Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There, in the shadows… that's where they're waiting for us, watching our every move…

The winter darkness is still deep at this predawn hour, and there is no moon above to cast even the slightest illumination between the buildings that line this alleyway. Perhaps this group thought that would be an advantage to them while they were planning their ambush. It's a shame for them that my brothers and I grew up in an even deeper darkness below ground… it's a shame for them that my family has been fighting side-by-side for longer than most of these younger ninjas have even been alive.

Why do they still come to fight us, after all these years? Do they think that we are weak now, even a full decade after our sensei passed on? Are they just trying to prove themselves, earn accolades from their masters? Do they still seek revenge for the death of the tyrant they followed so many years ago?

No, it doesn't matter why… the outcome will always be the same. They will lose after an all too brief battle, and some of them will die… while my brothers and I live on to fight another day.

I give a signal. Raphael slides into the darkness between the buildings and I see a faint glint of light as he draws his sai from his belt. Mikey goes vertical, leaping soundlessly onto a fire escape. Don steps to the side, crouching behind a dumpster. I draw my swords slowly, silently… then I move ahead, into the flickering light of a door-side sconce.

Holding my katana out before me, I offer a challenge.

The enemy answers.

A shuriken flies out of the pitch blackness and I move aside in time to let it glide past me and embed itself in the door; then a blur of movement comes at me from the side. I slash into the night and the ninja dodges my attack before coming back in kind. As I duck below his sword I thrust forward with my own. I feel little resistance as my blade pushes through his body. He doesn't cry out as I gut him… a true shadow warrior until the end, despite how quickly that end came.

I withdraw my bloody katana from his stomach, then I bow, welcoming the next challenger. Will no one else show themselves? I have my answer in the sound of my brothers' battle cry and the ringing of metal against metal.

Four of the enemy attack me and I jump above two, kicking them to the ground while still in the air. The others are ready with nunchaku when I land. I run my blade through one of them and he falls back, screaming. Not so much the silent warrior as the first one. I leave my sword in him as the other ninja swings his chucks at me. I grab the free end, wrenching them out of his grip and bringing them back around at his head. There is a hollow thump as it contacts his skull. He collapses to the ground and I throw his weapon down beside him.

Two down, two to go.

I pull my sword out of the dead ninja's chest and spin, kicking towards where the two I had knocked down are standing once more. I hit one, but the other dodges, then he gets a good shot in on me and I fall to the ground. A second later I am back on my feet, slashing my blade through his skin. He clutches at his sliced chest and I hit him in the head with the hilt of my sword. He's down, but maybe not dead.

The last ninja is writhing on the ground, holding to his side where my foot contacted. I pick him up by the front of his shirt and pull off his hood. It's just a damn kid… sent by more experienced warriors as fodder. He's terrified.

"Leave," I tell him, getting in his face. "Now!"

I push him back onto the ground and he scrambles away into the night.

Around me the sounds of battle have ceased. One by one, my brothers step out of the darkness. They're bloody, bruised… victorious.

Raphael spins his sais and thrusts them into his belt, wiping the blood off of them as they slide under the leather. He smiles. It's been a long time since he had a good fight, and the satisfaction shows all over his face.

Michelangelo looks to the two ninjas that I had knocked on the head. He kneels beside them, checking them out. He turns to me and nods slightly. Those ones will survive. Maybe.

I hear Donatello let out a long breath as he taps the end of his bo on the asphalt. I look over at him and I freeze.

Someone is standing right beside him. An emaciated stranger in a long jacket… he has a thick frazzled beard, and his graying hair is tied back into a tail. I step forward with my swords held tight in my grip.

"Don!" I yell. "Watch out!"

Donatello spins around, his eyes passing right over where the man is standing.

"Watch out for what?" he asks.

The stranger lowers his head and I bound forward, swiping my blade at him.

"Hey!" Donnie says, ducking. "What the hell are you doing?"

How… how did I miss? I look around for the man, but he is gone.

"Where did he go?" I holler. "Did any of you see where he went?"

"See where who went?" Mike asks.

"That guy! The old guy that was standing next to Donnie!"

Raph takes a step towards me. "There ain't nobody here but us, Leo," he says, then he motions at the fallen ninjas on the ground. "Well, us an' this group of losers."

This doesn't make sense… how could they not have seen him?

I squint into the shadows, strain my ears to listen for footsteps or breathing. There's nothing… no trace of the old man, no sign that he had ever been here.

But he was here… I know he was here. I know I didn't just imagine him… I couldn't have…

Chapter Text

Raph lets out a small grunt. "Leo, did you get knocked on the head or somethin'?"

I step away from Don, still searching the shadows for the old man. "Are you telling me that none of you saw him?" I yell, my voice echoing off the buildings around us.

"There's nobody next to me," Don says.

"Not now, but there was somebody there thirty seconds—" I turn to him and stop. The stranger is there once more, standing now behind my brother… right behind him. "Turn around!"

Donatello spins in a full circle, but he still doesn't seem to see the man. How? He's close enough that Donnie should be able to feel his breath…

The stranger looks in my direction, but not quite into my eyes… then he puts his hand on Don's throat. My brother brushes at his touch as if chasing away a bug… his hand seems to pass through the stranger's own.

In an instant, the man is gone… as a light killed by the flip of a switch. For a moment I can't process what I have just seen, then I grip my swords tighter.

"He just touched you! He just touched your damn throat!"

"My throat?" Don says.

"I know you felt it! You tried to push his hand away!"

"I didn't feel anything touch me. I just had an itch."

Mike walks up to me and looks into my eyes as he feels the top of my head, searching for an injury.

"I didn't get hit on the damn head!" I holler, shoving him away from me.

I take in a deep breath as my brothers stare at me. They are uneasy, agitated… worried about how I am behaving, about what I am saying. They probably think I'm crazy. Hell… maybe I am.

Looking to the east, I see that the sky is beginning to lighten. There is no time left now to stay here above-ground, to try and solve this mystery. I return my swords to my back.

"You know what…" I snap. "Just… forget it… forget this whole damn night! Let's just… go home."

I wave my hand, bidding them to follow as I lead the way back towards the shadows between the nearby buildings. I just want to put this evening behind me, clear my mind…

Wait…

My heart quickens. I don't hear anything, I don't see anything… I sense something… someone.

The others seem to feel it, too. They all tense up and Raphael draws his sai. There is someone there, hiding in what remains of the early morning darkness… someone left on his feet. Not the stranger I saw… someone else. Another ninja, an enemy left from the fight… left as a contingency…

This one is good, we nearly missed him.

I look at my brothers. Mike and Raph signal with their eyes… the enemy is not within their area of reach. Don is not so certain. He takes a step towards the shadows, then turns to face me…

A blade flashes… too quick for me to react, to far away for me to intervene. A ninja leaps out of the darkness behind Donatello and puts a knife to his throat, pulling it across. Blood pours out of my brother's neck and he falls forward onto the ground.

"Donnie!" Mike cries out.

Raph screams as he jumps at the man, parrying the ninja's bloody knife with his sai and stabbing him in the stomach, once… then again…

Mike rushes to Don's side and kneels, a moment later I am there as well…

I look over to see that Raphael is still running the enemy through, over and over… each thrust digging deeper into the man's gut. He pushes the sai into the ninja one last time and the blade goes clear through his back, then he throws the man to the ground and kicks him in the head. I turn back to Don as Mike flips him onto his shell…

Oh, Jesus…

Donnie's throat is sliced clean through… I can see the hollow tube of his trachea, the raw red of his muscles. Blood pulses out from his open arteries, flows from his veins…

Raph falls to his knees and presses his hand to the wound… blood wells up from between his fingers… it doesn't help, it can't help… we can't do anything… the injury is too severe, the cut too deep…

My brother… I'm losing my brother…

I pull him up into my arms as Mike squeezes his hand… Donnie stares up at me, tries to speak… no sound comes…

There is so much pain in his eyes, so much fear… he knows… he knows he is going to die…  he's trying to hold on, trying to fight… trying not to leave us…

"…It's okay, Donnie…" I whisper, holding him closer to me. "…You can let go…"

His eyes turn towards Mike, Raph… then he looks up at me one more time and his lids ease shut. His tense body relaxes in my arms… his blood stops forcing its way through Raph's fingers… his tight grip on Mike's hand eases…

I look up at the others. Their heads are hung forward… none of us can speak, none of us know what to say… none of can find the breath in our lungs to offer any words…

Raphael pulls his trembling touch away from Donnie's throat, then doubles his bloody fingers into a fist as his other hand tightens around his sai. He is shaking… his eyes are tightly closed…

Tears roll freely down Mike's cheeks, dripping onto the bloody concrete. He takes a quivering breath and releases Don's hand, then he reaches to the side and his fingers curl around Don's bo staff. He holds it to his chest, desperately clinging to it like a lifeline…

I look to the sky. Morning is creeping nearer now…

There is nothing left to do here, nothing I can do… nothing but struggle to my feet and lift our fallen brother into my arms. His head flops back, tearing what is left of the skin on his throat. I adjust him so he leans forward, his cheek against my shoulder. He is heavy, but a weight I will bear…

This is a weight I will bear for the rest of my life…

Chapter Text

We stand now before Donatello's grave, his tomb… grand words for something that is no more than an alcove of brick, deep-set into the wall.

