Part three of a series of sorts.

A quick thanks to all those who reviewed! ^_^ You guys keep me inspired.

A quick note- No idea where this came from. Nor do I know why I had the idea that Leo would be bad at laundering. Anyways, it's not necessary to read the others in this 'series' to understand this story. Enjoy!

Disclaimer- The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are most definitely not mine.

Leo despised stains.

They were ugly, messy and hard as shell to get out.

He also despised laundry. Or rather, the washing machine despised him

He could never understand the complex regulations behind laundering. Whites and darks, reds and whites, too much soap, too little soap; it was all too complicated for such a seemingly simple task. (Planning and strategizing was no problem for the Fearless Leader, but laundry on the other hand...)

He 'fondly' remembered what Mikey had dubbed: "The Great Laundry Disaster of '98". Raph's mask had been pink for a month.

Stains made laundry even more difficult; and this stuff before you put it in, wait this long after applying, wash it at this temperature. He wished it was just as simple as certain other brothers made it look.

One thing he did remember clearly was the list of stains that were nearly impossible to get out. He'd been reprimanded so many times for each of them that he could pretty much recite the list off by heart Candle wax, ink, ketchup, grass, molds, chocolate and blood.

The last one was a stain that they each knew how to remove. Blood was the one stain that was commonly seen on laundry day.

Not so surprisingly, it was also his most greatly detested stain.

He realized that most families probably didn't have to deal with blood nearly as much as they did. What he wouldn't give to have to worry about such mundane things like chocolate stains. (If he squinted, he could almost pretend that the ugly red-brown stain in front of him was nothing more than chocolate)

He found himself thinking the same thing repeatedly throughout the days and weeks as him and his brothers applied bandage upon bandage after each skirmish. (He was beginning to wonder how many different injuries they could possibly get)

Especially on nights like tonight, when he sat waiting with guilt weighing on his shoulders, robotically going through the days load. (It had been close, too close)

Sometimes stains wouldn't just come out in the washer or with a little luck. Sometimes they were the persistent kind; the stain that fades slightly, but never leaves you.

And yet, he caught himself being thankful for the stain he had in front of him now. (It could have been so much worse)

This stain might be permanent, might never come completely clean. Maybe it would be forgotten or brushed aside, but it would always remain.

But, on the other hand, he would rather have a reminder of something that could have been, rather than a nothing were something should be. (What if, what if, what if...)

Maybe next time they'd be that second slower, or that smidgeon too close and they'd come home with much worse than just a measly blood stain. Maybe on a night soon of in the future there wouldn't even be a return home.

Right this moment, all he could do was methodically go through the laundry and thank what ever deity up there was watching him and his family that he'd been given another day.

That all they had to deal with was a simple stain.

Thanks for reading! =)