello felt his resolve harden.
"I won't let him," Donatello said. "I'll stop him. Physically, if I have to. And if I have to...if I have to...I'll tell him that…"
Donatello took a long, deep breath.
"I'll tell him that he'll have to kill me, too."
Leonardo heard what was unspoken, the undercurrent of his voice as Donatello stared at the far wall. The rat wouldn't kill him for defending Leonardo. The rat would kill him for harboring the same evil. For wanting—
Lies.
They were telling him lies he wanted to hear. Nevermind Raphael's wide eyes as he understood Donatello's meaning. This was nothing but a pack of lies, this beautiful creature couldn't—
"Liar," Leonardo hissed. " This changes nothing, you…"
He stood, gathering his cloak around him like armor.
"So cruel," he repeated, not caring that he sounded like the child Donatello accused him of being. "You're so cruel."
He turned sharply, retreating into the shadows, his footsteps echoing faintly as he disappeared. Raphael and Donatello sat in stunned silence.
"…seriously?" Raphael demanded.
Donatello nodded, his hesitation gone.
"I don't know how we're gonna get out of this. But when we do, we're bringing him back. I won't leave him here."
Time was measured in trays of unappetizing meals and the ache of wounds slowly healing. Raphael and Donatello settled into a kind of rhythm, passing time speaking when the silence became too oppressive.
After perhaps the tenth meal tray, Raphael glanced sideways at Donatello, who rested against his shoulder.
"Don," he muttered.
Donatello shifted, looking up with bleary eyes. "Yeah?"
"How…" Raphael almost didn't ask. It had taken him this long to push, to force the words up. He took a breath. "How'd you start feeling about us the way…the way Leo did?"
Donatello didn't answer at first, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint, sad smile, he said , "you mean romantically. Sexually."
Raphael flushed, heat crawling up his neck as he turned away. "Damn, Don. You ain't gotta say it like that."
"Sorry," Donatello said. "It's the truth, though."
"But why?"
"I don't know," Donatello admitted. "I just…saw Mikey turning angry, and I hated it. I saw you getting quiet. It wasn't right. It wasn't you. And I missed who you were."
His voice wavered slightly, but he pressed on.
"It took me a while to figure out what I was feeling. It wasn't just missing you. It was…more intense. And…"
He paused, his brow furrowing.
"I guess knowing how Leo felt made it easier for me to follow."
Raphael swallowed hard. Splinter had chased Leonardo away for less than this. Would he do the same to Donatello? And what if Michelangelo started acting like that? And what if he—
The questions were too much. He swallowed again, forcing them down. This was too much self-reflection. He wasn't sure he'd like the answers if he kept asking.
Before he could speak again, the faint sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. They both straightened.
Leonardo emerged from the shadows, moving with a careful, deliberate slowness. He didn't speak, his hood obscuring most of his face, but the dim light caught the bandages wrapped around his throat and the length of his left leg, dark stains spreading through the gauze.
Donatello inhaled sharply, his eyes fixed on the blood.
Leonardo's gaze flicked to him briefly before shifting away. He put his back against the wall, letting himself slide slowly toward the floor.
"It's nothing," he said, wincing as he came to rest.
"Nothing, huh?" Raphael said. His eyes tracked the wounds carefully, the fight slowly taking shape in his mind. "What happened?"
Leonardo pulled at the black tape wrapped around his arms, unwinding it just enough to reveal the splint beneath.
Donatello's breath caught. "That looks…"
"Probably cracked," Leonardo said flatly, rewrapping the tape as quickly as he'd removed it. "It'll heal."
"Shredder?" Raphael asked bluntly.
"Some of it." Leonardo shut his eyes tightly, his jaw clenching. "And the rat."
Raphael stared at the bandages, his stomach twisting. He could see it now—the way the wounds lined up with Splinter's claws.
"He wants you back," Leonardo said after a long silence. "Very badly."
Donatello shook his head. That wasn't what was important. "You said Shredder did this—"
"I failed," Leonardo said, cutting him off. "I couldn't kill the rat. I failed, and Master was most merciful."
Raphael felt sick.
"Merciful?" he echoed. "That's merciful to you?"
Leonardo didn't respond. He hunched over, pulling his knees to his chest and cradling his injured arm.
"I will win," he murmured, his voice shaking with conviction. "I will. He dies by my hand."
"Leo," Donatello said, "Splinter taught you everything you know."
"I don't care," Leonardo snapped. "I don't care. I will do this."
Raphael laughed once.
"And you say I can't manage my anger."
Leonardo's glare sharpened. "Do I say that?"
"Yeah," Raphael replied. "You do. You ain't changed. You forgot, but you're still you."
"Why do you come down here?" Donatello asked quietly. "Just to torture yourself?"