After laying him within, we stacked more bricks around the entrance, wedging them in as tightly as possible then smearing them with mud so that he will not easily be found. He should be safe here. This is an area where humans seldom come, lying beyond even the oldest parts of the sewer, near to a river that was forced underground over a century ago.

We found this location when we were young, deciding even way back then that this would be where the four of us would someday be buried. But it was supposed to be all of us… we had always planned on dying together, and we never actually believed that we would not all be laid to rest at the same time. Though who would bury us here if we had died together, we never considered. And now I can't help but wonder which of us will be the last… which of us will not be laid beside his brothers, because no one remains to bury him…

Many hours have passed since Donatello left us, and though I have not had the will to check the time, I know that above ground the short winter day is turning towards late afternoon. Our farewells have all been said, but none of us want to leave our brother here alone. It would be so final to turn our backs and walk away now… but we must, so we do.

As we walk home in silence, I try to hold my head up, to be the leader, the elder brother that they need now more than ever. I cannot help but feel that I am failing, that I have failed. My legs are numb, as if I am not guiding my own steps… my eyes will not focus, my breath feels foreign on my lips.

Mikey has barely spoken a word since it happened. He clung tightly to Donnie's bo staff as we made our way to the grave site… and it was his hand that laid the weapon at our brother's side before we set the first enclosing bricks. It is heartbreaking, how Mike seems so small now, so diminished. Our childhood may be far in our past, but at this moment he is little again… helpless against the grief.

Raph's knuckles are busted, bruised… the skin on them is broken from the many times he has punched the walls today. Earlier he spoke of justice… which is often a poorly disguised term for revenge. I forbade it, ordered him not to seek out the enemy, not to make any moves unless Mikey and I are with him. I hope he obeys me, I hope he listens. God, just let him listen.

We get home and lay our weapons on the table by the door, as we have always done. My swords stick to their scabbards as I try to draw them out, the blood on them having thickened over the hours. I set them down, anyway, not bothering to clean the metal. Mikey doesn't even look at the table… he just drops his nunchaku there on the way past. Raphael hesitates before laying down his sai… he doesn't want to let them go. The collection seems incomplete without Don's bo staff there.

Each of us go our own way, giving the others only brief glances and no words. I am still covered with Donatello's blood, so I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I don't know if my brothers are going to wash themselves, and I will not take long in case they want a turn. The water feels odd… cold, although I have the hot tap on full. I watch the redness dissolve away and swirl down the drain. It seems wrong, as if I am washing Don's last touch from my skin. I turn off the water and dry myself. There is still some blood on me, and it rubs onto the white towel. I throw it into the hamper and walk out of the bathroom.

I stop for a moment to peek in past Mike's half-open door. He is lying on his bed with his shell to me. I am sure he is not sleeping, but I do not want to disturb him, so I move on to Raph's room. I ease open his door and see that he is not in his bed. For a moment I panic, then I look over to find him sitting on the floor in the corner, hugging his legs to his chest while his forehead rests on his knees. I quietly shut his door, then move on to my own room.

Lying down on my bed, I put my hands behind my head and stare up at the ceiling. All day my thoughts have been wandering to the stranger, the phantom that I had seen… but it is only now that I have a chance to really think about him, about what his presence meant. I know now that he really had been there… that he really did put his hand on Donatello's throat, condemning him to die.

The question of why, though, goes unanswered. The stranger saw me, knew that I saw him. Why did he show me what he did? I wonder what I could have done, how I could have changed what happened…

Exhaustion sets in and I feel myself start to drift. I let my eyes close…

I open my eyes… I am standing. Where am I?

Wait… I recognize this place. It's the alley where Donnie died. Why am I here in the daylight? No, it's not daylight… it's some type of twilight, gloaming. The atmosphere around me is pale and luminous, but the sky is dark. There is a moon above… full, hazy, haloed by white. I cannot see any stars.

The air is cold, thick like water… there is no wind, no slight breeze. It is truly, deeply silent here… I cannot hear a sound, even my own breathing…

Am I breathing? It doesn't feel as if air is filling my lungs, but I can smell a stench around me… I turn my face to the ground, and at once I realize that it is the smell of decay, of death.

Dozens of bodies lay sprawled out along the alley. The asphalt is covered in blood, dried in spots, congealed in others, and in places still flowing slowly from some of the lifeless corpses. I am unable to move my feet, and I look down to see that I am mired up to my ankles in the blood. I turn to the side in disgust…

I wish I hadn't…

Donatello is there, propped up against the side of a building. He is not moving, but the blood still flows from his throat. There is something in his eyes. Life? He still has life in him here, in this place. A thought whispers to me that he is aware, that must endure this, that he must live through the dying…

There is a motion at the edge of my vision, the only movement here save the flowing of blood. I look up and the stranger walks towards me. He isn't looking at me, but at the bodies that cover the ground. He steps slowly around them, then he stops and stares for a time at Donatello before finally turning his eyes to me… he does not allow our gazes to meet.

He opens his mouth and speaks words that do not emerge. Does he know that I cannot hear him? He points at something. At me? No, behind me…

Twisting around, I look into a stagnant puddle of water untainted by the blood around it. The water is arched over with shadow, cracked concrete reflecting in the surface. An ache rises into my chest when I see that within the depths lies one of Raphael's sai…

I spin back around toward the man. I open my mouth to demand to know what he is saying, what he is telling me. My own words are silence, even as I scream as loud as I can. He steps closer and folds his hands before him, keeping his eyes turned to the ground. Why will he not look me in the eye? Is it regret? Is he asking for forgiveness?

No… not forgiveness.

He looks up at the sky, then points back towards the puddle. He speaks to me without words, whispers something in my mind… something about time… he is telling me that I am running out of time…

Chapter Text

Suddenly, I am falling… I wait and wait for the end, but I never hit the ground…

There is softness below me, a warmth in the air around me, no lingering smell of death. I open my eyes, and for a moment, I do not know where I am; then I sit straight up in bed and look around my room. I search the darkened corners for the stranger, but he is not here.

How long was I asleep? I look to the clock on the wall and see that it is close to midnight. My heart races and my fingers curl into tight fists as the dream replays in my mind…

But no, it wasn't a dream. It couldn't have been just a dream… it was a warning…

A warning about what?

Raphael…

Jumping to my feet, I sprint to Raph's room. His bed is empty, he is no longer seated in the corner. I see marks on his wall that were not there before… blood where he has been punching the plaster. I run through the lair, searching for him… I check the kitchen, the bathroom, the infirmary… when I get to the living room, I look to the table by the door and I freeze.

His sai are gone. He did what I feared… he disobeyed my direct order, left to seek out the enemy on his own. I should have known he would do this… I should have stayed awake… I should have tried harder to make him listen… why didn't he listen?

How long has he been gone? It can't be too late, the warning can't have been for nothing…

I rush to Mike's room and throw open the door. "Come on!"

Mike jumps, roused from his sleep. "What?" he asks, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong?"

I head towards the door to the lair without answering, and as I grab my swords Mike comes up behind and touches my shoulder.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"Raph took off," I say, sheathing my still-bloody katanas. "We have to find him!"

Mike takes up his own weapons and follows me into the tunnel. "Where do you think he went?"

"I don't know," I admit, fighting for my breath as we race towards the surface. "All I know is what I saw!"

"What do you mean saw?"

I resign myself to sounding like I have gone mad. "The man I saw before Donnie died… I saw him again," I tell him. "He warned me that something is going to happen to Raph!"

