Despite many one-man picket lines and stink pellets thrown into people's open windows, I do not own TMNT.

Raphael often finds himself waking up panting in the dead of night, his sheets tangled around his legs with his covers kicked off the side of his mattress. His hands rest on the empty spot on his mattress that he had instinctively avoided in order to make room for another. Every morning the red cladded turtle wakes up, confused with his heart beating out of his chest, and seconds later he remembers. Not before he frantically pats that empty, uncreased spot on his bed beside him, whispering the name of his brother beneath his breath. He hopes, no, knows it will pass in time. It has to, for the sake of his own sanity. It may be months, even years before that horrifying second upon waking dulls and fades. It will in time, though, and perhaps then he'll remember how to breathe.

The sheet is frigid against Raphael's palm, not warmed or even creased by the flesh of his older brother. It's been three weeks, he reminds himself as he sits up in his bed, not moving his hand from the gaping spot beside him. Twenty-one days since he'd seen his older brother's eyes flutter closed knowing that they'd never open again. Five hundred and four hours since he'd slotted his fingers against his neck and hadn't felt the pleasant thrum of his pumping blood. Since he'd pressed a chaste kiss to his cooling brow in the solitude of a barn with a damp cloth in his hand to wipe away the dried up, cracking layers of blood. He remembers how eerily cold the stiff flesh was against his dry, quivering lips and how he longed to feel the dull warmth that had resided beneath his cold-blooded skin. He casts his mind to how he'd cradle his slender brother against him and just feel his chest rise and fall as his fingers mindlessly twiddled with the long blue ribbons of his mask.

As the weeks had gone on and the weeds that grew around the grave grow bigger and larger in number, time had begun to pass until it managed its own type of monotony. Raphael spends his time picking his way through the latest rampaging mutant of the week, following leads on the Foot when he can. The freaks of nature that have lost their will seem much more frightening now that he's alone with no one at his back. His two baby brothers still linger, insist that they're still a team, and they even implement a new leader. The announcement that his immediate younger brother was the new leader was supposed to be a comfort, a sign that their family was moving on. The purple cladded turtle was no doubt still nursing ice packs from the fit of drunken rage that had been unleashed upon him when he'd broken the news to his severely intoxicated brother. And the red cladded turtle doesn't even have the grace to feel guilty. It's hard for him to feel much of anything, even when he's sober.

The thought of drinking wasn't comforting, Raphael realized. There was no assurance in the bottle. It didn't do a damn thing to hold back his despair or soothe the wounds of his mind and body. He didn't do it enough to be considered an outfighting alcoholic and he'd only blacked out once. And he didn't even know why he did other than the simple fact that with that familiar warmth in his belly he feels just as bad, but it's duller somehow. He can accurately equate it to being blindfolded just as he was about to plummet off of a cliff. The red cladded turtle knows that he just has to deal with it. He would have to move forward; have to see the sunrise and the sunset while Leonardo did not. He was the one who would have to smile and speak and move his tired limbs. He was the one who had to live. Somewhere deep in his mind, the red cladded turtle knew he should be grateful for that, but right now it felt nothing more than a burden. It was hard, and it was tiring, and it hurt more than anything. He didn't.... he didn't want any of this. He wanted his brother. He had only wanted him. And now he had nothing but grief.

But...Raphael does feel distant as if he were dead too. It takes more effort than he cares to voice to get back on his motorcycle and drive away from the grave, rather than start digging himself a hole right next to it. His passion, his anger, both feel dull when compared to the black hole ebbing it's way through his chest, threatening to consume him. He blames the occasional beer on that. More occasional than he cares to admit. His family and his friends keep insisting that they understand what he's going through, that he's not alone no matter how much he likes to insist on them that he is. But it had been the blue cladded turtle himself that had made absolutely sure that their family and friends would never truly understand the demon he was forced to contend with. When the blue cladded turtle's heart had stopped beating, the very second that it went still in his chest, a part of him was violently ripped out and had been left to wither and die with his older brother on that rooftop.

The old, fraying cloth runs down the short shaft of the sai, tracing the almost unnoticeable scratches, remembering the bloody fights again and again and again as the emptiness threatens to wholly consume the red cladded turtle. He skims the edges of the prongs, rubs their pointed tips. As of late he's gotten up close and personal with the not so squeaky clean places of his mind and his imagination. And his very own tumultuous mind is what serves as a constant painful reminder... He can't live for his older brother no matter how hard he tries. Living was much worse than dying. He was the one who had to stay and trudge through day after day facing his foes and his own family and friends alike. He just wasn't strong enough, not like his older brother was. Behind his callous attitude and boastful words, he knew that he would never be good enough.

