One week. One short week. That was all it had taken to turn their little home inside out and back again, thanks to the arrival of an elemental force of nature who called himself — often in the third person — Casey Jones.
The energy that flowed through the house and bound their little family together had shifted completely as it bent to accommodate Casey's passion and occasionally misguided enthusiasm, and none were so changed by it than her brave, angry Raphael.
On the one hand, her son had needed an outlet, especially since the loss of his beloved Spike, and Casey was certainly that. He met her son's deep passion and anger with his own, in a synergistic sort of understanding. The irresistible force meets the immovable object. And Raphael was much happier and more at ease with himself since Casey Jones had begun to spend time in their home.
But there was something about the boy. Something Shard couldn't quite place yet, and it nagged at her. She could not help but feel she was missing something about him. Of course, he'd taken pains to avoid her since their first meeting, when she had inadvertently surprised a scream out of him that had reduced her sons to gales of laughter. She knew too well the fragile ego of a teenage boy with something to prove to the new friends who had taken him in, and she had thought to give him a little time to grow accustomed to her before she sat down with him to get to the true measure of the young man.
But oh, the damage.
The noise was one thing. Frustrating, but after sixteen years living with her sons, she could deal with noise. It was another thing entirely to keep coming across shattered dishes, pictures askew, gouges from metal skate blades in her carpets…. She was not entirely sure that her house was going to survive much longer.
Shard's ears flattened against her head as another shout followed by a resounding crash echoed through the house, jarring her from her failed attempts at meditation. The sound that escaped her was less a sigh and more of a growl, which normally would have unsettled her, but really, enough was enough. Gathering her staff, she flowed to her feet and moved toward the door.
She did not get far.
The graffiti tag practically glowed against the brick of the wall, and now at last she knew the source of the paint smell, and she felt her frazzled temper draw even thinner. The rest of the house was bad enough, but the dojo was hers, and for him to have the gall and defiance to… to….
The thought trailed away as she stared at the tag on the wall, lost as a wave of something deep and impossible surged through her and lifted the fur at the back of her neck. It couldn't be. It couldn't. If the universe had demonstrated one thing to her over the past year, it was that fate was not that kind.
Her annoyance forgotten, she turned on her heel and all but ran back to her room, her hands trembling as she drew the lacquered box down from its shelf. Carefully, she moved aside a curling fragment of shell and a wispy lock of black hair, and withdrew a folded scrap of paper.
Mindful of her claws, she carefully flattened it out, her fingertips running across the ink that had smeared beneath a leaking can of peaches despite her best attempts to save it.
you done a lot for me. i don't know if i even told you my name ….…..this letter wont weird you out, but i been wanting to write it for a long time. …..mean a lot to me, it's okay that we aint seen each other, i still remember …..with all these paper cranes, i know you remember me too
Love,
The stain that had swallowed the beginning of his final paragraphs had also consumed the signature, but now that she knew what to look for, she was fairly certain she could make out the first letter beneath the smear.
With the greatest of care, she folded the letter once again and tucked it back into the box before returning to the dojo. Settling beneath the tree, she set the box down beside her, half-hidden within the folds of her houmongi.
She waited a few moments more, running through her mantras to calm her racing heart and settle her agitated fur. With one last steadying breath, she called, in the deep, resonant voice that carried through the house and each of her children knew must be obeyed immediately, "Casey Jones! I must speak with you."
There was a moment's silence from beyond the shoji screens. Shard's ear twitched as she heard Raphael's soft response. "Jeez, Casey, what did you do? We have to screw up spectacularly to make her sound like that."
Casey jumped as the sound of his own name echoed off the walls — he could never understand how she managed to get her voice that loud without sounding like she was yelling — and the start caused him to lose his grip on the egg he was holding. Only Raph's quick reflexes saved it, and Casey let out a relieved breath.
