Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Fan Fiction ❯ Bad Places III: Ruin ❯ Chapter 11

Part 11

"You're limping. And you're bleeding again. And I think you tore something in your arm."

Leonardo didn't need to be told, but he wished his little brother hadn't noticed. He thought he'd been hiding it fairly well, but his recent injuries were flaring up again. Already knowing what he'd find, he reached up and touched the spot where the demon had bitten into him days ago on the rooftop. Sure enough, the wound had re-opened, although not enough to worry him yet. The same arm had also been wrenched while holding Michelangelo, and it trembled from the stress.

"I'm just tired," he said. "It won't matter after tonight."

"Yeah, some ice and rest'll fix it up."

Leonardo smiled. "Sure." Why bother arguing? If Michelangelo wanted to delude himself, let him. And it was nice to pretend that he might go home tonight, even though he knew it was a lie.

"So what did you mean Splinter doesn't talk to you like he talks to us? Does he yell?"

Was there any way he could avoid this conversation? He shrugged. "He never raises his voice. He doesn't have to."

He stopped as they came to a point where the corridor branched off in three directions. All three routes seemed identical, so he picked the middle and hoped they would find a staircase soon.

Michelangelo quickly walked by and stood in front of him, refusing to move. "Then what does he do?"

Leonardo looked down. How to explain a lifetime of instruction that was often as subtle as it was overwhelming? It was so hard to describe a tone of voice, a small gesture, the little barbs Splinter used to tell him where he'd gone wrong. He shrugged to himself. The first idea that popped into his head was just as good as any.

"Do you remember the first time you snuck out of the lair?" he said. "You might not. We were really young."

"Yeah, but I remember it," Mike said, smiling at the memory. "You told us Splinter said not to, that we would get hurt. And we didn't listen. There was no way you could've caught all of us."

"But you were right," he continued with a rueful laugh. "I don't remember how I fell. I just remember falling. And Raph started crying and Don tried to reach me, but I was really deep down in that little sinkhole and he was scared he'd slip in and then we'd both be trapped. Then finally you found us and came down after me. Somehow between the three of you, you managed to get me back up."

"When we came home," Leonardo said, "Splinter didn't get angry at you. He scolded you, but he was relieved to see you were all right. He was glad all three of you were all right."

Michelangelo frowned. "Not you?"

"It was my fault you left. It was my fault you were hurt."

"But that's not fair. It was three against one, you couldn't have--"

"Doesn't matter. You were my responsibility. And I failed." Leonardo paused. "Splinter made sure I understood that."

Michelangelo didn't reply, and although revisiting the old memories hurt, Leonardo found himself spilling them out, unable to lock the emotions away again.

"A couple nights later...I don't know, I guess Raphael got tired of being cooped up. He tried to sneak out again. And I didn't let him."

"What do you mean, you didn't let him?"

"I got in front of him. He told me to move, and when I didn't...you know how he gets when he gets frustrated. He lashed out." He sighed and put a hand on the wall to help steady himself. Exhaustion was starting to creep into his muscles. "We've fought so often that the fights are starting to blur together, but I remember that fight. It was the first time we ever fought. I managed to knock him down and I wrenched his arm pretty bad, but I knew I couldn't let him go out."

Michelangelo considered that, then glanced at his brother. "Then Splinter's kind of responsible for the way you and Raph fight."

For a moment he didn't answer. That didn't sound right, but he couldn't find anything wrong with it, either.

"The eldest brother should command respect," Leonardo said, obviously quoting their father. "I have to keep you three safe, even from yourselves."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Growls and screams echoed around them as the ship groaned.

"What about you?" Mike asked. "Do you keep yourself safe?"

Leonardo looked away, knowing his brother wouldn't like the answer. "If I can."

"What? But that's--"

"I know you don't like it," Leonardo snapped. "But that's just the way it is. That's the way it's always been. And it's kept you alive for years, so it's worth it."

The flare of his brother's temper surprised Michelangelo. He couldn't gauge his sibling's moods anymore and wondered what he was doing to make them change so quickly. When Leonardo ducked under his outstretched arm and started walking again, Michelangelo hurried to keep up.

"You mean the way we don't practice as much as you do?" he asked. He put his hand on Leo's shoulder, trying to see his eyes. "Just give me a little time and I will. I swear, I'll get more serious about fighting, you'll see."

Leonardo stopped again, sighing as his shoulders slumped. That was even worse. "No. Don't change."

"What?" Mike frowned in confusion. "I don't get it. Isn't that the problem?"

"I...I thought it was. Kind of." Leonardo fell silent for a moment. How to explain the philosophy of a lifetime in a few sentences? "You don't think like I do. Fighting's just a part of your life. Otherwise you're watching tv or going out or writing."

Michelangelo blinked. "You know I write?"

Leo half-smiled and pressed on. "But I don't go out. I don't do much besides practice."

Still thrown by the realization that his brother knew him better than he'd thought, Mike floundered, trying to keep up. "You read a lot."

"Military history, strategy," Leo said. "Theory to help the practice."

"You've been painting," Mike said. "It's not like you don't have a life, too."