"How did he warn you?" Mike asks. "What did he say?"

Does he actually believe me? After what happened to Donnie, maybe he feels that he must.

"He didn't say anything! He showed me Raph's sai!"

I can't say more… I fear that if I do I will be unable to stop myself from telling him everything about that horrible place… about Donatello being there, dying… dying still…

We get to the street and I stop. Where do we go from here? Where should we look? I search my thoughts, my memories of what was shown to me, trying to parse out any details, any clues…

I see the puddle, Raph's sai, the overarching concrete reflecting in the surface of the water… I recognize it somehow. I know, I know…

"The culvert…" I say out loud.

I run on ahead as Mike follows. It seems to take forever before we get to the river, and there we slow our pace. We draw our weapons and step along carefully, following my silently bestowed directions, watching all the while for the enemy to appear.

We come to the culvert and I halt on the shore. I cannot see past the shadows at the entrance from here… I can't take another step forward. My feet are fixed in place, I hold my breath… looking down, I find many footprints and the signs of something being dragged across the sand. 

From the corner of my eye I watch as Mike looks at me, then he turns towards the culvert and steps close, peering inside. He lets out a yell as he drops his chucks and collapses onto his knees in the shallow water, reaching into the darkness…

My own knees weaken and I stumble back, my swords falling from my grip…

This can't be real… I must be still dreaming…

I close my eyes… I listen for Raphael's voice somewhere beyond this nightmare. The only voice I hear is Mikey's… wavering, desperate…

"Leo… help me! Help me get him out!"

My eyes open and I see Mike still reaching into the darkness. I step near, kneel down… I can barely see Raph… he is lying face-down, motionless in the murky water. I close my eyes again and reach in blindly, wrapping my hand around his cold wrist.

I hesitate, still hoping that I will awaken… then Mike and I pull Raphael into the frail light. We drag him to the sandy bank and Mikey places a finger on his throat… searching for a pulse, for some sign of life… but as I stare into Raph's wide-open eyes, I know that he will find none… that there is no life to find… that we are too late.

Mike lowers his head and he begin to shake. He falls across Raphael's chest and his fingers clutch at the sand, then he wraps his arms around our brother's neck, holding him tightly…

I force my gaze to Raph's arms, his legs, his face. His pale skin is unmarred by blade or blunt, save from the battle of yesterday. I don't understand… how did they best him? How did they defeat him without leaving a mark?

There is only one sai on his belt. Where is the other one? I turn back around to the culvert, making my way to the shadows on weakened legs. I crouch down and look within, seeing there the same reflection of cracked concrete as in my dream… and there, too, Raphael's sai in the water.

Reaching inside, I pull out the weapon, then I look again to the one that is still on his belt. He hadn't gotten a chance to draw them… to even begin defending himself. The footprints on the shore tell me a story that I do not want to know… that Raphael had tracked the enemy here, that they had found him first… that he had been outnumbered, held under… drowned in the river, then dragged to the culvert and left behind…

Screams of the enemy's lack of honor echo through my mind, but they do not make it to my lips. I cannot speak at all, can barely breathe. People like Raph don't die like this… not without a fight…

But I know he did fight…

He could hold his breath for so long… so damn long. The minutes must have crept by as they held him under… his lungs must have burned, he must have stopped struggling at some point… to save his energy, to save his breath… maybe to try to trick the enemy into thinking that he was already dead… until he could not hold it anymore, until he drew in a gasp, until he felt the water fill his lungs…

I grip Raph's sai so tightly that I feel the skin on my knuckles pull taut, then I ease my hold and slide the weapon into my belt. I know that Mikey will not be thinking about his nunchaku, so I reach down and pick them up, easing them into place beside the sai. My feet then drag along the shore as I make my way to my own swords, and I look to the sand that is clinging to the sticky blood before I slide them into their scabbards… I do not care if the sand damages the blades… what does it matter, after all?

Walking over to Mike, I place a hand on his shoulder. He jumps, then looks up at me. He is gasping, scarcely drawing half-breaths. I nod to him… it's time to go. We cannot stay, cannot take too long getting Raphael below ground… we cannot grieve for him here, in the open… where the enemy still might be lurking about, searching for the next of us to claim…

Mike gives me a hesitant nod back, then he eases his arms under Raph. As he lifts him, river water runs out of our brother's mouth… and more tears course down Mike's cheeks. I keep lookout as we make our way slowly back towards the sewers, and still all my thoughts repeat, why, why, why…?

Why was I was warned before Donatello died? Why was I warned before Raphael died? Why was I warned at all, if there was nothing I could do to stop it? If there was nothing I could do to save them?

I turn to look at Mikey, watching his shoulders heave as he stumbles forward with his burden… and I fear now that any further warnings I am given might also come just a moment too late…

Chapter Text

I have not slept in the two days since Raph died… or has it been three? Time has been a blur since then, since Mikey and I laid him to rest in an alcove near Don's. I cannot recall the whole of the burial, but I vaguely remember Mikey putting Raph's weapons in his hands, insisting that he would not want to let them go… I remember not bothering to place my own swords on the table by the door when Mikey and I at last got home… I remember how it struck me just how quiet it is here now…

The lack of sleep is beginning to wear on me. My head is in a fog, I can hear the rushing of blood in my ears, it takes effort to focus my eyes enough to see clearly. My limbs feel false, imaginary… my fingers sometimes refuse to grip tightly to whatever I try to hold. Earlier, Mike asked me if I'd eaten yet today… I told him that I hadn't, that I couldn't… I didn't tell him the whole truth, that I couldn't even remember the last time I ate.

I know this isn't normal, it isn't healthy… but the choice has not been my own. I've been trying to sleep, to clear my mind… but every time I close my eyes, I see my brothers' faces, hear their voices. At first, it was only Don and Raph visiting me in those moments, and in that I found at least a little comfort… but last night Mikey joined them there in my mind… and it had shocked me so much that I rushed to his room, shaking him awake for fear that he had died in his sleep.

The rest of my evening had been spent wandering around our all-too-empty home… remembering the last time I'd seen Don use his tools, the last time I'd heard Raph grumble that there was nothing good to eat in the refrigerator, the last time that all of us had gathered in the living room to watch some stupid show together… and it had occurred to me that there will be a last time for everything, for all of us… a last meal, a last word, a last time seeing the sun…

Eventually, I forced myself to take a shower, but when I looked down at the water I imagined redness swirling into the drain as it had after Donnie died… then I saw my feet mired in the blood as in the dream that had led Mikey and me to finding Raphael. It took all my effort to convince myself that it wasn't real, and when at last I did the water came clear again. I stumbled out of the tub then, and for the last ten minutes I have been watching myself stare back from my reflection in the bathroom mirror. In my eyes I see no clarity, only the barest traces of lucidity… I wonder if I am losing my mind…

A movement in the mirror draws my attention and I shift my eyes to look. The stranger is there, standing in a shadowed corner with his head bowed. I don't know why, but I am not surprised he is here. It was almost as if I was expecting him, though I wasn't aware of it. I don't turn around, feeling that if I look directly at him he will vanish, that he will fade away. He folds his hands, then he steps out into the light… stopping only when he reaches my side. He does not so much as glance at my reflection, though I try to will him to meet my gaze.

For a few seconds we both stand fast… then he slowly reaches out and places his gnarled hand on the crook of my elbow. His touch is warm, but no more than a breeze… nothing solid, nothing real. I feel something like the flowing of hot water in my veins, and at once, I realize… I understand… the warning this time is for my own life.

"Will Mikey be okay?" I ask, my voice hollow in my ears.

The man remains steadfastly silent. I blink, and he is gone.

For a long moment I wait, wondering if he will come back… wondering if he was ever really here… then I turn and stumble to the kitchen. Mike is sitting at the table with his head resting on his folded arms. He looks up at me as I enter.

"What's wrong?" he asks. When I don't answer, he rises to his feet. "Leo?"

I take hold of his shoulders, then I pull him into an embrace.

"It's me," I tell him, barely aloud. "It's me this time…"

"Wait!" He pushes me back. "Did you… did you see something again?"

A throbbing begins to grow in my brow. "The stranger…" I tell him, rubbing at the ache. "The man I told you about… he touched my arm."

"Your arm?" Mike asks, shaking his head. "I don't understand. Why would he… what does that even mean?"

"I don't know," I admit. "I only know what I saw… what I felt."

"You felt it?"