He'd been cultivating this particular carton of eggs behind the refrigerator for weeks in search of a special occasion, and learning about Donatello's smoke bombs had seemed like a clear sign from the universe. Swapping out the new carton Donnie was planning on cleaning out for the next batch of bombs with the rotten ones was only fair, given the inexplicable grudge Donnie seemed to have against Casey. Most of Raph's brothers were pretty cool, but Casey was used to smart kids treating him like he was some kind of talking monkey. And if Donnie was set on having something against Casey, he might as well give him something to actually be cheesed about.
Breaking one of the rotten eggs early was not part of the plan.
Immediately on the heels of relief came panic. Shard couldn't know already, could she? She was a ninja, not a psychic. But then Raph's quiet response reminded him of the tag he'd left in the dojo, and a cold trickle of dread curled through his gut.
He shook it off quickly though. Couldn't let Raph think he was a wimp. Closing the fridge door, he leaned against it with a shrug. "Hey, you had all those spray cans lying around and those nice brick walls just begging for something to break them up."
Raph's eyes widened, and he placed a hand on his head. "You tagged the dojo? Aw, man, I'm going to have to take Mikey's moron of the year trophy back and give it to you."
"No way!" came the protest from the doorway, and Casey bit back a shriek as Michelangelo followed it. Stupid freaking ninjas. At least Mikey hadn't seemed to notice Casey's momentary lapse in cool. He was too busy glaring at Raph. "I worked hard for that!"
Raph jerk his thumb toward Casey. "Genius here decided to tag the dojo."
Blue eyes shifted from Raph to Casey. "Yeah, you're right. I'll go get it."
Before the brothers' words could give any more fuel to the fear churning in his gut, Casey rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever, man, I'll go see what she wants… It's fine." Setting his shoulders, he swaggered toward the doorway. "Sooner or later she's got to learn that Casey Jones is a force of nature that answers to nobody."
"Aw man," Mikey's voice drifted behind him. "I liked having another human around. Why'd you have to go and pick one that goes and gets himself killed in, like, a week?"
Raph snorted. "Don't look at me; you know he followed me home."
Their voices faded as he approached the stairs, and he did his best to tune them out. They were just trying to rattle him. But he found his feet dragging as he climbed toward the dojo. He'd just been messing around, but maybe Raph was right. Maybe he had gone a step too far. Casey's dad didn't give a flying fig what state their house got into, but he remembered how proud his own Mom had been of their home.
He stopped halfway up the stairs and gave his head a shake. What was he doing, comparing that cat ninja to his mom? Casey's mom had been the sweetest, kindest person in the world, and Shard dragged her kids out of bed at 7 in the morning to whack them around the dojo. The first time he'd seen it after crashing out at their house had been enough to sour him on the idea of staying over ever again. Shard was less like a mom and more like… like a principal. And Casey had been in his fair share of principals' offices. He knew how to handle principals. The trick was to make sure they knew you didn't care what they thought of you. They weren't allowed to hit you, so if you let 'em know you don't care one way or another what they think, they had no power over you.
Even if it's not true, a small voice whispered at the back of his head.
Shut up, brain.
But when he reached the sliding doors, he found himself hesitating, unable to take that final step.
Even given how awesome that train fight had been, he'd been surprised how quickly he'd slid into this place… into this family. Even Donnie, despite the egghead's arrogance, felt like something familiar. It almost reminded Casey of how he'd got along with Nick and his family, only there was something else with Raph's. Something he couldn't find the words to express. It was like… it was like coming home, even though he'd never been here before, and he couldn't talk about it because he had no idea why it felt like he'd been growing roots here for years, even though he'd only been hanging around for a few days.
Just like he had no idea why, even though he despised principals and all they stood for, his first instinct was to do exactly what Shard said. He had to fight to make himself disregard her instructions, and he certainly didn't understand why doing so made him feel like dirt.
Come on, Jones, get it together. She's not your mom. She can't make you do anything you don't want to do.
Releasing a huff of air, he cleared his throat and straightened, giving the doorframe a casual knock before shoving the screen aside and strolling in without waiting for an invitation. He jammed his hands into his pockets. "Yo, you called me, Miz Cat Lady?"