As the mutant turtle rotated the blade of the sai and began to run the rag up and down, he imagined his brother standing beside him, leaning over his chair as he observed his work. He doesn't take comfort in the certitude that he can hear his older brother rambling on and on about how "a weapon is the extent of a ninja" and how he should "work in tandem with it". He even snorts aloud when he hears his comment dryly about how he was "...a sorry excuse for a defender of truth and justice". The blue cladded turtle always had a great speech drawn up, no doubt practiced in the shower with a bottle of shampoo acting as one of his trusty katanas.

Master Splinter enters the room, his entire body tense and he leans heavily on his walking stick. Raphael doesn't need to spare him a glance, for he can imagine his expression. The red cladded turtle has hardly spoken since he got back from the latest venture to the surface, in which he'd once again ditched his two younger brothers in favor of busting heads with his human friend, and his master is worried, so he'll try to force it out. The old rodent still thinks that as both his father and his master that he can be cognizant of the enigma that is the red cladded turtle, and before, maybe that was true. Things had been so simple before, comparatively speaking. He finds himself selfishly wishing that they'd never ventured to the surface, that they'd never made enemies, and that they'd just stayed content in their underground world with nothing but algae and worms on their plates. It wasn't much, but at least they were safe. But that was before, now the mutant rodent knows nothing of his second eldest son.

The very moment that Raphael desperately slotted his lips against those of his own older brother's, swirling his tongue in tandem with his as he feels his soft, yearning moans rumble against his flesh, he knew that he was already too far gone from his family. And though he resents that he must be solely alone in his suffering, he knows better than to think that his situation would somehow be improved if he worked up the courage to tell his family and friends the terrible, sordid truth. The very thought no doubt made the blue cladded turtle roll in his cozy spot in the ground. He can imagine what his deceased older brother would have to say about that: "...this secret must go to the grave with us". His brother always had an irritating modes operandi of having his way.

"Karai is at last ready to join us. She's being discharged as we speak... We depart tonight," Master Splinter states aloud, at last, his voice distant, cold as it had been for many weeks.

"What?! Where is he," Raphael barks out, balling up and throwing the rag to the ground as he jumps to his feet. His chest is heaving, his jaw is tight and his unsheathed sai is clenched in a rigid grip at his side.

The mutant rat scrutinizes the latter with his hardened brown hues as he towers over him, before letting out an exhausted sigh and visibly deflating. "I am almost tempted to force you and your brothers to stay here. I know that it is only my selfish will as a father to hold tight to his sons, to never let you go..." He flinches as if a hand had struck him, placing his paw over his eyes as he let's out a shaking breath and concludes, "But you have as much as a right as I to avenge the ones we've lost to Saki. And I know that if I go alone, it will only be a suicide mission. My way of joining my lost son... It is selfish, I know," He bows his head, clenching his eyes shut as he let's out a low hiss, "I only ask one thing of you, my son..."

"What is it, Sensei? Anythin'! Just...just let me go," The red cladded turtle exclaims hoarsely, "You've gotta let me...!"

"No matter what happens tonight, you and your brothers must be the ones to make it out alive. You understand this, yes," Master Splinter inquires firmly of the latter as he settles a shaking paw on his shoulder, "A father should not outlive the ones he brought up into the world, that he cradled to his chest...It is not fair, nor is it right, but it is yet another one of the many cruel jests of the ones that made us. A jest... that I cannot go through again. You must protect them, for you are the one they must look to now...now that...now that Leonardo is gone. You must be all that he was for them and more."

Raphael mutters weakly, his emerald green hues going downcast, "But you named Donatello leader, Sensei."

"Donatello I trust to lead the team in his brother's stead, but you, my son, I trust to lead the family," Master Splinter declares with the smallest of smiles playing across his lips as he unyieldingly squeezes his shoulder.

Raphael can only feel bitterness. 'Only because he's gone.'