I take a shuddering breath. "Remember when Donnie…" I stop when my voice cracks, then I clear my throat and continue. "Remember when I said I saw the man touch Donnie… how I was sure that Donnie felt it? He did… he must have. I felt it, too… I can't explain it… it was like…"

My words fail, so I show Mikey the vein at the crook of my elbow, where I can still feel heat flowing beneath my skin. Mike places a finger on the spot… his mouth moves slightly, but whatever he is trying to say does not quite form. He fixes me with a gentle stare, and I can see his eyes beginning to well up with tears.

I wish that I could give him some comfort at this moment, but even if I could make myself speak, I do not know what more to say. I want to tell him not to worry about me… that all things end… that I'm not afraid to die…

But I am afraid… I'm afraid of what will happen to him after I'm gone. I know that he is strong, I know that he can take care of himself… but to be alone here, with nothing but memories and grief… with reminders everywhere he looks of the brothers that left before him. I can't let that happen to him, I can't just leave him behind…

If I could just sleep for a little while… maybe I could go back to that place, maybe I could find some kind of answer, maybe I could find out why these messages have been given to me at all… find out why I have been warned about things that I cannot change. Then I could tell Mikey, at least, what I learn… I could give him some closure, some comfort…

The finger that Mike is pressing to my vein begins to shake, and he wraps his hand around my arm. I can feel my pulse against his palm as the heat of the stranger's touch moves now deeper, as it spreads across my skin… as it works its way into my mind… as my thoughts whisper that there is something I haven't considered…

And suddenly… suddenly I know…

I know what I have to do…

Chapter Text

I take hold of Mike's hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Come on," I say to him. "I need your help."

My grip on him loosens, then I turn around and leave the kitchen, knowing that he will follow as I make my way to the infirmary. I pause in the doorway, then go on to the sink, kneeling down and reaching deep into the cupboard there, bringing out a familiar wooden puzzle box. I set the box down on the counter and wipe the dust off the top, then I open the trick lock and slide out the side panel, revealing two small brown bottles and a collection of darts within.

I hear Mike enter the room behind me as I pull one of the bottles out and look at the label. This is it, this is the right one… the one I need. I open it and set the cork down on the counter as Mike steps up to my side.

"Leo, what's—" he begins, then he draws in a quick breath. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What I have to do, Mikey…"

I take one of the darts out of the box and dip the tip into the thick liquid. That's all I need… a drop is all it will take. To use any more than that is taking too much of a risk.

"What do you mean what you have to do? Why the hell are you even getting into that stuff?"

I hesitate for a moment before holding my arm out. His eyes first narrow in confusion as they wander to the crook of my elbow, then they widen in shock.

"No… you can't…" he says as he looks back at me. "You can't be serious… why would you—"

"Because I need answers," I say, holding up the bottle. "And this is the only way to get them."

"What answers are you going to get by killing yourself?" he snaps.

"Mikey, I'm not—"

"No! Just… stop!"

He tries to grab the dart from me, and as I shift to the side the bottle falls from my other hand, shattering on the floor. He jumps back, then we both look down at the poison spreading slowly across the tiles.

"I'm not killing myself, Mikey," I tell him as calmly as I am able. "I'm going somewhere. The man… the stranger, he's in there, in that place. I have to talk to him…"

"What place?" he yells. "What the hell are you even talking about?"

That's right… I never told him about all that I had seen… about the twilight cityscape, about the blood and the bodies, about smell and the silence, about the life in Donnie's eyes.

I want to tell him. I want to tell him everything. He deserves to know… but now is not the time.

"You have to trust me," I say instead. "I know what I'm doing."

He shakes his head. "You're out of your damn mind…"

No… no, I'm not. I know now… I know I'm not crazy. I'm just… I'm tired. I need to sleep… I need to sleep so I can get some answers, find out the reason behind all of this. How can I make him understand?

"I told you," I say, taking his hand in mine. "I'm not—"

Mike pulls away from me. "You know what that stuff does!" he hollers, pointing at the broken bottle on the floor. "What it did to Splinter! What we did to—"

He chokes on his words, then hangs his head… and my memory wanders back, ten years into our past, when we five became four, when our master left us.

It was Splinter's choice, his final wish; an entreaty from a dying father who didn't want to be a burden on his sons, who didn't want to wither away… who wanted to die on his own terms. It was a request that we carried out reluctantly, but with honor. A request that Mikey never got over having to fulfill…

And what I am asking of him now… I hate doing this, I hate that I have to ask this of him… but I have nobody else…

"Please, Mikey," I say softly. "I need your help."

A resolution shows in the tensing of his jaw. "I'm not going to help you kill yourself, Leo…"

"No, you're not," I agree. "You're going to bring me back."

I pull the second bottle out of the box and hold it out to him, and a realization creeps across his face. The poison on the dart, the elixir that we used to release our father from his pain, to assist him in his passing… in small doses, it is meant to feign death, not cause it. Not immediately, anyway. It takes time for real death to take hold, and in that time there is a chance.

"I'm just going to sleep," I continue. "Just a deep sleep. And I need you to wake me up."

He stares hard at the bottle, then tentatively takes it from me. He knows, as well as I do… this countermeasure, this antidote… it's what he needs in order to neutralize the poison after… after what, I don't know. After I find some answers, I hope.

I step over to the drug chest, bringing out a wrapped syringe. I pass it to him, then I tap the top of the bottle that is in his other hand.

"Don't skimp," I tell him. "Use as much of this as you think it'll take. All of it, if you have to. I'm coming back to you, Mikey… I promise."

Mike lets out a shaky breath. "I can't let you do this, Leo."

"I have to do this," I say as I walk to the infirmary bed, then pull myself up to sitting on the mattress. "I can't explain how I know… but I know I have to do this…"

He steps up to me, setting the bottle and syringe down beside my leg. "No, you don't," he says as tears start to course down his face. "Leo, please… I don't want to lose you, too…"

Looking deep into his eyes, I place a hand on his cheek… I try to tell him without words that trust him, that I know he will do what needs to be done, that he will do what I asked him to do… that he will save me. His shoulders start to shake and I set the dart down on the bed before wrapping my arms around him, holding him to my chest.

I wish… I wish there was some other way, but I don't know what else to do, I don't know how else to make sense of everything that has happened to us, of everything I have seen. This decision is set so deeply in my mind, I feel that I could not go against it even if I tried… even if I wanted to try… something… something is not letting me want to try…

And if I am wrong… if there really is nothing there, on the other side… if there's no city, no stranger, no masses of dead… then when he brings me back, I can tell him that… I can let him know that beyond all this, there is only peace. And maybe… maybe in that, we'll both be able to find some comfort.

I see a slight movement across the room… I see the stranger by the counter, looking down at the broken glass bottle at his feet. He lifts his head slightly towards me and I feel the warmth in my veins grow… I hear a whisper in my mind, cementing my conviction. Mike looks up at me, then glances at where I am staring. I know he doesn't see the man… he doesn't see the stranger nod at me in silent assent.

"Leo?" Mikey says as he looks to me once more.

I give him a soft smile. "Just don't let me fall too far."

His eyes widen and I push him back, then I grab the dart and stab it into the crook of my arm…

"Leo!" Mikey cries out, reaching for me. "Leo! No!"

Mikey pulls the dart out of my skin… but already the warmth in my veins begins to burn… it moves into my chest… my head…

So fast… it's happening so fast… I didn't know it would act so quickly…

Night closes in on the corners of my vision… I see my brother's face before me… his eyes are set on my own as darkness steals my sight…

His arms wrap around me as my body begins to shake, to shiver… my legs jerk… I hear the shattering of glass…

"…No!…" Mikey gasps, his voice growing distant, faint…

My limbs weaken… I am barely aware as he lays me back onto the bed… as his finger presses to my throat… I feel his touch on my skin as it grows numb…

"…Jesus… Leo!…"

His words settle into the background of my mind… they lose meaning… they shift into silence as I fade… as I fall…

…

Chapter Text

My life does not flash before my eyes, there is no beam of light to guide me on, no long tunnel for me to follow… there is simply the moment between when my vision goes dark and when I find myself lying on the hard ground, staring up into the cold and starless sky. I have never known a silence so deep, so complete.

Questions at once fill my mind, and I realize that my thoughts are more coherent than they have been in a long while… that for the first time in days, I am not wracked with exhaustion or desperate for sleep. But though my mind is clear, my body is frozen… I can't breathe, I can't move…

But I do breathe, I do move.