The closer he got to her, however, the shorter his strides grew, and the further his shoulders hunched up around his ears. By the time he came to a halt a few paces away from her, his head had sunk so low and his shoulders so high he was starting to wish he had a shell like the guys so he could crawl into it. Shard just stared at him, those green eyes calm and clear, and for a moment, he was afraid of what she saw when she looked at him. He dropped his gaze, staring instead at the folded hands in her lap. "Uh, I mean, Master Shard. Ma'am."
She made a noise, then, and if he hadn't known better he would have sworn it was a laugh. But when he chanced a glance at her face, it was as stoic as ever. He looked down again as fast as he could, before she could catch him staring.
Finally, she broke the silence.
"This is a room of learning and tradition, Casey, and though all are welcome here, it is expected that they will respect the hospitality and the teachings provided, and follow our customs accordingly." She didn't sound mad, at least, as she gestured to the carpets before her.
Something in him twisted, drawing his eyes up to meet hers, and he felt a muscle in his jaw start twitching. She expected him to kneel? Seriously? What century was she even from? And yet… she was already kneeling. He'd almost forgotten because she was so stupidly tall she was still almost on a level with him. She wasn't asking him to do anything she wasn't already doing.
Respect. Hospitality. Teachings. Traditions. They weren't exactly things he had a lot of experience in. He'd thought the aliens were bad, but he was so far out of his depth now it wasn't even funny.
Shard made another one of those soft, indecipherable sounds. "When I converse with any young person in this room as we do now, they sit as I do." Her ear twitch as her gaze went distant, and a little smile appeared on that impossible face. "Even April."
Well, if April's not too good for it…
He dropped down to the carpet, resting an elbow on his crossed legs. This close, he could see the worn patches in the rug. From the spacing, he was almost certain he was looking at marks left by the turtles' kneepads.
Geez. They really do spend a lot of time here.
He could feel the heat rising to his face, and he was suddenly glad of the remains of his street makeup he'd only halfheartedly scrubbed at after coming off patrol. Trying to call as little attention to it as he could, he shifted his position until it mirrored hers.
"Now then," she said, and he fought the urge to groan. Any time an adult opened with that, he knew there was trouble coming. "When I granted permission for my son to invite you back to this house on a regular basis, I knew that there would be some changes to our lives and to our home. However, that," she inclined her head toward the paint on the wall, "is not the sort of change I had in mind."
He didn't have to look. He could feel it searing the edges of his peripheral vision. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but the way she spoke about this place and his presence here… He'd just taken it for granted that Raph would want to keep hanging out with him. He hadn't thought of it as Shard inviting him into her home.
With an inward shake, he shoved that thought away. Why shouldn't he be allowed to spend time with Raph? They were all squatters here; it wasn't like Shard paid rent on the subway station. Who cared about one stupid tag?
She does.
Shut up, brain!
"Hey, you should take it as a compliment." He gave a nonchalant wave toward the tag. "Not many people get their own Casey Jones original. You've heard of Banksy?"
"No," she said.
He deflated a little. "Oh. Well, this is better. It's a Casey."
She looked at him. Just looked. And his grin faltered. He folded his hands in his lap and looked away. "Sorryitwon'thappenagain," he muttered. At least not while you're watching.
"Ai yah," she sighed, and Casey made a quiet mental note to ask Raph what that meant later. "Actions have consequences, Casey Jones. When we do wrong, we must work to amend the wrong. When we do good, we are similarly rewarded, though that reward may take on many forms."
Oh give me a break. Do all teachers get the same corny handbook? Is this the part where she tells me to think about what I've done?
"I have something for you," Shard continued. "Something that has been coming for some time now. Please, hold out your hand."
Casey's gaze snapped back toward her. Whoa. That's not in the handbook. He felt his brows drawing together. Was she actually going to hit him? Raph and his brothers talked about getting their shells handed to them during training, but that was just practice, like when you get sent into the boards or get a puck to the face. And for what, some stupid paint? He hadn't even thought that room was that important. It was mostly empty, for crying out loud.