———

For the first time in months, when Raphael opens his eyes, there is an occupant in the bed when he opens his eyes. He's lounging back in a creaky wooden chair that leaned up against the wall with a thin throw blanket settled over his lower half. The thick comforter on the bed conceals most of that occupant's lower body, but the back of their head is perfectly visible, even in the dull yellow light streaming from the lone bulb swinging overhead. His gaze softens at the sight of the latter's soft leaf-green flesh with royal blue mask tails dangling down the back of his neck. His eyes trace the intricate details of the tiny scales that knit together in a formal pattern to form the skin. The red cladded turtle can see every scar and recount the battle that marred the flesh with ease - the jagged gash on the lower left side of his neck was from a toy fire truck thrown at the back of his head. The orange cladded turtle, who had been dreaded but playfully renowned later in life for his temper tantrums as an infant, had been responsible for that one. He sits there for what must have been several long minutes, motionless, silent, as he watches the rise and fall of the latter's yellow-platted chest, the twitches of their fingers against the sheet.

During the short period of time that Raphael had grown adjusted to Leonardo sleeping in his bed with him, he had noticed that his older brother always slept on his side, facing outward, the back of his shell inches from pressing against his brother's chest. He always knowingly left enough room for another to spoon against him, press into his warmth. It had been so long, yet he remembered it as if he was fifteen all over again, sneaking into his older brother's room and roughly nudging him awake and giving him a hastily whispered invitation into his bed. In his waking dream, his older brother's hands would tighten around the one's raveled around his waist, pulling him over as close as possible, fearful of waking up without his touch. And at that moment, Raphael lies still, very still, and he just watches the figure in the bed breath. The slow rise and fall of the latter's chest, the barely audible sound of air hissing out of his nostrils.

Raphael leans forward from his chair, inclining his upper half over the bed, being careful not to shift the bed frame too much, trying not to stir the sleeping occupant of the small, cramped bed. His pointless curiosity is just too much to bear, despite knowing all too well that the mutant turtle in his arms is just the result of a few too many drinks along with a nasty hit from Casey's stash. He wouldn't put it past himself to mistake a bundle of blankets or even the very air as his deceased brother, especially in the haze of smoke and cheap beer. But when he pressed his finger against the face of the occupant, tilting it towards him to spare them just a look, a mere glance, he goes pale, lurching, and scrambled away from the bed. He nearly hits his head on the wall from his hard he shoves himself backward, kicking aside the chair as he reclines against the wall.

At that moment Donatello walks in with a small metal tray with a bowl of steaming broth, a plate with crackers scattered across it, and a large glass of water. The purple cladded turtle cocks a brow at him in a questioning manner, before giving a slight shrug and walking over to the side table and delicately setting the tray down. Then he cranes his head towards the door, signaling the red cladded turtle to follow him out. The red cladded turtle hadn't even realized that he wasn't even in his room, not until he laid eyes on the piles of labeled boxes pushed tot he corners and the eerily bare walls. He was in the blue cladded turtle's room and like a ton of bricks, the events of last night come rushing forward into his head. He nods and shakily takes a few hesitant steps forward, shooting the occupant of the bed a quick glance. The pair treaded lightly out of the purple cladded turtle's laboratory, nearly tiptoeing as they go to stand where their other brother and their two human friends are gathered in the pit of the lair.

"Hey, guys. Why don't you sit down? Both of you must be exhausted," April suggests as she uses one hand to tuck a hair behind her ear, while her free hand stays clasped around the handle of the coffee pot as she poured the steaming brew into outstretched mugs," Sorry, let me grab you guys a cup...!"

April waves a hand in the direction of the kitchen and the cabinet creaks open and two coffee mugs hover out and slowly levitate into the living room. Donatello grabs a mug from over his head just as the human girl stops in front of him with the coffee pot. Raphael snatches his mug just as it's about bump into his shoulder and he offers it forward to be filled with coffee with more force than necessary nearly knocking the entire pot out of her hands. She hisses in pain as a few drops splatter onto her fingers, but she manages to keep herself from stumbling forward. The red cladded turtle mutters a quick apology and holds his mug at a proper distance, almost immediately gulping down the entire piping hot cup. The human girl places the pot of coffee down on the makeshift table made of two cinderblocks and an old piece of plywood, then folds her hands together and settles them in her lap.

"So..." Casey starts, his face stony as his fingers tap against the sides of his mug.

April quickly cuts in, keeping her voice light as she gives a tight smile, "I can throw together some breakfast... it's about that time already. The sun should be up soon."

Raphael remarks with a smirk gracing his lips as he knowingly nudges the human boy at his side, "If your cookin' ain't improved I sure as shell hope our immune systems have."

April rolls her eyes and huffs out in annoyance, "Ha-ha... I guess we can just heat up some of those frozen waffles in the back of the fridge."

"Hey, Red, just remember that a smoke alarm ain't a timer," Casey quips.