A deep gasp fills my lungs with fetid air, and I grimace at the stench of rot and decay. Harnessing my will, I sit up and look around to find that this place seems different than the alleyway I remember… but I know that it is just another part of the same city.

Bodies surround me… crumpled upon the street, sprawled out on stairways, seated against walls, draped over the sills of open windows. Some reveal the proof of what brought them here — gunshot wounds, twisted necks, burned skin, the ravages of age or hunger. Others show no signs of how they died… and I wonder if this man had a heart attack in his sleep, or if that woman succumbed after a long illness, or whether those two people lying so close together chose to meet their ends in each other's arms or if they each died killing the other.

Once again the flow of blood is the only movement I see, though there is so much more here than there had been in the alley. It streams from open wounds, trickles along the facades of the brownstones, cascades over the steps, then joins the deep red river running down the center of the road. I lift my face to trace its path and I see the stranger walking towards me.

I struggle to my feet, and though I expect to be held in place, I take a step in his direction, my bare feet now striding atop the tide of blood as if it were solid earth. We stop before one another and I look him over. I see that what I had at first thought to be a long jacket is actually a frayed robe, held closed by a thin rope that is cinched tightly around his gaunt waist. His cheeks are hollow, his lips dry, his skin pale and deep-set with wrinkles. His hands are once again clasped in front of him and his eyes are lowered, still not allowing our gazes to meet.

He says nothing, and I search my mind for the questions that had just been inundating me… but for now, I can recall only one.

"Is this a dream?"

The flat sound of my own voice shocks me. I hadn't actually expected my words to come.

"I am afraid not," he replies.

The man's language is foreign, though still I understand what he is saying. His tone is soothing, like a grandfather speaking to a child… but his words carry a certain solemnity.

"Am I dead, then?" I ask, dreading the answer.

"Not yet. But soon, I think."

I glance at the crook of my arm. Has Mikey yet injected the antidote into my veins, or has too much time already gone by?

Does time even work the same here as in the living world? Do the people around me feel it passing while they lie frozen within themselves? There is lucidity in their wide-open eyes… awareness of where they are, of their lives being over. Can they still feel what brought them here? Their wounds and ailments?

I wonder how many here met their ends upon my blades… I wonder if they can still feel my steel beneath their skin, if they damned me with their final thoughts… if that damnation was deserved for all the lives I have taken over the years… 

"Is this… is this Hell?"

"No," the man says simply, beckoning for me to walk with him. "It is a place of waiting, of transience… where some stay for moments, some for days, some for years… or for however long it takes."

I fall into step beside him. "For however long what takes?"

He shrugs. "For them to move on to… wherever they move on to."

Although I feel a small relief that this fate is not so permanent as I had feared, knowing that it is only a Purgatory of sorts is cold comfort.

"Are you Death?"

The stranger laughs softly. "Far from it," he says. "I am just a very old man that has been here for a very long time. Over a century, by my last count. Although, admittedly, I gave up counting the years long ago."

I look around at the familiar buildings and street signs as we make our way past them.

"Why does this… afterlife look like this?"

"Because we see here what we know. You see a city… your city." He gestures to the side with a gnarled hand. "But I see a low stone wall, fir and cedar trees along the ridge of a hill, snow covering the distant mountain peaks." He slows his pace. "My home… where I lived alone for the final years of my life, where I died in the depths of winter… still alone."

The revelation that he really is… or was just a man surprises me, perhaps more than it should.

"Are you a ghost, then? A spirit?"

"We are what we believe we are," he tells me. "What do you believe in? Atman, akh, reikon, spirits, souls, ghosts… something else, perhaps?"

"I don't know what to believe," I confess.

"Yet, here you are… so you must believe something, even if you don't know that you do."

I look down at my feet as we make our way forward, and I realize with a jolt that I have just stepped through a body, as if it were made of mist. I stop walking and shake my head hard.

"If you're dead, then why aren't you like everyone else here?" I ask, my voice trembling.

"Why aren't you?"

I look again to the bend of my arm, seeing there now a trickle of blood where I had stabbed the dart into my skin. I place my palm over the small wound as I turn to him once more.

"Because I can still go back?" I ask, digging my fingers into my numb skin. "Because there's still hope for me?"

The man nods. "Death is reaching for you, but it has not yet gotten hold."

A doubt builds in my mind. "Then why can you move here?" I press. "If you really died over a hundred years ago, there's no way that you could be brought back now."

"You are right, of course… yet still I cling stubbornly to life." His tone turns soft, introspective. "And I know also in my heart that I cannot move on… so here I remain, doing what I can to offer these other poor souls comfort."

"How can you bring comfort to the dead?"

"By speaking to them, by letting them know that they are not alone, that they are not forgotten, that even this existence will end. For them, at least, if not for myself. Perhaps that is why I am here, why I have not moved on… so that I can give others hope and peace, and sometimes absolution."

"Absolution? You mean forgiveness?"

"If they feel they need it. Many people are scared or confused when they arrive, fearing that every small thing they had done in life will follow them into eternity. Of course, many neither want nor need such pardon… but still I speak to them all, every soul that comes here, because I do not know who among them will find in my words some measure of solace."

My sight wanders from body to body around us, then I lift my eyes to see so many hundreds of others laid out on the road ahead.

"That's a heavy burden to lay on yourself," I say, barely whispering.

"It can be, but it is worth it, I think. And over the years some people have even given me comfort in return, which always comes as a pleasant surprise. Then, there are those few souls that I would gladly sit beside and speak to for as long as I was able, that I would share my time with until the end of days… those that I have come to know as friends." A wistful smile rises to his face. "Those like your father."

Chapter Text

An ache sinks into my hollow chest. "My father?"

I look around, searching for Splinter amongst the dead. We had taken him far upstate when he knew his time was close, buried him there after we helped him to pass on. But what condition would he be in now, in this place… a decade after we left him there beneath the grass in that clearing, deep in the woods?

"Where is he?" I ask, raising my voice. "Bring me to him!"

"He is no longer here," the man tells me. "He moved on long ago. But in the short time that he was here we spoke many, many times. He told me of his life, of his world… of how proud he was of his sons." He purses his thin lips. "Although the word pride is sometimes thought to be distasteful, I understood your father to mean that you brought him honor… a word that I know has much more meaning to you."

I hang my head, and he goes on.

"He spoke so often of you, and so well, that after he left I felt the need to seek you out… to at least stand in the presence of the children of someone that I had come to think of as a friend."

"So, you aren't trapped here?" I ask, though the fact that I had seen him in the living world has already given me an answer. "Are you able to leave whenever you want to?"

"It is difficult for me, but I have managed it from time to time… and I can never stay away for long. Leaving this place is like fighting the flow of a swift river, and even the strongest person can only swim against the current for so long before he must give in and let the water take him. And always, always it brings me right back here."

"If it's so hard to stay away, then how did you manage to find us?"

"By listening, by hearing your thoughts, by recognizing your father's voice in your memory… the words of wisdom he passed on to you, the ones that still repeat over and over again in your mind when you need them the most."

I know that he is not wrong. Often, Splinter's voice is as clear when I remember what he said as it had been when the words had actually left his mouth… distant as those words may now be, still I cling to them whenever I need peace. But that the stranger could also hear them gives me pause.

"So, after you found us… what did you do then?" I ask, trying to urge his story on.

"At first, nothing. At that point, I really only wanted to see you, intending to afterwords return here and continue on as I always have. But then… then I saw death reaching for your family. I saw what would happen to your brothers, how they would meet their ends. And the thought of that happening… somehow, it hurt me, even after all the death I have witnessed, even all these years after accepting the… the inevitability of it all. So I decided to do something that I have never before done."

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, then I look to him once more. "You tried to warn me."

"I tried to warn all of you, but none of you could hear me." He holds his hand in front of my chest, though he doesn't touch me. "But you… you at least saw me. You perceived me."

"But… why did I see you, when the others couldn't?"

He does not answer my question, going on instead with his tale as he lowers his hand once more. "When I realized that you were aware of me, I did everything in my power to let you know what was to come."

I look down at the blood beneath my feet. "But I still couldn't save my brothers," I say, then I turn back to him. "Even with your warnings."

His face turns grieved. "Had I managed to make those warnings clearer, had I been able to linger longer and give you some greater indication of what was to come, then much would have been different. But as it was, when I watched Donatello appear before me here, I knew that if I did nothing, then Raphael would soon follow. So, I hoped desperately for some way to get a message to you, some quicker way than fighting the current to where you were."