Leonardo's shoulders trembled, but he didn't answer.
"Foot Clan ain't so kind, is it?" Raphael said.
"Oh, I don't know," Leonardo muttered. "When I failed, Master didn't throw me away."
The words stung, and Raphael bit back a retort. Donatello, however, didn't flinch.
"Do you still think I'm lying?" he asked.
"I…"
"Do you think Shredder cares about you?" Donatello said.
"I…"
Raphael cut in, his voice low and steady. "When do you think they'll try again?"
Leonardo's gaze rose slowly to meet his, the weight of the question pressing heavily on them both.
"Michelangelo," he said at last, the name falling from his lips like a foreign word. Of course it was foreign. It wasn't the name of his little brother. It was the name of their brother, a beautiful monster faster than Leonardo.
"He's very good," Leonardo said. "He's been getting closer. Probably soon. Probably tonight. Probably—"
The alarms blared, sharp and piercing, cutting him off mid-sentence. Leonardo's eyes widened, his body tensing as he sat up straight. He swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he whispered.
"Probably now."
Leonardo sat up straighter against the wall, his wide eyes betraying fear. He swallowed once, his throat working beneath the edge of the bandage.
"Probably now," he whispered again.
"What the hell does that mean?" Raphael demanded, rising to his feet. He glanced at Donatello, who was already struggling to stand despite his bound hands. Raphael reached down, steadying him with a firm grip. "Mikey's here? Where?"
Leonardo pushed himself upright slowly, favoring his injured leg. He didn't answer immediately, his hood casting a shadow over his face as his gaze flicked toward the door.
"Michelangelo," he repeated softly, as if saying the name for the first time. His voice dropped, almost reverent. "The...the balconies. The big space up front."
Raphael's chest tightened. His mind raced with the possibilities, the risks. If Michelangelo really was here, if he'd somehow made it this far…the alarms meant he'd been discovered. He'd be outnumbered. He could be captured. Tortured. Killed.
"And what are you gonna do?" Raphael snarled. "You gonna go fight?"
Leonardo didn't answer.
You don't have to do this," Donatello said. "Let us go. Let us help him. …Leo!"
Leonardo flinched his name.
"I don't… I don't know," he said. "I don't know what to do."
Raphael barked a bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, welcome to the club. We're offering you help, dammit. You can fight beside us!"
Leonardo's gaze dropped, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of those words pressed down on him. For a moment, he looked like the brother Raphael remembered—worn, uncertain, but still standing.
"If I let you out, I've failed. Again." Leonardo's voice cracked on the last word, and he swallowed hard, turning away from them.
"Leo—" Donatello began, but Raphael cut him off.
"Don't bother, Donnie, he's too far gone. Loyal, right?" He spat the word like a curse, glaring at Leonardo's back. "Go ahead. Kill your brothers so you can keep kissing Shredder's ass. See where that gets you."
Leonardo didn't react.
"He won't make it past the next wave," he said. "He can't. There are too many."
Donatello's voice cracked with desperation. "Then stop it! Call them off—do something! He's your brother!"
The mask of composure returned.
"I…I have to kill him."
The sounds of distant combat reached the cell—sharp bursts of shouts and the clash of weapons. Raphael heard the familiar cadence of Michelangelo's fighting style in the chaos—a dance of unpredictable strikes and rapid movement. He was holding his own—for now.
"Damn it, Leo," Raphael growled, his voice shaking. "If you let him die out there, I'll never forgive you."
Leonardo flinched at the words, but before he could respond, the combat sounds grew louder, closer. The alarms blared again, and a new voice echoed down the corridor—a deep, commanding shout that made Leonardo's face pale beneath the hood.
"Master," he whispered, almost inaudibly.
Raphael's breath hitched. "Shredder?"
Leonardo nodded stiffly, his hands trembling as they hovered near the hilt of his katana. He took a step toward the shadows, hesitant, as if he were being pulled in two directions.
"Leo," Donatello said, his voice quieter now. "Please."
Leonardo's gaze lingered on them for a moment longer. Then he turned abruptly, grabbing the keys and tossing them into the cell as if they burned to the touch. But he didn't stay to watch, limping down the corridor, leaving them alone once more.
No longer feeling the pain in his wrists, Donatello bent and scooped up the keys, pressing them into Raphael's hand.
Raphael unlocked Donatello's cuffs. The metal fell, leaving swollen bruises around Donatello's wrists. Donatello winced and shook his hands out to get the feeling back as Raphael turned to the door.
The lock clicked open, and the heavy iron door swung outward with a low groan. Both turtles froze, holding their breath, listening for footsteps. Nothing.
"Mikey," Raphael muttered under his breath, his heart pounding. "You better still be breathing."