Michelangelo let's out a low hiss as he sniggers, "Oh, snap! A burn about a burn - "

"Okay, dancing around the subject clearly isn't working. Everyone is acting like there should be a canned laugher playing in the background," Donatello snaps with a sullen look on his face, his eyes narrowed. Then his eyes slacken and after a second his lips tremble as he continues with his head bowed,"...I'm sorry - I'm sorry I... It's... it's just..."

Michelangelo picks up, his voice unusually quiet, almost faltering as he asks the group, "I know how you feel, D," He leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees as he cradles his face in his palms, "Is this real, dudes? I mean it's Leo... It's Leo!"

Donatello lets out a harsh, rattling exhale then lifts his head once more and proclaims, "This is...I can't even begin to... shit..." His hand cups his mouth as his eyes close for a second," He was dead. Dead. There's no doubt about that. W-we all saw it happen. S-saw h-h-him... Saw what that monster did to him. And now he's somehow...b-b-back..."

"Well," April asks worriedly, "Don? Is...is he...? Oh, God."

"It's fine. He's fine. At least as far as I know. I just had to run some tests to be sure that there weren't any physical repercussions to..." Donatello reassures the gathering, before trailing off as his brows furrow and he bows his head, "Shell, I don't know...I don't even know what to call it. He was dead. He was dead...B-b-but somehow he's b-b-back... and he's fine. Aside from some dehydration and an empty stomach, he's healthy as a horse! But I've got him on an IV and I'm keeping a close eye on his vitals."

Michelangelo asks of his older brother, his baby blue hues wide and his head cocked to the side ever so slightly, "Isn't that good, dude? Whatever the shell happened to him it's not going to like reverse or anything?"

The purple cladded turtle replies stiffly, his mouth a thin line, "I...I honestly don't know, Mikey. I'm hoping that when he wakes up he'll be able to give us some answers, but he's out like a light. We barely got him back to the lair before he clocked out," His eyes flit over to the doorway leading into his laboratory and he lets out a long sigh, "So that may be a while. I just - I just don't know... I don't know. Shell, I'm far from used to that - believe me. And, uh, it's scaring me, guys. It's scaring me a lot."

"Me too," The human girl utters in a minuscule voice as she gently settles her hand over the latter's, "It's just...it's too much. "

Raphael demands with a scoff as he abruptly goes to his feet, stomping towards the purple cladded turtle, "What's there to be afraid of? Dude, don't you see," His eyes dart around the room and he stares at the group incredulously before he throws his hands into the air, "It don't matter how or why - like you said just about a damn hour ago! It's a bit of a shock, I know -"

"'A bit of a shock?!' For the love of all that's -" Donatello exclaims shrilly, making the occupants of the room flinch and jump in their seats, "Are you listening to yourself? This isn't a giant alien salamander or a psycho master of ninjitsu that dresses like a can opener - I mean, shit, our lives are pretty damn far from means normal, but there is one thing and one thing only that every living creature is bound to and that is death. He was dead! Dead! There is no coming back from that! There just isn't!"

"But he did, dude," Michelangelo murmurs, "You know there doesn't have to be an explanation for everything, you know? At least not like right away. Isn't there like a saying or something for that? Something like...' When life gives you rotten eggs you don't look the chicken in the beak...?'"

Raphael blinks at the latter, his mouth hanging open for a second, then he slowly utters, "Okay, good try, Mike. I kind of get what you're saying...I guess. Lemme just get on with it before I forget what the shell I was talkin' about cause I was too busy verbally tearin' you a new one," He gives a slight shake of his head and goes on, "Anyway, I think what shell for brains was tryin' to say is that...that it don't matter how or why he's back. He's back and that's all we should give a shit about. At least right now. Believe me, I wanna know, too. But for now, we just need to get Leo standing upright, and maybe then we'll get it out of him. But hell, Don, whatever's responsible I'm sending a damn edible arrangement!"

"We don't need to be putting too much pressure on him, my dudes. If this is how all of us feel, imagine how he feels," Michelangelo points out, "I don't know about you guys, but I'd be pretty far from okay."

April agrees solemnly, "Yeah, I'm with you guys. For now, we need to focus on the problems at hand and give Leo his own time to adjust," She circles a finger around her coffee cup and keeps her eyes focused on the hot puffs of steam rising from the scalding liquid,"...I'm honestly scared to know who or...or what brought him back... I don't know if I want to know. It's like you said, Donnie, we've never faced anything like this before. And I don't know if we should, uh, or really...if we could if we wanted to."