"You came to me in my dream."

"More accurately, I drew you here in the midst of your dreaming… a thing that even I did not know could be done, until I had done it… a thing that I have only ever managed to do with you."

Again, I wonder why it was only me that he had been able to connect with, but I do not mention it. "And I was still too late," I say softly instead.

"Perhaps." He scratches his ragged beard in thought. "But in the end, the warnings I gave you did serve a purpose. They served as… proof, I suppose you could say."

"What are you talking about? What kind of proof did they provide?"

"They helped you to see that I was real, that I was not simply a flash of imagination. They gave you images to cling to… my hand on Donatello's throat, proving later to be a portent… a glimpse of Raphael's location, where you would later find him." The grief on his face lifts away. "They made it so that when I came to you that last time you did not just dismiss me as a figment of your imagination or some kind of hallucination. They made it so that you would believe the truth of my existence, understand my final message. They brought you here… to me."

I have the urge to scream at him, to ask him what good bringing me here has done; but all at once, the stranger lifts his head, as if listening.

I listen, as well, and for a moment, I hear Mikey's voice call out again in my memory. Is it a memory, or is he calling out to me now? His words grow faint and far away, folding into themselves like the final echoes off a far away cliff-side… until at last, his voice vanishes into the distance.

The man lowers his face. "Your time is running short."

Again I press my hand to the hole in my arm. "Mikey gave me the antidote…"

"No," the man says, his voice softer now. "As much as he wants to… he cannot."

A fear grows inside me. "What do you mean?"

"You broke the bottle that held it," he tells me. "You can hear it, can't you? There in your memory? The sound of it shattering on the floor?"

I do… I remember… I hear glass breaking on the tiles when my body started to shake… I hear Mike gasping as his chance to save me is snatched away…

"No…" I force out.

"Your body will die soon," the man says evenly. "And when it does, you will no longer be able to move here… all that you will be able to do is think, and regret, and wait… then Michelangelo will follow you, as he always has."

My legs weaken. "No… no, he wouldn't… he…"

"You know that he would rather die than be alone."

I want to grab the man in my anger… but I know it will do no good, so I clutch the sides of my head, digging my fingertips into my skin. I can't feel it… I can't feel anything. I look to the blood at my feet to see that I am beginning to sink into it.

"Why?" I snap as I look back up at his maddeningly calm face. "Why would you do this? Why would you bring me here, knowing that Mikey would come after me?"

The stranger smiles. "Because I want to give you a gift."

Chapter Text

"What gift could be worth my entire family dying?" I demand.

The stranger looks to the starless sky. "How shall I explain this?"

"Just explain it. How hard is it just to give me a straight answer?"

"Unfortunately, even the straightest answer requires some telling."

"Then tell me quickly," I say. "I don't have time for riddles."

He lowers his face, then starts walking once more. I cannot help but follow him, now dragging my feet through the blood as if wading in the shallows on the beach.

"I don't know if I was chosen by some greater power to be as I am here, or if it was simply a contrivance of fate," he says. "I only know what I am capable of doing, and so I do it freely and without thought of reward… eternal or otherwise. In life, I was much the same. I gave what I could, when I could. But as I grew older I grew also weak, and I found myself unable to help as I once had. I withered away… alone, but with a prayer on my lips that I might be given just a little more time and strength to be of some service to others."

"And were you given that time and strength?" I press.

He glances partway in my direction. "While I lived, no. But after I passed on, I was given that chance… or rather, my soul was given the chance to help the dead here, while my body helped those living on Earth."

"How could your body help people—" I shut my mouth tightly for a moment, unsure if below is the right word… or perhaps above. "How did it help the living?"

The man stops walking and turns to me, holding up his hand. On his palm I see a sheen… a clear redness, more like oil than blood, slowly flowing over his skin.

"What is that?" I ask, looking closer.

He closes his hand and lowers it to his side. "I have only ever thought of it as grace," he says. "As for what it does…? Well…"

Again we start walking along the body-lined street.

"Years after I died, I heard voices around my grave," he goes on. "They spoke of how my body had not rotted away as it should have, they spoke of this strange substance that they had found around me… they spoke of how cloths soaked in that substance were used to cure the sick and speed the closing of wounds."

"Are you saying your touch can heal?"

"I would never claim that," he tells me humbly. "It would imply that the mending was of my own design and doing."

My eyes dart back and forth at the languishing dead. "But… do you think that's why you still have freedom here? Because your body is still… well, whole?"

"That might have been why at first, but by now my body has at last rotted away… and yet still, here I remain. I have prayed for clarity on that point, myself, but it seems that the angels have better things to do than answer an old man's questions, so I feel that I will never truly know."

It is getting harder to push my way through the blood at my feet, and I realize how very close I am coming to my own end. "So, what does all of this have to do with me? With my brothers?"

"You asked me why you could see me, when the others could not," he says. "You wonder why I could draw only you into this world in the midst of your dreaming… you wonder why, when I touched you, you could feel a warmth beneath your skin. I cannot explain it, but I know… somehow, I know it is because you have the same grace within you as I have within me."

His words shock me. I stop walking, then look down at my own palm, almost expecting to see the same substance crawling across it. But there is nothing. The man goes on for a couple more steps, then comes back around to my side.

"I don't understand… why would…" My words fail as I focus on my rough green skin. "I'm not even human."

"And why should that matter? Do you think that you have no soul of goodness within you because your kind are not dominant in the world?"

I curl my fingers into a fist. "Maybe I don't have that… goodness inside me." I cast my eyes ahead, looking at all the bodies laid out along the flowing river of red. "I've killed so many people… I know that at least some of them must have told you about how my face was the last thing they ever saw, how my voice was the last thing they ever heard… how my sword cutting into them was the last thing they ever felt."

"In fact, they have," he says. "And it was a surprise to me that this warrior they spoke of was also the son of my dear friend. But most of those who died on your blade understood that they were inviting death when they sought you out. They were prepared for it, and to them dying in such a way was honorable. None have ever claimed that you made the first strike against them… and some even admire you for your skill and honor." He smiles faintly. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Honestly, yes," I tell him. "I don't see how it makes a difference whether they attacked me first or not, or how honorable they found my actions, or how proud they were to die for their masters. They still died by my hand, and for that I don't deserve any… grace. I don't deserve forgiveness or absolution, or whatever you want to call it."

The man draws his ragged eyebrows together and we start walking once more. "Your brothers have killed as many as you have, and under the very same circumstances. Do you feel that they are not deserving of forgiveness?"

My jaw slacks… the man does not wait for me to respond. Perhaps he knows that I can't respond.

"People often search for a line between the saints and the sinners, but they can never agree on where that line is," he goes on. "The truth is, that line does not exist. A saint can stray, can lie and cheat… can do harm by doing nothing, when he could have done something. A sinner can feed the poor, can help a weak man to stand, can lay down his life for a friend or even a complete stranger. To condemn yourself for the bad things you have done would be to imply that all the good you have done was only in service of the bad. You are not an evil person, Leonardo… nor are your brothers. You are simply people."

I hang my head, then I open my hand and stare at my palm once more. "So if that… grace is already inside me, then what… what was the gift that you wanted to give to me?"

"The gift that I myself prayed for, but did not receive," he says. "Time."

"What do you mean, time?"

"When you saw me touch Donatello, it wasn't merely a warning. I was giving him time, conveyed through a portion of grace. I gave the same to Raphael, though you did not see that touch… and to you, when I laid my hand upon your arm."

At once I feel a fatigue come over me. "What good does time do them if they're already dead?"

"You have heard stories of people dying on the operating table… of people freezing or drowning, and then being brought back? Of people being resuscitated after their hearts have stopped beating?"

"Of course I have."

"Those people can come back to themselves because there is a tether linking their souls to their bodies… a small window of time after death, when they are still able to return to who they were. When I touched your brothers, I strengthened that tether with my grace."

I draw to a sudden halt and take a step towards him. "What do you mean?" I ask, though my voice seems to be swallowed up by the atmosphere. "That there's still a chance for them? That they can still… that they can go back?"

"For now, yes," he tells me. "But the longer their souls remain here, the thinner the tether is stretched, and eventually it will snap… and any chance you have of saving them will be gone."