What did she even mean, anyway? "For some time?" He'd only known her less than a week. Had she really flagged him for punishment the first moment she'd seen him? Well, she wouldn't be the first, and she wouldn't be the last. Unless… had he hurt Raph worse than he thought, maybe?
No. No, that couldn't have been it. Adults always did the same thing. Wrote him off as a lost cause the moment they saw him.
Well, he'd show her. Casey Jones wasn't scared of anybody. He met her gaze with a defiant look, and offered her the backs of his hands.
Do your worst, Cat Lady. I guarantee you I've seen meaner.
But something strange flickered across that weird, monstrous face when he did it. She looked… sad. But that couldn't be right. She was the one who'd asked for this. She had no right making him feel guilty for actually doing what he was told.
His jaw clenched tighter, and he left his hands right where they were. Casey Jones was not gonna be the first one to back down.
Casey flinched as her hand moved, but instead of the blow he expected, she opened a little box he hadn't even noticed, and pulled something from within. The line between his brows deepened when she brought whatever it was up to her chest, holding it against her heart with both hands.
"This has been in my keeping a long time," she said softly. "And it has served me well over the years. But now, I think, it is time I returned it."
A tremor ran through him as those clawed hands wrapped around his, but the claws left no mark against his skin. Instead, she turned his hands upward, and he felt her press something into his palm and close his fingers around it. He blinked as she withdrew her hands, unable to figure out why the feeling of her fur had his heart racing like it was going to explode, and focused instead on the feel of warm metal in his hand.
Slowly, he uncurled his fingers, and stared in confusion at the ugly, rusted old key. What, she was giving him garbage, now? It looked almost too scratched to even open anything. Even the engraving on its face was half gone, only the faded remains of an NES…
Memory slammed into him with the force of a runaway truck, and he doubled over in silent shock as the wave of adrenaline drove the air from his lungs.
"This'll get ya in, 'n yous 'n your kids won't be hungry no more…"
It couldn't be. It couldn't, and yet the impossible key was staring him right it the face, proving it was true. It was real. It had happened. It was all real. But that meant… the starving kids… Raph and his brothers… this strong, proud lady in front of him digging through trash to feed her kids… using that trash can lid to save a scrawny, ungrateful brat who'd grow up to treat her like… like...
"I promise you shall be safe with me."
"And I'd look after 'em, too, I'd have their backs like yous had mine. I hope I'll meet 'em someday."
"You are a good boy…."
A good boy….
Oh god, what had he done?
But she wasn't finished. Because she'd pulled something else out of the box and opened it before him, and he knew what it was before she'd even finished, though the stain was new to him and oh, man, you idiot, those stupid peaches, of course she wouldn't have known because your stinking name is gone…
"I enjoyed your letter," she said, in that same gentle tone. "It has kept your key company for some time now. I am sorry I could not write you back, but as you see, our lives are somewhat more complicated than I knew how to explain." She made that sound again, and this time he was certain it was a laugh. "Though I suppose we should be fortunate your penmanship has not changed in this past year."
She'd kept it. She'd kept the stupid letter he'd left. And the only reason she knew it was his was because he'd gone and vandalized her home. Her home, which he'd spent years, years fantasizing about. Dreaming she'd return, and pick him up again, and take him away to a place where he wouldn't have to be scared, or sad, or angry, only now, now he'd gone and…
It was too much. Too much. His head was screaming and he didn't know whether to strike out or run, and it was so hard to breathe, and he needed to… to….
With a muffled, strangled cry, he clapped his hands over his face and curled over until his forehead pressed against his knees, making himself as small as he could before he pulled his bandana over his eyes, hiding himself completely. He was shaking as he fought to reconcile everything that had happened, everything that he'd done, with the woman he'd convinced himself he'd made up, because no one was that good, that kind, without wanting something in return.
"Oh, Casey," Shard breathed, and a soft hand came to rest against his bowed head. "There now, my little one. It is all right. Fate has a way of dealing us hands that are unexpected, but I am glad of it. I have waited a long time to be able to tell you just how much your gift has meant to me. To this family." As she had on that night so many years ago, she stroked his hair with the lightest of touches, and that gentle touch undid everything that was left of him, and his voice broke on a sob.