Donatello leaned against him, his voice barely a whisper. "We'll bring him back. All of us. Somehow."
Raphael didn't know how Donatello could believe that.
He motioned for Donatello to follow as they crept into the hall. The echoes of battle grew louder from deeper within the compound. It became obvious that they were following a trail deliberately left behind by their brother, a trail of wide open doors and lit corridors. Raphael took the lead like a living shield in front of his brother.
The hall suddenly opened up into a wide open space, a mezzanine of balconied stories overlooking the main floor. They arrived just in time to see Leonardo leap over the side, already drawing his sword, and they ran up behind, leaning over the railing.
Below them, the fight raged in chaotic, blood-soaked fury. Foot ninja surged forward in waves, only to be cut down by a figure moving like a storm. Michelangelo's orange mask flashed in and out of view as he leaped from balcony to floor, to railing, and back again, each strike of his nunchaku leaving a foe crumpled in a heap.
Raphael and Donatello exchanged a glance, their faces pale. They barely recognized their brother. Michelangelo was a blur of precision, the walls and floors streaked with blood where his enemies fell. Raphael motioned for them to climb higher, taking them to a stairwell. They dispatched the few ninja who crossed their path, taking familiar weapons for themselves. The air grew heavy with the iron tang of blood.
Reaching the second level, they crept to the railing and peered down. The sight before them was worse than they imagined. In the center of the chaos, Leonardo crouched at Saki's side and fended off attacks from his father. His movements were slower and hobbled by the wounds he'd already taken. He practically dragged his leg. Only the cloak and hood kept him alive, hiding the edges of his body even as it started to fray to pieces.
Splinter was unrecognizable, claws drenched, darting in close, then retreating, always a hair's breadth from the sword's edge, his eyes wide in fury. But his attention was divided between Leonardo and Shredder beside him, looming absurdly large over them, using Leonardo as a distraction to launch powerful blows that somehow always missed the mark.
Michelangelo, meanwhile, tore through the remaining Foot ninja—not joking, not laughing, slowly narrowing in on Leonardo. Raphael's stomach turned as he saw Michelangelo's nunchuck swing dangerously close to Leonardo's head, the force behind it enough to kill.
"Is he gonna brain him?" Raphael gasped.
"We have to move," Donatello said, his knuckles white around his bo. "If we can take out Shredder, the clan will break."
"Sure," Raphael said. "And while we're wishin', let's get a time machine and a pony, too."
They moved together, keeping low along the balcony, but Michelangelo's sharp eyes caught them first. His face split into a blood-smeared grin.
"Donny! Raph!" he shouted, his voice carrying over the din.
Shredder's head snapped toward them, his eyes narrowing in fury.
"You…" he snarled, his voice dripping with rage. His anger turned on Leonardo, who stood between him and Splinter.
Leonardo looked like he hadn't expected his brothers so quickly, like this was all happening far too fast to take in.
It was instinct more than thought that made Leonardo throw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding Shredder's gauntlet as it swung where his head had been. But in dodging, he left himself open to Splinter. The claws came fast, raking across Leonardo's face, leaving new gashes just above his eyes.
He staggered, blood blinding him briefly as he tried to smear it away with the cloak. A ninja lunged from behind, and Leonardo swung a broad arc, cutting the man down before he could strike.
When Leonardo stood again, he cast off his hood and cloak to move more freely. His sword shook as he faced both Splinter and Shredder.
"Worthless wretch," Splinter hissed. "Did you think to hide among our enemies?"
"Traitor," Shredder snarled, his voice shaking the floors. "There will be nothing left of you when this is over."
Leonardo couldn't spare any thought to answer, focused entirely on survival.
Splinter's gaze flicked between Leonardo and Shredder, his decision clear. He turned to Shredder, attacking with feral precision, while Leonardo had to turn his focus to the Foot ninja closing in. Three ninja charged him from behind, and he turned, striking with desperate ferocity. Two fell instantly, their bodies crumpling, while the third staggered, clutching his side as he collapsed. Leonardo rose, his leg trembling beneath him.
It had all happened in a few seconds.
From above, Raphael shouted to Michelangelo. "We've gotta end this! Take out Shredder!"
But the shouting and screaming and striking steel was too loud. Michelangelo didn't hear him. Instead, he saw Leonardo suddenly distracted—an opportunity finally, finally, opening before him to bring down his older brother.
Michelangelo launched himself downward, his nunchaku swinging with brutal force. Leonardo felt the movement and rolled, rising up desperately as Michelangelo drove him back. That Michelangelo didn't aim for his head was small comfort—Leonardo knew he was caught in a losing fight, every hit he blocked meant to put him on the floor, to cripple and maim. A loud crack echoed as Michelangelo's strike broke Leonardo's outraised hand, drawing a yell of pain and forcing him back another step, back toward the center of the floor.