"I feel you on that one, Red. Whatever brought the dude back ain't not gonna be something you'd want to trade blows with. That's for sure," Casey points out as he fiddles with a stray string hanging from his shirt. He blushes in embarrassment when the human girl reaches over with her tiny fingers and ravels them around the string, yanking it with ease and allowing it to flutter to the ground.

The orange cladded turtle holds his coffee cup out for the human girl to refill if, and once she obliges, he proceeds to spoon the majority of the container of sugar into the steaming liquid. Then he splashes half of the bottle of creamer, spilling it over the sides of the mug before he deems his coffee satisfactory and proceeds to slurp at it noisily.

"So are we like forgetting that's he's got fricking glowy hands now, dudes," Michelangelo wonders aloud without having swallowed his mouthful of coffee, and he spews some of the lukewarm liquid over his lap. Catching the napkin that was tossed to him by his purple cladded brother he continues as he tries to rub himself dry, "That's some freaky-deeky stuff."

"Well, he's always been able to use mantras," The human girl mentions with a slight shrug, but she quirks her lips.

"Yeah, but never to this big of an extant," The purple cladded turtle concedes, settling a finger on his chin as he thinks out loud, "Pretty much the only mantra he ever fully learned and mastered was the healing hands."

The red cladded turtle shrugs and states dismissively," So, he got better."

"...While he was six feet under," Donatello questions doubtfully, his expression unimpressed.

"Plenty of time to practice. Now drop the questionnaire, would you? We're all agreein' right here and now not to send our brother to the friggin' looney bin because we drive him up the wall with questions," Raphael insists irritably, his jaw clenching in time with his eyes squinting and hyper-focusing on the latter, "And by 'we' I mean you. So do you got it?"

Donatello raises both of his hands in a placating gesture as he abruptly goes to his feet. Then he announces to the group," Fine. Fine, I guess. I'm going to check on Master Splinter. I'd appreciate it if someone did the same for Leo," His eyes flicker over to his younger brother and he orders him," Go sit beside him for a little while, Mike. Maybe read something to him or just do what you do best - start talking. He'll probably want the company. And don't bug him!"

"Yeah, yeah! I won't! I pinkie swear -"

"We don't have pinkies," Raphael barks out in annoyance as he wiggles all six of his fingers in the air,"Look, why don't you just let me go look after him?"

Donatello objects,"You've been the only one looking after him. And you need sleep too."

Michelangelo wonders,"So like am I going or not, dudes?"

"Yes! Yes, you are," Donatello insists shooing his brother away with a wave of his hand, "The rest of us need to hit the books. We've got quite a bit of research to do and maybe it'll help us get...get our mind off of things."

Michelangelo bounds forward energetically, giving his older brother a mock salute, before making a scrabbling dash for Leonardo's room. Then he skids to a halt, turning on his heel and goes stumbling towards his bedroom. He exits with a towering armful of comic books with crinkling bags of chips and several cans of soda balanced on top. He sways from side to side trying to keep the large bundle of objects in his grip as he makes his way towards his older brother's room. He eases to knob to the side, slowly allowing the door to crawl open and he uses his side to push it open. Immediately his baby blue hues land on the crumpled form of his older brother on the floor. Without even thinking he throws his armful of comic books and snacks into the air and goes to his knees beside his brother, his heart hammering out of his shell as he pants uncontrollably.

"Mmfine," Leonardo mutters, his voice muffled against the carpet as he shakily raises a hand and nonchalantly waves his brother away.

"Wah - dude?! Why'd you nosedive into the carpet," Michelangelo wonders aloud, concerned.

The blue cladded turtle lifts his head and settles his chin on the floor, so he can turn and face his younger brother, his eyes slack with weariness. "It's not like I did it on purpose. I just wanted to see what was in all the boxes and got dizzy," He grumbles pathetically as he purses his lips and darts his eyes away from the latter, "You got soda on my carpet. That's ten knuckle push-ups later, brotato chip."

"'Brotato chip'? You're not like feverish or anything, are you, dude? Not that I don't appreciate the brotherly love puns or anything, but yeah, I oughta check just in case..." The orange cladded turtle offers as he inches a hand forward to rest against his older brother's forehead. He yelps in a high pitched manner when the latter thwacks his hand away, grumbling nonsensically under his breath as he settles his cheek back against the carpet.

The blue cladded turtle whispers, "M'not feverish...just dead tired," He snorts at his morbid joke, then gives a slight shake of his head as he asks, "Too soon?"