"Casey," she said again, and he wished she'd keep saying it, because it was so rare that he heard it spoken by an adult in a way that didn't sound like it was a burden, but like it was something important. "It is all right. Memories are a powerful thing. There is no shame in the emotions that come with them."
It was a permission he hadn't known he needed, but the floodgates burst, and he pressed his fists against his mouth to muffle his cries as he wept.
The whole time, she said nothing, but her hand kept moving, and it was as though with each stroke, she dug her claws in and tore away another layer of that thick skin he'd been so proud of building up over the years. And it hurt - not physically, for her claws never touched him, but he could feel it in his heart, and it hurt so bad, and yet he didn't want it to ever stop.
And it didn't. Not until he'd wrung himself dry. Only then did he finally allow himself to uncurl, burning with shame as he noticed the stains his greasepaint had left on the rug. God, the minute the turtles caught sight of his face, he knew he'd never live it down.
"I…" he began, and swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I was—… I almost forgot you. I didn't mean to… I didn't want to…" His gaze flicked to the paint on the wall, and desperation tightened his throat until he was struggling for air. "I didn't know it was you!"
"It is all right, Casey. The wall will live." Shard's tail twitched, swishing against Casey's fists where they pressed against his knees, and he didn't understand how anything could be that soft, but she was still talking, and he drank in every word like he'd been dying of thirst in the desert and they were drops of rain. "You were so young when last we met, I feared you might not remember the key at all. Indeed, I almost did not recognize you." Her ear twitched, and a smile with more than a little mischief in it crept across her face. "Let us see if we might do something about that.."
With deft hands, she undid the knot on his bandana. He shivered as she gently cupped his chin in her hand, and with the skill and efficiency of a mother accustomed to raising messy boys, she began to wipe his face clean. And if it was easier than it should have been because he'd wet it with his tears, she didn't say a word, and he would have loved her for that alone, because he knew she knew as well as he did that she was also undoing the evidence of his tears for anyone else waiting outside.
"There," she said, nodding in satisfaction as she finished. "I knew there was a handsome young man under all that dirt."
A shudder ripped through him as those words brought another wave of memory crashing down on top of him, and almost undid him again. With those words, she grasped hold of his heart and tore him away from the precipice he'd been walking for so many years as surely as if she'd thrown him across the dojo - which she was perfectly capable of doing, too. He knew it, just as he knew that he'd do anything and everything she asked of him now, even if it meant setting aside every lie he'd built to protect himself. No matter how much that was gonna hurt.
Shard's smile faded a little as she watched another wave of emotion take the cracked and brittle child before her. Casey Jones. All knees and elbows beneath the makeshift armour and facepaint. Was anyone taking care to see that he was eating properly, or giving him treats on special occasions? Was there anyone to kiss him good night, and chase away unpleasant dreams? Surely not, if a simple act of kindness was enough to cause this kind of distress.
"Casey? I would help, if you will let me. Will you tell me what is wrong?"
"I'm sorry," he whispered, in a voice so broken she almost missed the words. "I'm so sorry."
She somehow doubted he was still talking about the wall. He had lowered his head again, his shoulders shaking, and she rested her hand against one. He flinched a little at the touch, but leaned into it a moment later, so she left it where it was. "What are you sorry for, young one?"
"I promised…." his voiced cracked. "I promised to be good. To stop picking fights. And I tried, I swear I tried!" His fingers dug into the paint-flecked fabric of his jeans. "But things just kept getting… and even though you left all those presents at the shop, I almost convinced myself I was makin' 'em up. Makin' you up." He drew a ragged, shuddering breath. "I wanted to be someone you'd be proud of. But there were always bullies, and I kept getting so mad, and I kept getting kicked out of schools, and… and…." He shook his head. "I blew it. I'm so, so sorry."