"Drop the sword, Leo!" Michelangelo demanded, "I don't wanna have to drop you!"
"Mikey, stop!" Donatello shouted, his voice desperate.
Michelangelo didn't stop. His nunchaku careened off Leonardo's shell, cracking the edge, and Raphael saw the widening fear in Leonardo's bloodied eyes—but not aimed at Michelangelo. Over Michelangelo's shoulder, Shredder, far too close in the tight quarters, now turned from Splinter for an instant, taking a split second to strike at Michelangelo.
Leonardo accepted Michelangelo's glancing blow across his shell, turning under his brother's arm, switching places with him. Shredder's gauntlet swung down, and Leonardo stepped into the hit, bringing the sword up impossibly close—
Shredder's head tumbled from his shoulders.
Blood sprayed across the floor.
Leonardo froze.
His sword slipped from his hands.
As the body fell to the floor, Shredder's final blow ripped free from his side, the gauntlet's blades sliding out of him with a sick rasp. The air rushed out of Leonardo in a groan as he took one faltering step before collapsing.
Michelangelo was at his side in an instant, shouting wordlessly as he tried to rouse him. The ragged wounds bled freely, welling up over his fingers as he tried to staunch the blood.
A shadow fell over them both as Splinter approached, Leonardo's sword in hand. Michelangelo's head snapped up, his face pale with dawning realization.
"No!" Michelangelo screamed. "That's not what we agreed on!"
Splinter spared him a cold glance before raising the sword.
The blade never fell. Donatello's bo intercepted the hilt with a sharp crack. Splinter recoiled, his fingers audibly broken from the force. His glare burned into Donatello as he stepped forward, planting himself firmly over Leonardo's prone body.
Donatello said nothing. He didn't need to.
Raphael joined them, carrying Shredder's helm as he faced the remaining ninja, throwing it at the clan.
"You think you can take all'a us?" he shouted. "Come on! Make up your minds!"
The taunt, paired with the sight of Shredder's corpse, was enough. Slowly, silently, the remaining ninja backed away, disappearing down halls, down stairs, disappearing entirely.
The room fell silent again. Splinter stood, cradling his broken hand, his glare almost enough to kill. He didn't back away. Neither did Donatello.
"Donnie," Michelangelo called. "The blood won't stop—"
"I know," Donatello interrupted, his voice tight, never looking away from Splinter. "First things first."
Splinter's gaze flicked to Michelangelo, then back to Donatello. He bent, his uninjured hand gathering Leonardo's sword again.
"Move, Donatello," he hissed.
Donatello's voice shook even as he refused to move. "He's our brother."
"He ceased to be your brother a long time ago," Splinter said. "And now you raise a weapon against me."
"You raised it first," Donatello said quietly.
"You would dare," he said, "dare challenge me, after everything I have done for you? After what he has done to us?"
"...you'll have to kick me out, too," Donatello said.
Splinter's eyes widened at what Donatello implied. His lip curled in disgust, visibly marking Donatello as no better than Leonardo.
Michelangelo stood abruptly, placing himself between Splinter and Leonardo. His hands trembled, stained red with blood—Leonardo's, Shredder's, the countless Foot Clan ninja they had fought through to reach this point.
"He's hurt," Michelangelo said, holding his nunchucks with full intent.
"Do not force my hand against you," Splinter said."He dishonors our family. They both dishonor m—"
Raphael cut him off, sais raised.
"I don't give a flying fuck."
Splinter struck, the sword arcing through the air. Donatello reacted instinctively, raising his bo, but Raphael was faster, catching the blade on his sai. He twisted sharply, snapping the sword in half, sending the jagged tip clattering to the ground. Splinter staggered as the sword was wrenched out of his hand, and Raphael didn't hesitate.
He punched the hilt of his sai into Splinter's chest, the impact reverberating through the air. Splinter reeled back, clutching his chest, his expression a mix of pain and blind fury.
"You are—" Splinter rasped, his voice choking on the weight of his anger. "You are no sons of mine."
His words rang through the space like a death knell.
Michelangelo narrowed his eyes.
"Shame you don't got the van keys. Gonna be a long walk."
Splinter's eyes narrowed. Slowly, he stepped back, his movements deliberate and controlled. His gaze burned into each of them in turn. He didn't bother looking at the one collapsed on the floor.
"Worthless sons," Splinter said, his tone final. "You have chosen to side with a monster."
He didn't turn his back as he retreated, his eyes never leaving them. The tension didn't ease until Splinter had disappeared into the shadows, the sound of his footsteps fading away.
For a moment, no one spoke. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on all of them.
Raphael exhaled sharply, breaking the silence.