"Uh-huh, how about we get you up, okay? The bed is a lot comfier than the carpet, my dude," The orange cladded turtle replies, his voice tense.

"Brotato brotahdo," Leonardo responds simply, his eyes fluttering closed once more as he flops his head back down into the carpet, "Lemme just lay here for a little while. Yeah, just a little while... You're welcome to join me. Aren't you supposed to, uh, like watch me, or something?"

Michelangelo shrugs and obeys his older brother, laying on his shell on the spot of carpet the latter pats in an indicating gesture with his wiggling fingers. He cranes his head to face his blue cladded brother and then he turns on his side, facing him entirely. Almost as if sensing his heavy, curious gaze, the latter lets out a barely audible huff and brings his head upright and inclines his head towards his younger brother. His eyes are so different in moments like these, softer than the orange cladded turtle knew eyes could be. As of late he'd grown all too used to the narrowed and heated glares of his older brothers. His eldest brother's blue hues that held no malice or contempt of any sort, but simple fatigue and a perpetual warmth, were most definitely a welcome sight. He had somehow failed to remember just how blue there were. Full-on Prince Charming, field of cornflower, perfect, cloudless sky blue.

'Someone should name a crayon after this turtle,' Michelangelo thought distantly as he watches his brother's eyelids slowly begin to droop.

Leonardo abruptly closed his eyes, and his head lolled forward with a cushioned fall against the carpet. He mutters, "Mmm, when's the last time this damn thing was vacuumed," Before promptly falling back asleep with a noisy, rattling inhale followed by a similar exhale.

Smirking, Michelangelo eased a hand towards the back of his utility belt, and his fingers fumble around the straps and pockets until they grasp the familiar plastic grip of a pen. He giggles to himself with one hand cupped over his mouth and the other hovering over his brother's unguarded face with the uncapped pen. Then in the blink of an eye, his brother's hand snaps up, his fingers curling tightly around his wrist. The orange cladded turtle shrieks hysterically with his fingers fumbling around the pen before he drops it with a nervous giggle and a strained smile towards his brother. Attempting to keep his mouth a thin line and his eyes hard rimmed and fixed, the blue cladded turtle scrutinizes the other mutant turtle. Under his older brother's suppressing and clearly annoyed gaze, he visibly wilted before his first clipped word was uttered.

Abruptly Leonardo eased his fingers from around the latter's wrist and he began laughing, timid at first, stopping and starting. Then in a matter of seconds, his eyes were clenched shut and he was chortling uncontrollably with his balled fist over his mouth. Michelangelo joins in laughing musically. They both rolled onto the back of their shells and clutched at their sides as tears sprang from their eyes. The blue cladded turtle gasped for air as his breathy, gleeful laughter fades into soft, barely audible giggles that he muffled with his hand over his mouth. Tears drying on his cheeks as his own giggles began to die out, the orange cladded turtle turned his head to his brother, and his baby blue hues crinkle in the corners as he sends him a shaky smile. His older brother returns the smile and lets out one final low chuckle as he gives a slight toss of his head.

"I missed you," Michelangelo blurts out abruptly," Sorry, I...I just... That was weird, I guess."

Leonardo exhales, the air exiting his nostrils a faint hiss as he quietly acknowledges, "No, I know. I...I missed you, all of you, more than you can ever know," He diverts his eyes towards the ceiling and he stares vacantly at it, then goes on, "But the worst of it as that I-I...I didn't even know that any of you were gone. Not really. For me it was like just closing my eyes, being enveloped in total darkness for what could have been seconds, hours, but in that time I had lost all of you...everything. And when I first woke up in that box, I couldn't breathe or see and I didn't even care because I realized that...that..."

"But we're here. You're here, bro. Everything can go back to normal now," The orange cladded turtle urges, his voice cheerful as he gives him a warm smile.

"Yeah, I know. Or at least I think I do. I-I...I don't know," The blue cladded turtle utters as his brows knit together and his mouth formed a thin line.

Michelangelo cocks his head in confusion and questions the latter, "Is something like weighing on your mind, dude?"

The glass splinters beneath his fist, blood seeping onto the cracks as he pulls away from his bleeding fist. A few pieces of glass fall from the mirror, clinking into the sink.

Panting, Leonardo traces his finger down the cracked glass, staring hard at his new skewed reflection. "This...this can't be real..." He gulps heavily, "I-I died...I'm dead. I'm dead... I'm dead!"