Chapter Text

The stranger's exact words repeat in my mind and I reach for him, stopping short of touching his arm.

"What are you saying?" I ask. "How could I save—"

He silences me with a wave of his hand, then motions off to the side. I turn to see Donatello there… still leaning against the wall as blood continues to flow from the great slash in his throat. I step close to my brother and fall to my knees, staring into his open, aware eyes; but when I try to touch him, my hand passes through his immaterial body.

"Please…" I beg the man in a whisper. "Just… tell me what I need to do… please…"

"Your spirit is still strong, even as close as you are to death," he tells me. "If you are willing, you can use that strength and the grace that is within you to send your brothers back, to let them live again… to reunite their spirits with their bodies. Then, afterwards, to return to your own."

"But how? Teach me how!"

He laughs. "Were you taught how to breathe? Just touch him, and the rest will come to you."

I don't understand, but I do as the man says. I reach out, and my hands slide through Donnie once more.

"He's… I can't touch him."

The stranger sighs. "Perhaps you should think in terms of science, as Donatello always has," he says. "He would speak of radiation, of oxygen, of waves of sound… he would tell you that, just because you cannot feel something, it does not mean that it is not there."

He's right… Donnie would say that, and I wonder if he is telling the old man these things at this very moment, trying to help me to understand.

My fingers fold into fists, then I release them and again place my hands within the specter of Don's body. I don't know what to do… but I want him to live… I want it so much, so desperately… I imagine pouring a piece of myself into his hollow frame…

Is it working? It must be working. Somehow… somehow, I feel him become more solid under my touch…

But how much do I need to give him? How hard am I supposed to hold on? For how long? I don't want to stop… I'm afraid to stop. I don't want to lose Don again because I gave up too soon.

Closing my eyes, I give him more will, more substance, more of myself…

"Let go," the man says close to my ear, his tone holding a warning. "Leonardo, you must let go."

I pull my hands back, then I fall forward onto my chest. It feels as if a piece of me has been torn away, but I welcome its absence. Opening my eyes, I see that Donnie is gone, and my heart lightens with hope. I rise weakly to my knees to look at the man as he smiles down at me.

"Good," he says. "Now, for Raphael."

He points behind me and I turn unsteadily around. I see Raph there, not so far away. He is lying at the bottom of a stagnant water puddle, his eyes staring blankly up at the sky.

It is too hard now for me to stand, so I crawl to my brother's side. It seems almost as if I am dragging my way through a swamp, the resistance in the air is so great. I look down at Raphael and reach into the water to put my hands on him. He is more solid to my touch than Don had been, but not much more than the water around him.

I close my eyes as I breathe into him, willing another part of my soul to revive his own. It is more difficult now, as if I have little left to give. But still I try, I press on, and as my being pours out from me I feel my brother dissolve beneath my touch. When I open my eyes, he too is gone.

A relieved laugh finds its way to my lips as I fall forward, my hands landing on the wet ground where Raphael had just been…

I feel so weak now… frail and faint… I can barely move, but I turn to look at the man as he nods in approval.

"Now," he says, "will yourself back to the world."

It is harder to give myself life than it was to give to my brothers, and as I struggle I wonder if perhaps I had given them so much that I do not now have enough for my own return. But, no… if I had done so, then the man would tell me… I know he would tell me.

So I reach out, in my thoughts taking hold of the tether that links me to the world I left behind… pulling against the current that is trying to keep me here. I stare at the street ahead as I claw at the fragments of life my body must still be clinging to, and I feel my soul beginning to lift…

I stop.

There is a wavering in my vision. A small form appears before me… a child, a baby… an infant of no more than a few weeks old…

The stranger shifts about, then crouches beside the child and touches her head.

"She passed just now…" he says, sorrow in his words. "At just this moment, in her sleep. Her parents do not yet know."

A chill grips me, colder than the grave. "…No…"

"Perhaps it will hearten you at least to know that her time in this place will be short… that all who come here so young move on quickly." The man shakes his head and looks to me. "You still have time to go back. Go, be with your brothers."

But I cannot bring myself to even try. "…Can I…" I force out. "…Can I send her back…?"

"Yes," he says. "But if you do, then you may not have the strength to return to yourself."

I don't care. If I can save her… if I can spare her parents the pain of losing her… then I don't care.

The man watches on wordlessly as I fight to my knees and crawl slowly to the child, then I lift her into my arms and hug her small body to my own. She is as solid as I am, so much more than my brothers were…

My brothers…

I know they will miss me, that they will mourn me… but at least they will have each other again… Mikey won't be alone, he won't feel the need to follow me to this place…

Looking into the child's peaceful face, I imagine her growing, learning, playing, living. I smile… and I let myself go, giving that last piece of myself to her…

I watch her fade away from my feeble embrace… I feel myself fall back onto the ground…

My body is cold, and my thoughts race as memories of my own life dash before my eyes… I see my father, my brothers, our friends… I recall everything I have ever done, have ever thought… I feel again every regret, every joy, every breath…

All at once, my vision stills and my mind grows quiet, and I see nothing but the black sky above me…

I can't move now… I can't blink, I can't breathe…

I'm not meant to…

Chapter Text

It's so strange… so strange that even in death I can think, I can see… I can feel my body wasting away…

There is whispering all around me… the voices of the dead… some welcoming me, some lauding me for what I have just done, some lamenting that I am now trapped in this place…

But still, even trapped, I feel a peace, a relief. I know that the child will awaken and get the chance to live out her life. She will rouse her parents with a cry, and they'll stumble to her room to feed her, to soothe her… and they'll never know what happened here… she'll never know, she'll never remember…

I wonder if Donnie and Raph will remember… if they'll remember this place, if they'll remember seeing me here. I wonder if they'll tell Mikey what happened. I wonder if I'll still be here when their final end comes, hopefully many years from now, or if I will have moved on by then…

Something touches my head, and the man turns my face to his…

His eyes are closed, but I can see tears on his cheeks… not tears of sorrow or of pain, not tears of joy… they are simply tears, red and oily… the same as what was on his hand… that essence…

"You understand now," he says.

Understand what…? What am I supposed to understand…?

"You understand that grace is meant to be shared," he says, answering the question I cannot speak aloud. "For some few of us, it is a physical thing… but for so many others, it is merely an aspect of the spirit… intangible and divine, but ever present."

He sits on the ground and pulls my head onto his lap.

"It… it is such a shame, though," he goes on. "So many people willingly make sacrifices every day. Mothers, fathers, peacekeepers, teachers, doctors… complete strangers. They give of themselves freely, passing on their grace from one to another… but they often forget that they should also give to themselves healing, comfort, guidance… forgiveness."

Forgiveness…?

"Of course," he says. "You may not believe that you have earned forgiveness or absolution or clemency… but you need not earn it. Such things are a gift to be given, not a reward to be seized. Can you give yourself such a gift? Or do you still feel unworthy of it?"

What does it matter…? What good would it do, to forgive myself now…?

"What good would it do to deny yourself that forgiveness?" he asks.

I understand what he is saying… I know… I know it will do me no good to cling to my anger towards myself… to the regret and the bitterness… but I don't know if I can let them go…

Why can't I let them go…?

He sighs. "Perhaps one day, you will find that forgiveness within yourself, and then you will be able to move on," he says. "But for now, it is time for you to go home."

Home? I… I can't go home…

The man shakes his head. "What? Do you believe that you have no life left within yourself?"

What is he saying? I don't have life inside me. If I did, I would not be trapped here… I would be able to breathe, to move… I wouldn't hear the voices of the dead… I wouldn't…

What… what is that…? A flutter in my chest…?

Hope wells up inside me, and the stranger laughs softly…

"There… you see?" he says. "Did you feel that? Did you feel your last heartbeat?"

My last…?

"Yes, your last. Now go… before your tether snaps."

But how? I don't have the will, the strength…

He hums in agreement. "Perhaps it is too late for you to pull yourself back," he says. "But as I said… grace is meant to be shared."

The man shifts his eyes to me, and at last… at last our gazes meet. I see a peace there, a warmth… sadness and gratification…

Grace… I see grace in his eyes, I feel its heat in my chest, in my veins…

He turns his face to the black sky, and I sense my spirit rising, my vision goes dark as I feel myself fading…

My eyes open, as if on their own. There is something above me, touching my face, covering my body. A sheet.

I weakly lift my hand and uncover myself, then I sit up on the bed and look around me. I'm back home, I'm in the infirmary…

In my mind there are only fragments of memory.