"Hey, you okay?" he asked.
Donatello nodded faintly, though his hands still trembled around his bo. "Yeah. Thanks."
Michelangelo knelt next to Leonardo, shaking him once and receiving only a rough breath.
"We've gotta move," he said. "Leo's not gonna make it."
"Then let's go," Raphael said firmly, kneeling beside him. He glanced toward the shadows where Splinter had disappeared, his expression hardening. "We've got each other. That's all we need."
The air outside the clan headquarters was cold with the grey hours of morning. Raphael adjusted Leonardo's weight in his arms, straining as his brother groaned, limp against Raphael's chest.
"Just..." Leonardo murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "Just leave..."
"Yeah, not happenin', fearless," he muttered, holding him tight. "You don't get off that easy."
Michelangelo led the way, darting ahead toward the van parked brazenly in front of the Foot headquarters. The van's bright green stood in the middle of the street, door wide open, several bullet holes along its side.
"You parked right here?" Donatello said.
"It sent a message, didn't it?" Michelangelo gestured at the carnage they'd left behind. "Worked pretty good, too."
Donatello groaned but didn't argue, climbing into the back of the van to make space as Raphael carefully laid Leonardo down. Leonardo's breaths came shallow and labored, his body limp as they settled him against the padded floor. His eyes fluttered briefly, catching Michelangelo's in the rear view.
"Stay with us," Michelangelo said, starting the engine, rolling slowly at first. "You're not dying on us, okay? Not today."
Raphael slammed the doors shut behind them, nodding toward the driver's seat. "Get us outta here."
There was only one place they could go.
The veterinarian's office was dark, its windows reflecting the gray glare. Michelangelo knelt by the lock, working it with nimble fingers, muttering under his breath.
"Man, why does this take so long? Leo always makes it look easy."
"Hurry up," Raphael growled, shifting Leonardo in his arms. His brother felt colder by the second, his weight growing heavier.
"I'm going as fast as I can," Michelangelo snapped, his voice sharp with frustration. "Not like I do this every day!"
The lock clicked at last, and they brought Leonardo inside, heading to the back toward the furthest rooms. Sleepy animals watched from their kennels as Raphael laid Leonardo on the cold metal exam table, and Donatello grabbed pain killers and sutures from the cabinets. Michelangelo darted between drawers, piling gauze, antiseptic, and bandages onto the counter.
Donatello glanced back at Leonardo, his face grim.
"This is gonna hurt," he warned, nodding at Michelangelo to start. "But think of it as you making it up to us. You know, locking us up and all that."
Leonardo's lips twitched into a faint, humorless laugh that turned into a groan as Michelangelo began cleaning the deep wounds. The antiseptic was icy against his skin, stinging as it washed away the blood. His body tensed involuntarily, and he dragged his broken hand against the table, trying to grab at the metal edge.
"Painkillers?" Raphael asked, his voice tight as he looked away, unable to watch.
Donatello nodded, drawing a syringe. "Hold him still."
Leonardo flinched at the needle's touch, exhaling shakily as the medication began to take effect. Michelangelo worked quickly, clearing the blood from the torn muscle along Leonardo's side.
"Good news," Raphael muttered, peering over Michelangelo's shoulder. "No guts spilling out. Thought it'd be worse."
"It is worse," Donatello said, his voice clipped. He pointed to the wounds that dug into Leonardo's side through his back. "They're deep. All muscle. He might not…I don't even know what this might do."
Michelangelo's hands hovering over the wound. "You mean he might not heal right?"
Donatello didn't look up. "I don't…I don't know."
In the following silence, Donatello began packing the wound with gauze, staunching the bleeding before closing it with rough stitches. Where the gashes were too wide, he taped them tightly, frowning at the makeshift nature of his work.
"Raph," Donatello said, gesturing at Leonardo. "When we move him, be gentle. As gentle as you can."
Raphael glanced at him, his mouth already opening for a retort, but he stopped himself.
"Yeah," he said instead, nodding once. "Got it."
When Donatello finally finished, he stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow. Michelangelo helped him to replace the bandages, to splint Leonardo's broken hand with a steadiness that belied the worry in his eyes.
"Leo, you still with us?" Michelangelo asked softly, his voice almost pleading.
Leonardo's eyes fluttered open briefly, his gaze unfocused.
"...what?" he murmured, his voice faint.
Sirens wailed in the distance, their piercing sound cutting through the fragile calm. Donatello winced, knowing they must have triggered something.
"We've gotta go."
Michelangelo gathered up the remaining supplies in his arms as Raphael scooped Leonardo up again, already leaving at a trot.
The red and blue lights pulled into the lot just as the van turned a corner, disappearing into the night. Inside, the brothers sat in silence, the tension thick as the city lights blurred past them.