"It's the sign of a bad leader; not being able to practice what you preach, but I find myself doing it far more than I care to admit. But talking things out has never been my thing," Leonardo tells him softly, his lips quirking in amusement at his own statement.

The orange cladded turtle replies with a huff, "You and Raph have that in common."

The blue cladded turtle chuckles at that and he slowly begins to sit up, groaning through grit teeth as he leans back on his arms. "I guess I can't lay on the carpet forever. Can you give me a hand up," He asks while sheepishly offering up his hand, and his younger brother practically bounces back up onto his feet. He takes the hovering arm and swings it over his shoulder, and hoists his older brother upwards with a strained exhale and begins leading him back towards his bed," Why don't you go back to your room and get some sleep, Mike? You looked pretty ready to get some shut-eye with me on the floor."

Michelangelo shrugs and informs his brother," I'll sleep when it's my turn, dude. You know you don't have to be such a worry-wart all of the time."

"Mikey, if I didn't worry the world would stop spinning. It's kind of my thing. Some people, er, mutants collect stamps or take up knitting. I worry...a lot and then I worry some more," Leonardo murmurs as he flops onto the bed, not even bothering to untuck the covers from underneath himself. He nuzzles his face against the pillow as he continues under his breath," You guys have gotta stop trying to steal my thunder. Stick to your roles. You're the party guy, Raph is the, uh, cool and rude guy, Don does like, um, machines or something..."

"He does machines?"

"Something like that. Could make a catchy song, you know? But anyway I'm the worry guy," The blue cladded turtle mutters as his eyes begin to flutter closed.

The orange cladded turtle rubs the nape of his neck, keeping his eyes to the floor as he responds uneasily," You weren't here, dude. I think we all kind of just...just split up your usual duties," He swallows thickly and goes on," I...I'm a bad brother, Leo. I should be happy you're back just because you're, you know, you...my big brother. But the first thing that I thought when I realized that you weren't really gone was that... that you could lead us again. Raph and Don they do the best they can, I know they do, but they just don't have the head for it, not like you do, dude. Shell, they're at each other's throats twenty-four-seven over stupid little things like forgetting to take out the trash or wash the shell-raiser and it's draining for all of us."

Leonardo's eyes abruptly popped open but his blue hues held no anger or hurt, but an odd calmness, almost weariness. "It's my job, Mikey. I asked for it a long time ago," He states simply as he tilts his head against the pillow to better look at the latter and he presses his lips together in thought," Sorry, I...I really can't think of a better way to explain it. I guess it's just the way things are for us. We all have our skills and as a team, we have to use those skills where they benefit everyone else the most. It doesn't always benefit ourselves."

Smiling weakly Michelangelo chips in, "You lead, Don does machines, Raph is cool but crude, and I guess I'm just the party dude."

"Not just the party dude," The blue cladded turtle objects, his voice firm, "We mess with you a lot, but that's just what older brothers do, Mike. Believe it or not, it's supposed to be some masculine form of affection, I guess. But I'm happy to have you fighting by my side because you're just as capable in a fight and sometimes better than any of us in some areas."

The corners of his nose and his nostrils crinkle as he beams and says, "So I guess you're saying I'm not entirely useless, huh? Sweet, dude," Then after a beat, he throws his arms around his older brother, hugging him close as he settles his head down his shoulder, "Just tell me one thing: Am I more useful than Raph?"

Leonardo snorts and doesn't deign that a response, keeping his eyes closed tightly.

Michelangelo grabs him by his shoulder and begins shaking him frantically as he squeals, "C'mon, dude! I've gotta know - Just lemme have this one thing to hold over his head," He abruptly unclasps his hands, allowing the latter to flop back down onto the bed. Pouting, he begins poking his older brother's face, "Please...please....pleaseeee! C'mon! I thought I was your favorite. Unless - Is Raph your favorite?! Traitor!"

Leonardo's cheeks turn a bright red and he sputters incredulously, "Wha - No! No! Absolutely not! That's ridiculous... I...I don't rank my siblings!"

"Heh, I guess Raph is kind of on a different level, huh? In terms of relationship, I mean. You two always have been," Michelangelo jests knowingly, nudging his older brother with an elbow.

"And just what are you suggesting?! I-I...I...! He's, uh, you know... He's Raph! And, ugh, that's all I need to say on that subject," The blue cladded turtle groans, trying to hide his horrendously flushed face as he flops his head back down. His voice is muffled against the pillow as he continues, "If I say 'yes' will you let me sleep?"

