Disclaimer: I do not own TMNT or "low red moon" by Ivy Devlin.

A/N: This oneshot was pretty heavily influenced by Ivy Devlin's novel "low red moon"

Warning: there is mention of death.

Oneshot 6
it is in the times of darkness that we find the light

I was covered in blood when they found me.

I didn't remember why.

I didn't remember finding him. I didn't remember what happened. I didn't remember sitting down with his… body. I didn't remember sitting there as the cold night air nipped at my skin, or as the gleaming moon rose further into the sky, only just viewable from between the skyscrapers. I was with him all night on that rooftop. I didn't remember that, either. I didn't even remember being found. Uncle Don had said that he had come and found me after he had gotten a call from Uncle Raph. He had come to find Uncle Raph crying, and me…

And me. Sitting there.

The first thing I remember since that night is Uncle Don telling Uncle Mikey that, at first, he had thought that I was dead, too. That I had been covered in blood beside the body, clutching his dead cold hand, unblinking and still. That I had almost ripped the hand from the body when he had tried to pry me away. I had been clutching to what was left of my father, as though that could somehow bring him back. It couldn't. My father was dead. He had died, and nobody knew how or why, just that it had happened.

But he hadn't just died.

My father had been murdered.

Uncle Raph was sure I'd seen something. At one point he had screamed in my face, clutched my arms and shaken me, and had tried to force some memory from me, tried to force something from me. The others had needed to pull him back, because I wouldn't. I wouldn't shield my face, pull back, or push him away. I wouldn't move. Couldn't. I had felt so empty, everything had been dark. Gone. Like I had died, too, like Uncle Don had thought when he had first found me. I couldn't remember what had happened after that, just that, suddenly, I was standing before his grave. The day had been warm, the sky bright, hopeful, and very unfitting. There were no grey clouds, no rain, and no sad music playing in the background. Because it was no movie. It was real. Happening.

I think it was then I lost it. I went into hysterics. I began screaming, crying, thrashing around wildly. Grandad had pulled me back and held me against his chest tightly, stroking the side of my face, murmuring words of comfort. I continued to shake and the tears didn't stop. I thought they never would. I thought the tears would just keep coming, and coming, and coming. But they did stop, if only because I had no more to give. I couldn't speak after that. My voice had shrivelled up and my throat had turned to sandpaper, making any attempt at conversation painful both emotionally, mentally and physical, all at once. All I could think about was that freshly turned patch of dirt, where my father would lie. Forever.

I didn't remember finding him. I didn't even remember the last thing I had said to him. He was gone.

And yet, by some cruel twist of fate, I was still here.