At the wheel, Michelangelo broke the silence first, his voice firm in a way they weren't used to.
"East and Nineteenth," he said, not looking back. "It's a bit of a walk underground, but…he never went there. He won't know where we are."
Donatello nodded, his expression grim. Raphael looked at Michelangelo, surprised by the resolve in his eyes. And comforted. He felt a little surge of pride in his little brother.
The van disappeared into the shadows, leaving the sirens and the chaos behind.
The days that followed were slow, measured not by the ticking of a clock but by survival. Raphael stayed by Leonardo's side, forcing him to wake, coaxing him to take small sips of water and bites of food. Even in his sleep, Leonardo never seemed to relax. But he never complained. He barely spoke at all.
The underground station was cramped, a walled off a section from an abandoned subway platform two levels below. Donatello managed to tap into the electrical grid so they had a working outlet. The small public restroom still had water service. Bit by bit, they carved out a little piece of the city for themselves.
The first thing they'd stolen was a couple of clean mattresses, then blankets, then pillows. A mini-refrigerator appeared after a food run, humming quietly in the corner. A portable stove came next, then a real laptop with an ethernet connection Donatello patched in. They didn't bother asking for details; Donatello's explanations were always a blur of jargon. A radio, a lamp, small comforts in the dim glow of their little sanctuary.
Days passed. They survived. They healed. This home was fragile but it held. They stared into the darkness, slowly reclaiming a life, slowly pulling their brother back from the edge of death. In the confines of their small home, their brother's convalescence meant the tedium of painful routines—bathroom, washing up, and changing positions.
Michelangelo took it on himself to sit Leonardo up, braced with all the pillows they steal, then giving up on the pillows to hold him up against himself. Leonardo sat curled against him, the black tape replaced with gauze that was regularly changed, the hood changed out for a blanket. Giving him one of his blue masks didn't seem right—his face with marked instead by stitches and bandages.
Although they had little in the way of painkillers, Leonardo only grit his teeth, letting slip a hiss as he finally lay still, his head on Michelangelo's shoulder.
"Does he really gotta move around that much?" Raphael asked.
"Last thing he needs is fluid building up in his lungs," Donatello said behind the laptop. "Keep him upright for awhile."
Michelangelo held him close, careful to arrange his brother's broken hand up out of the way. After a moment, he felt Leonardo start to relax again, breathing steadily. His brother's eyes half-shut as the pain faded.
"Think you can sleep?" he whispered.
Leonardo gave a slow shake of his head. "N...no. 'm awake…"
Michelangelo glanced at his brothers. Donatello was absorbed in whatever he had on the laptop, and Raphael slowly re-wrapped his sais, the center of Donatello's staff, the grips on his nunchucks. It was basic maintenance that had to be done, and it hurt to see no swords there.
The turtle in his arms didn't feel any different from before. This could have been the aftermath of any number of awful fights they'd been in. But Leonardo hadn't responded to him like his older brother. He didn't call him Mikey or relax properly, like they'd lived together for years. And there was always that split second before he recognized his name, that instant of hesitation before he realized that they meant him.
"You really don't remember anything, huh?" Michelangelo asked.
Leonardo closed his eyes. "'m sorry."
"Not your fault," Michelangelo sighed. "I'd wanna forget that night, too."
He looked to Donatello again, who'd admitted feeling the same physical attraction for them. Michelangelo wondered if that was because the two of them were older. They'd always assumed as much. Or maybe it was just the two of them. Impossible to tell. He couldn't begin to imagine what Donatello might have done, if their positions had been reversed.
"So you don't know who I am," Michelangelo said. "Not really."
Leonardo's smile was weak, self-deprecating.
"You're...really good inna fight."
Michelangelo chuckled. "So're you, kill-stealer. Did you know you were gonna take Shredder's head off?"
The smile faded.
"I...no. Had no idea."
Raphael snorted. "Should'a heard him like two minutes before. 'Master' this, 'dunno what to do' that. Thinking he's a failure, turns around, gets Shredder's head."
"Gets hurt the worst," Donatello muttered. "At least you don't remember getting tossed through a window, but man, some things don't change."
Michelangelo put his arm around him to better brace his back.
"Then…" he started. "You don't remember me. And you didn't go in there planning to kill him. You had no clue what you were doing, huh?"
Leonardo shook his head once.
Raphael muttered, "as usual," but no one commented.
"So how come you shoved me out of the way?" Michelangelo asked, ignoring Raphael.
Silence.
"You would've done that before," Michelangelo said. "But you...you practically gave your life for a stranger."
Leonardo lowered his eyes.
Donatello paused form his laptop. "Probably because Raph and I talked a lot with him. He was really torn."