The orange cladded turtle cocks a brow at the latter and states plainly, "Dude, I was just saying that he's kind of well, you know, a pain in the shell. You two have always butted heads. I don't know what you think I was going for... But whatever," He shakes his head in dismissal. The orange cladded turtle bows solemnly, nodding as he slowly extends his finger forward,"...I'll pinkie swear."

Frowning, Leonardo mentions, lifting his head so that only his eyes are visible, "We don't really have pinkies..."

"So I've been reminded - Uh, green, pudgy, finger-thing that looks kinda like a celery stick swear?"

"Sure, why not," The blue cladded turtle puffs out in annoyance, offering his own finger forward, which the latter quickly links together with his.

The orange cladded turtle gives the latter a slight closed-lip smile, then folds his arms over his yellow platted chest. After a beat, he asks, "Now, if I could just get that in writing - " He's cut short as the latter smacks a hand over his younger brother's face and sends him stumbling back away from the bed with ease," What, dude? Raph is never gonna believe me unless I get you to sign on the dotted line! Shell, you might have to sign in your own blood to convince him, right, Leo? Leo? Leo?!"

Leonardo's head had lolled back to the side and thick rivulets of crimson blood were oozing from his nostrils, running down the side of his face. His eyelids are slack but are still open a hair and his lips move frantically, but no audible noise escapes them. Michelangelo slips his hand under the latter's head, cupping his cheek as he attempts to shift his head slightly forward. Then he bundles up a handful of the sheets and quickly presses the balled up layer of cloth against his older brother's gushing nostrils.

"Raph, Don, April, Casey, help! Help, please! Something's wrong," Michelangelo cries out, his voice cracking as his bottom lip juts out, "Hold on, bro. You're gonna be okay. Everything is gonna be okay! Please, just please...please..."

Leonardo weakly shakes his head and hoarsely utters, "K-Kit...Ki...Kitsune..." Then his head goes entirely limp in his younger brother's hands and his eyes fall shut as a final, surging breath exits him.

April is the first to come racing into the room, her eyes blown wide and her lips parted to let panicked breathes come surging out. She immediately runs her hands down the blue cladded turtle's face, gently patting his cheek as she attempts to even her breathing. She gathers more of the sheets from around his body, attempting to slow the steady flow of blood from his nostrils. Then she gasps as his hand abruptly catches her wrist and then just like that, the vision hit him fast, unmerciful, leaving her fighting nearly unbearable pain. She cries out grasping at her forehead and feels the latter's fingers tighten around her wrist.

April had seen darkness before, the kind that makes our street like an old fashioned photograph, everything a shade of grey. This isn't like that. This is the darkness that robs you of one of their best sense and replaces it with a paralyzing fear. Leonardo is standing eerily stiff and unmoving in the darkness, his blue mask tails waving behind his head in the slow, easy breeze that flits across the space. Abruptly fox waltzes in front of the image of the blue cladded turtle and three tails run across his legs as the creature cocks its head at him. A soft glow emits from the animal, giving warmth and light in the darkness. Then the mutant turtle turns his head and his mask nearly blends in with the penetrating darkness that surrounds them, and his once royal blue hues were a startling dark brown. They were a deep, earthy brown - the color of the earth after torrential rains. But there was something else in them, something frigid and still. Then the turtle's lips melted into a dark, malicious sneer accompanied by a cold laugh. Her eyes dart to a symbol engraved onto his belt made visible by the blood-red threads stitched into place - the symbol of the Foot Clan.

April comes gasping back into reality, and stumbles away from Leonardo, her back slamming against Casey's chest. "Red, what happened? You okay," His voice was clouded with worry.

"I'm... I'm fine," April mumbled, but to her chagrin, she found that her trembling voice did little to convince her friends that her statement was true.

"You look like shit," Raphael comments dryly, holding the wadded up sheet against his older brother's nostrils, keeping his head upright in the crook of his arm. His hand absently rests on the side of the blue cladded turtle's cheek as if he didn't even realize he was doing it, "You better stay down for a little while. Let Don take a look at Leo and you're next in line."

Feeling too weak to object the human girl quickly sat on the edge of the bed, taking the blue cladded turtle's hand, her fingers running over the knuckles.  "I had a vision."

"We figured that much," Casey interjects, "What'd you see?"

April hesitates, her hand firmly grasping the blue cladded turtle's as she shakily exhales and utters," Uh, nothing. Nothing that I can remember..." She diverts her gaze and continues," It doesn't matter anyway. We just need to help him now."

'We'll focus on him now, the friend and brother that may leave us yet again, and deal with his future later.'