Where was I? What was that place? Was it a dream?

I try to remember what I saw there, what I did… but there are only shades and shadows of images in my clearing vision, the distant echo of voices in my ears… there is nothing real, nothing material to cling to… only a vague and unclear sensation of both peace and grief…

Looking across the room, I see Mike sitting on the floor by the counter. His head is lowered, his eyes are closed, his shoulders are heaving… his shaking hand is placed atop the shards of the broken poison bottle…

A faraway whisper warns me that he is only a moment away from pressing down, from driving the toxin into his skin…

"Mikey?" I say, my voice rough.

He lifts his head… his eyes widen and his mouth falls open.

"Leo…?"

At once, he seems to realize that he is not dreaming. He removes his hand from the glass, then leaps to his feet and runs near, throwing his arms around me. I return the embrace… it is the sweetest feeling I have ever known…

"Jesus, Leo…" he sobs against my cheek. "I thought you were dead… I thought—"

Mikey's voice vanishes in a gasp as he holds me closer.

My own arms tighten around him. "It's okay," I tell him. "I'm here…"

He steps back, looking me over, as if to be sure that I am real. "I couldn't… I couldn't give you the antidote," he says past shuddering breaths. "How… how did you…?"

"I don't know," I confess. "I just… I…"

I look to the crook of my arm, where I had stabbed the dart into my flesh. There is no hole there, but I see a sheen of red… not blood, but something like a thin oil…

"Where…" I begin, uncertain of my own thoughts. "Where are Donnie and Raph?"

Mike swallows hard and puts his hands on my cheeks. "Leo… they died," he says, looking deep into my eyes. "Don't you remember?"

"I… I remember…"

I remember…

Chapter Text

I swing my feet over the edge of the mattress, then slide myself to standing beside the broken antidote bottle. My mind begins to swim, my balance fails and I fall, my knees hitting the tiled floor hard.

"Leo!" Mikey says, helping to pull me to my feet. "Leo, get back in bed!"

I shake my head as I sway on unsteady legs, then I look him in the eye and wrap my hand around his wrist.

"Come on," I say as I pull him towards the door.

"What are you doing?" he asks, yanking back on me. "Leo, you need to rest!"

But I can't rest, and I have no time to explain. I let him go, then rush from the lair, knowing that he will follow me… just as he always has.

As we run down tunnel after tunnel Mikey hollers for me to wait, to slow down… and still I make my way forward, turn after turn leading him into the oldest passages. Many long minutes go by before we reach the place… before we get to our brothers' graves.

My fingers slide over the covered entrance to Donatello's tomb… then I pull my hand back and curl it into a fist, slamming it against the bricks.

"Leo, don't!" Mike yells. "Stop!"

He tries to grab my arm, but I shrug him off. My knuckles bruise and the skin on them splits… but the pain doesn't matter, the damage doesn't matter. I break through the barrier with one final blow and pull the fragments of brick onto the floor… then I step back, trying to calm my shaking, bloody hands.

Don is lying there still, as silent and peaceful as when we left him. I see no sign of life, his chest does not rise or fall… leaning close, I listen for the sound of his breath. I hear nothing.

Was I wrong…? Oh, God… was I wrong? Was it all just a dying dream?

Mike places his hand on my arm. "Leo…" he says softly, though any other words he is searching for vanish on his lips.

I look to where his touch rests, then I take hold of his hand and squeeze it before lifting it away and focusing on where the dart tore through the skin at the crook of my elbow…

My eyes turn again to Don's lifeless body. I look him up and down, and my attention stops at his throat, at the darkness there, where his skin had been slit through. I search for the wound past the blood, past the dust I had cast up when I burst through the bricks…

I wonder, is it only my imagination telling me that his throat is whole? That there is no sign of where it had been sliced? When I reach out and run my fingers along his skin, I feel no remaining scar… only a grittiness of dust, clinging to a layer of what feels like oil.

Without thinking, I place my palm upon the place where the wound had been… and all at once he draws in a breath. He lurches awake, his eyes opening and growing wide as he sits up in the small space and strikes his head against the ceiling above him.

I hear Mike gasp, and from the corner of my eye I see him cover his mouth and stumble back in his shock. I pull Don out of the alcove, then set him onto his weak legs. He looks into my eyes and shudders, clutching at his throat… then he wraps his arms around me, holding on for dear life…

In his embrace I can feel both fear and relief, and safety and security when Mike wraps his own arms around us. Mikey pulls back, then his gaze meets mine and we both shift our attention to Raph's tomb. We help Don to sit down on the floor before turning and pulling loose the bricks that hold our last brother within.

Raphael remains quiet and unmoving, his sai still resting in his limp hand… but I do not fear now that what I feel is false hope. I touch his face and he lets out a scream as he is thrust back into life. Mike and I stand back as Raph scrambles out of the alcove, tumbling to the floor, then Mikey kneels and grabs him, pulling him close.

I fall to my knees as well, and Donnie grips my arm, while Raph reaches out and touches me with the hand that is not holding to Mikey. I look from one face to another… there is fear and confusion in their eyes… but for now, all I can do is close my own eyes and breathe…

I rub my aching head as I look through Raphael's open door, to where he is sleeping peacefully in his bed. I turn and make my way to Don's room, as well, and see that he is also out cold. I have checked at least eight times already in the past seven hours to be sure that they are still breathing.

So far, I have said little about what happened there, in that place… though, before they fell asleep Donnie and Raph mentioned having vague recollections of a city-scape, of flowing blood, of a stranger speaking to them… of me taking hold of them…

I will tell them… I will. But for now, it's hard enough to make myself understand. How could I possibly explain anything to them, when the answers are so jumbled in my own mind?

What the stranger said, what he told me… how he spoke of forgiveness and moving on… is that what it takes to leave that limbo, that Purgatory? Is forgiving yourself the key?

I think for a moment about the child, how the man told me that the very young do not stay in that place for long. It makes sense… children of that age hold no enmities towards themselves, no sense of shame or guilt, no true concept of what it means to be… only the peace and simplicity of mere existence that I suppose we all should strive for.

Where people go on from there, though, I wish I knew. Even the stranger seemed to have little idea. Maybe it is a matter of what you believe, or of what you want… maybe some people go to Heaven, some go to Valhalla, some reach Nirvana… maybe some come back to wander the Earth, some are reincarnated, some fade to nothing… maybe some become peace. I suppose there is no knowing until we get there, ourselves, and I can't help but wonder where Splinter is now and if we will meet up with him again some day on the other side.

I make my way to the kitchen, and there I stop in the doorway to watch Mikey as he slices vegetables for tonight's dinner. He looks so tired, so drawn. I can only imagine how it must have felt for him, losing all of his brothers… then having them all come back.

"Mikey?"

He jumps at the sound of my voice and he lets out a yell, then he throws the knife down and looks at his thumb where he has just cut himself. I walk up to him, staring at the blood just before he wraps his hand in a kitchen towel.

"Some ninja, huh?" he jokes weakly.

I turn my own hand over and look at my knuckles. The skin there had been split and scraped when I busted through to Don's grave… but now it is unmarred. Something strange compels me, and I reach out, picking up the kitchen knife and pulling it across my palm.

"What are you doing?" Mike asks, shocked.

We both look at the slice as it bleeds… but the bleeding stops, and what seems to be an oil begins to flow. Mikey draws in a quick breath, but I simply smile and pull the towel off his hand, then press my palm to the wound on his thumb. When I take it away, a thin sheen of oil and blood remains, but both his injury and mine are gone.

Mikey wipes the blood away with the towel, then he turns his widened eyes to me. His gaze is filled with silent questions… the same ones that he asked aloud earlier, after Don and Raph came back to us…the same ones that I still cannot answer, because I still don't know… because I don't know how, nor do I know why any of this is happening.

I remember, though… I remember what the stranger said about the grace that flowed from him after his death… about how I had that same grace within me. I died, as well… I know I did… and I know that with that death there came something more, something strange and… something miraculous.

Why it has taken physical form in me, though… that is a question I feel I will never find the answer to.

Tomorrow… I'll think about it tomorrow. I'll think about where I have to go with this, what it will lead to. I'll tell my brothers the whole tale… about the child and the other dead there in that place, of the old man and of the friendship he shared with our father… of the grace that now flows through my veins.

For now, though, I will just let myself be thankful that my family is alive, that we are together once more… that we will live on.