Raphael snorted again. "S'cause he thinks you're hot."
A soft sound escaped out of Leonardo, who cast a sidelong glare at Raphael.
"No...I mean, yes, but." He paused, wincing as he breathed too deep. "You. All of you. You acted like…"
His voice trailed off. Michelangelo gave him the smallest nudge.
"...like I was worth keeping."
Michelangelo took his arm and gently turned it over, tracing the scars with his fingertips. They had seen them many times now, had followed the deep marks from wrist down to where they trailed off. They had agreed that the clan must have found him and saved him, intending to use him for themselves.
"You're worth keeping," Michelangelo whispered, his voice growing thick. "I promise. So please stay. Please."
Leonardo couldn't answer for a long time. He had to steady himself, and not for the first time he wished he still had his hood to hide behind.
"You don't even know who I am," he whispered.
Michelangelo didn't know how to answer that.
It was true—the soul was there but Leonardo, his personality, what had made him into that distinct individual, had shattered. These were the pieces slowly mending under their care.
Raphael set down his sai, half-wrapped.
"Then I look forward to meeting you," Raphael said finally. "The real you. Without all the hiding, without the crap. So you'll get better, get stronger. We'll get on our feet again. And no matter what, we stay together."
Donatello and Michelangelo nodded. After a moment, Leonardo nodded as well.
Weeks became months. And Leonardo remained distant.
He never reached for them—not for a hug, not for a comforting pat, not even for a fleeting touch. His hands stayed firmly at his sides, his movements always careful, deliberate. If they wanted to pretend things were normal, they could have. For a long time, they did, if only because food and shelter and safety trumped everything.
Michelangelo found their new home: a forgotten, unassuming theater tucked away between two empty lots.
"Guys, I'm telling you," Michelangelo had said, his grin wide as he leaned on the rusted double doors. "This place vibes. Look at it! It's like...it's us!"
"'Us'?" Raphael said, crossing his arms as he stared at the faded marquee. "You mean busted and forgotten?"
"Raph," Donatello said. "It's got potential."
"You're just mad 'cause you can't see the vision," Michelangelo said. "You don't have the eye for ambiance."
"Ambiance?" Raphael snorted. "What're you, an interior decorator?"
"No," Michelangelo said, "but I could be if you'd just trust me."
Behind them, always behind, Leonardo found a surface that could take his weight. Sighing in relief, he sat, leaning on his hands to ease the stress on his back. He used one of Donatello's staffs to walk, slowly building back strength, but he was simply grateful they didn't leave him behind.
Donatello raised a hand, cutting them off.
"Let's focus," he said, turning to Michelangelo. "This place looks sturdy. We'd have to check the structure, the plumbing, the wiring—"
"Boring," Michelangelo said, waving him off. "All stuff you can do. I'm telling you, this is the spot."
"We'll need the funds," Donatello said. "We can't just squat. It's New York—real estate is always at a premium."
Leonardo coughed once. "Um…I can help with that part."
Donatello gave him a curious look.
"If…" Leonardo sighed. "If you help commit a few robberies."
The two of them made an unlikely team as they raided the hideouts of Purple Dragons and the remnants of the Foot clan. Leonardo leaned on a staff, bringing Donatello during the day when there were skeleton crews, only a handful of people to scatter or beat, before swiping phones, laptops, and electronic assets. They moved like clockwork, taking into account Leonardo's slow crawl, the time Donatello needed to break into the hardware.
The raids did not always go smoothly. With Raphael and Michelangelo patrolling, clearing territory away from the theater, Leonardo and Donatello were on their own. Sometimes they were more men than they expected. Sometimes the gang drew firearms faster than others. Sometimes Leonardo was caught by surprise and the fight turned desperate, always ending the same way—forcing himself to move fast, breathing hard, his back drawn tight in pain, leaning on Donatello to help him limp home.
After one particularly tense raid, Donatello found himself lingering. As they sat side by side in the dark, catching their breath, his hand brushed against Leonardo's face, wiping away a streak of dust. His fingers stilled, resting against a faint scar tracing Leonardo's cheek.
Leonardo froze.
"Don," he whispered. "What…what are you…?"
Donatello cupped his hand around his brother's face, letting himself consider this opportunity. His brother swallowed nervously, his breath quickening, filled with doubt and worry and a thousand other feelings from erased memories that refused to truly die.
"Are you sure?" Leonardo said, his hand on Donatello's shoulder, half pushing him back. "Really sure? You don't have to—"
Donatello leaned in, his lips brushing Leonardo's in a kiss that was almost chaste.
"I'm sure," he murmured.
Within days, Donatello had made it happen. With Leonardo's knowledge of Foot and Purple Dragon stash houses, they raided enough valuables to fund the purchase, stole enough equipment that he could set up shell companies to hide who they were. By the end of the week, the theater was theirs.