"Just recently," Leo corrected him. "And...painting's more of a substitute."

"Substitute? For what?"

Bloodshed, Leonardo thought. "Painting sometimes feels like swordplay. It takes a lot of focus and concentration, a single-mindedness until it's executed. I paint the same way I--" He broke off, startled by his slip, but too late.

"The same way you kill," Mike finished for him. He leaned against the wall but stayed within arm's reach in case his brother tried to bolt again. "Wow. I should've realized it, but I was too busy being scared."

When Michelangelo didn't elaborate, Leonardo found that he was curious enough to ask. "Realized what?"

"You fight like an artist. All that discipline and focus to get it just right."

He supposed it made sense, but that wasn't something he wanted to talk about. He didn't want to talk about any of it, but Michelangelo could be annoyingly persistent. "I guess. That's why I don't want you to change."

"What?"

"You don't live your life trying to be a perfect killer."

"But you don't have to, either."

"Of course I do. One of us has to. It's either that or force you three to become more like I am. Mike, it isn't that you don't practice, not really. You're good in a fight, you've got the moves, you just don't have the brain."

Mike frowned. He didn't think Leonardo was taking a cheap shot like Raphael did. "I don't think like you."

"And I don't want you to. It's not nice being paranoid."

The ship tilted gently, probably from a heavy wave, and they both waited to regain their balance before talking again. Michelangelo decided he didn't like the quasi-silence. Too many echoes swept around the ship and he couldn't tell where they came from.

"Then what do we do?" Mike asked. "How do we make it so you don't run away again?"

"It's not a problem anymore--"

"Damn it, don't start that again," Mike cut him off, standing straight. "You're coming home and thing's are gonna get better--"

"Stop lying to yourself," Leonardo snapped. "I won't be going home tonight."

"But why are you just giving up?" Michelangelo demanded. "You never give up! Did...did we do something wrong?"

"What? Mike, no--"

"We made you hate us, didn't we?"

"No--"

"I don't want to lose you. Look, just...just tell me what to do. I won't get in trouble so you won't get in trouble, and I won't to stick you with the blame anymore when I prank everyone, and I won't slack off--"

Leonardo grabbed Michelangelo's shoulders. It did nothing to calm his brother but at least it caught his attention. "I'm not doing this because I hate you," he said. "Or even because I want to."

"You don't want to die?" Michelangelo shook his head in confusion, close to tears now. "Then why are you doing it?"

"So I don't hurt you," Leonardo insisted. "You haven't felt it, you don't know how strong it is. Mike, I've lived to keep you three safe all my life. I can't live if I'm the one who might hurt you."

Not bothering to reply, Michelangelo grabbed his wrist again. The meaning was clear. No matter where they went, he wasn't going to let him run away . Leonardo sighed and started walking down the corridor again, his brother right beside him. At least Mike had grabbed his good arm.

If either of them noticed that he was leaning more and more on his little brother, they didn't mention it.

Just a few minutes later, Leonardo sighed and stood straight, relying on his own strength again. If anything, the rest only made him feel even more tired.

"You all right?" Michelangelo asked.

"The sounds are getting easier to handle," he answered.

Which didn't answer his brother's question directly, but it wasn't a lie, either. And it was true that the echoes of screaming and claws on metal had dwindled, just as it was true that he heard his family moving ahead somewhere in the near distance. Perhaps a couple of corridors down at the most, but at least far enough that his brother hadn't heard yet.

The corridor ended in an open hatch with the door's circular lock facing them. Leonardo half-smiled. Maybe it was fate, but this felt too damn easy.

"Mike," he said softly. "I'm sorry I've put you all through this."

Michelangelo smiled. "It's okay. You just haven't been thinking straight, that's all."

"Maybe not," he conceded.

When they came to the door, Leonardo raised his head. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Michelangelo paused and tilted his head, listening to the ship creak and groan. He wondered if his brother was trying to trick him again, but then he heard Raphael's voice as he complained and Splinter's voice trying to explain something.

Breaking into a grin, Michelangelo rushed forward, his hand slipping from Leonardo's as he looked around for his brothers. They sounded so close, maybe even just around the corner.

Only when he heard the steel hatch screeching on its hinges did he realize what had happened. He turned and tried to run back, but he only had a moment to meet his brother's eyes before the door slammed shut. A second later he heard the lock spin shut.

"Dammit!" Michelangelo pounded on the door as if he could break it down. "Leonardo! Please, don't do this!"

On the other side, Leonardo sighed and leaned against the door, feeling his brother's fists through the metal and listening to him yell. After a moment, his family's voices joined him.

"Leo!" Raphael growled. "I know you're still there! You do this and I swear to God, when I get my hands on you, I'm gonna beat you into a pulp for being so damn stupid!"

He listened to them for several seconds, smiling as he heard their voices. With any luck, it was the last time he ever would. At least he'd managed to get Michelangelo back safely to them. Now he could concentrate on finding his enemy. He knew the new head of the clan had to be hiding somewhere on board. It was just a matter of finding them.

Returning back the way he came, he left his family behind and rounded the first corner, heading deeper into the ship.

TBC...