The theater began to transform. The dressing rooms became bedrooms, the stage a communal space, the attic storage. They tiled the bathrooms, rewired circuits, and slowly turned the rundown structure into a home.
"You've gotta hold it steady," Donatello said one afternoon, guiding Leonardo's hand as they worked on a stubborn piece of tile. "Here, let me—"
Leonardo stiffened as Donatello's hand closed over his, guiding him through the motion.
"Don," he started, hesitating.
"It's fine," Donatello said, his voice calm. "You're doing fine. Just follow my lead."
Leonardo exhaled slowly, relaxing under Donatello's touch. They worked together, side by side, with Donatello occasionally leaning just a little too close.
Raphael noticed the closeness. He noticed a lot of things. He watched from a distance as Donatello lingered by Leonardo, as his hand rested on his shoulder just a little too long, as Leonardo didn't pull away.
And Raphael saw Michelangelo with Leonardo during their slow tai chi sessions, their movements almost synchronized. Sometimes Raphael joined them, quick to catch Leonardo when his injuries flared and sent him buckling—though Michelangelo was usually quicker, his hands steady as he held Leonardo upright.
It was Raphael who sparred with Michelangelo one day, their laughter echoing through the empty theater as they grappled. Michelangelo's grin widened as he ducked under Raphael's swing, twisting and tackling him to the ground. He landed on top of Raphael, straddling his waist.
"Pinned!" Michelangelo crowed, his voice a mix of laughter and triumph. "That's two outta three."
Raphael looked up at him, his chest heaving from exertion. But his comment died as his gaze met Michelangelo's. Something shifted. The playful glint in Michelangelo's eyes turned into something deeper, something warmer.
Michelangelo's grin faded slightly, his own gaze searching Raphael's face. "You good, Raph?"
"Yeah," Raphael muttered, his voice rough. "Just… caught me off guard."
"Uh-huh," Michelangelo said knowingly, his grin slowly returning. "Guess I'm just full of surprises."
Raphael swallowed hard, looking away. But he didn't push Michelangelo off.
By the time the theater was livable, they were different. Closer. Vulnerable. Intimate.
One clear night, Leonardo sat alone on the rooftop bench, surrounded by Michelangelo's flower pots and Donatello's vegetable beds. The salt of the ocean breeze carried across the city as he stared up at the stars.
A memory had returned. Not a pleasant one.
"Do not pretend you have no t seen it. The way he looks at you, at all of you. His feelings are no longer those of a brother."
"Do you have even the last shred of honor to admit your fault? Or are you so cowardly that you will keep hiding?"
"You have tainted this family, and I will not allow it to continue."
If this was what slept in his past, locked behind pain and shock, then he was happy to forget. He could live with the memory of the Foot clan. It had led to such a happy outcome. But the echoes up from the time before then…coming up here helped, on the rare days that memories dredged up. Here, he could forget again, help numb the thoughts with the cool night air and the sound of the city moving around him.
"Penny for your thoughts," Raphael said, climbing up from the access hatch. He crossed the roof with heavy, deliberate steps, standing behind him.
Leonardo turned, offering a small, sad smile. "They're not worth that much."
"Hey," Rapahel frowned, lightly punching Leonardo's shoulder. "Cut it out with that crap."
Leonardo took the scolding gamely as he always did when told not to insult himself. The reminders came less and less often now.
"Sorry," Leonardo said, still smiling. "I was just… thinking how lucky I am."
Raphael snorted. "Lucky, huh? What, thrashed within an inch of your life?"
"Think of it from my point of view," Leonardo said. "Saved from an evil master by three handsome strangers."
Raphael barked a laugh. "Never thought I'd hear you call yourself the weepy damsel in distress."
"I am not—" Leonardo started, but Raphael cut him off, leaning down and nuzzling his cheek.
"You shouldn't stay out here too long," Raphael said. "You know what the cold does to you."
Leonardo sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Yeah…I do. Um…help me up?"
"Leo…"
"It snuck up on me," Leonardo said. "I didn't realize how cold it was until I couldn't—hey!"
Raphael shook his head, crouching down to scoop Leonardo into his arms. "Get the door," he said with a faint smile, carrying his brother across the roof.
From below, the warm glow of their home spilled out, welcoming them in. He put his arm around Raphael, holding close as they went through the narrow doorway. The awful memories stayed outside, miserable in their underground hole, lonely and fading to nothing. Among his brothers, there were no terrible thoughts, no lingering memories, only the fading pains well worth their reward. This was worth remembering.
Nothing else.
Note: I post all my work to Archive of Our Own, under GoblinCatKC. I rarely post here at all (this is the first time in years).