If she had had any doubts remaining, they were gone now. It had been a long time – too long, perhaps – but there was no question in her any more. His exterior may have changed, grown harder, hidden beneath layers of armour. But she knew that heart.
Once more, she lifted his chin until her eyes met hers, and she could see herself reflected in them. "Do you know what I see?" she asked.
"A screw-up," he replied immediately.
Oh, but he was so much more like Raphael than he knew. They were two sides of the same coin, these fierce, angry children, and she was going to have her work cut out for her. Mishandled, they could feed each other's insecurities and widen the cracks each of them had. But with the right touch, the right nudges, their strengths could align. They had the potential to be an unstoppable force for good.
"No," she said. "I see a young man with the strength to stand up for what he knows is right, even at a cost to himself. A young man who fought alongside my sons against a great evil. You fulfilled that promise in the end, Casey. You had their backs, just as you said you would."
"But…" he protested. "But I beat up Raph!"
"Yes, and I've no doubt he goaded you into it," Shard replied, hiding a smile as the matter-of-factness in her tone clearly took him off guard. "But in the end, you were there when he needed you." She twitched an ear. "And do you know what else I see?"
At last out of glib retorts, he silently shook his head.
She shifted her hand until it rested against his cheek. "I see a young man who I am proud to welcome into this family."
His eyes widened, his breath catching as though she had struck him. "You… You want me to be part of your family?"
"You already are, my little one."
His lip trembled for the briefest of moments before the fierce, bold little warrior lunged for her and threw his arms around her waist, clinging to her as though his life depended upon it. At last she was able to hold him as she had longed to from the moment she had figured out who he was, making up for so many lost years.
There were shadows in his eyes; clearly, he had seen things, done things since last they met, and they clung to him. But shadows could be banished by the light, as well she knew, and as her family had healed Shard, so too could they heal the cracks in this boy, who had found his strength walking the line between darkness and light.
"I can't believe I never noticed you were a cat," he said at last, and it startled a laugh out of her, though neither of them showed any inclination toward letting go.
"Yes, well, you were very small," she said. "And you had a very nasty bump on your head. And I was wearing a scarf."
"Still." His hands tightened their hold on her houmongi. "And are you sure you didn't have wings?"
She laughed again. "No, dear one, I have always been as you see me now."
He gave a soft 'huh,' and pressed his face against her shoulder. "I'm scared I'm gonna wake up and find out this is all a dream again," he said, his voice muffled against her.
"I can promise you, this is very real," she said, and stroked his hair. "Though I often dreamed of you."
His hold loosened, and she let go. Emotion played across his painfully expressive face as he sank back on his heels, his teeth biting into his lip. He was wrestling with something he didn't want to ask, she was sure of it.
"Go on," she said.
He blinked at her, and drew a breath. "For a long time, I used to sit on the fire escape at night." He picked up the dirty bandanna, wringing it between his hands. "I always hoped you'd come back for me. That you'd take me away with you."
Ah, but this child was determined to break her heart. "I considered it," she admitted. "Many times."
At that, his face snapped toward her, shock and dismay warring for dominance. This boy would never be destined for the kind of infiltration April did for the family. Or poker. His face wasn't a window to his emotions; it was more like a television screen broadcasting it in high definition.
"You did?"
"Yes," she said.
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because it would have been selfish," she said. "And because if I had done so, your sister wouldn't have had the big brother I am certain she adores."
"Oh," he said quietly, before confusion rippled across his face. "Wait, how did you know I had a sister?"
Shard gestured at the letter still sitting between them. "I did not think the happy rainbow kitten stationery was yours. Though perhaps that was my error. I don't wish to generalize."
His face reddened again, and he laughed. "No… no, that's hers. I'm… I'm not really a stationery kind of guy."
Shard smiled, and brushed the unruly black hair from his eyes. "Well then, Casey Jones. I look forward to discovering what kind of guy you truly are. Though I think I am starting to get an inkling."
"Yeah?" he said.
Her smile broadened. "It is your heart that gave you away, you know. Even now, I can still see how ferociously it beats."
She hadn't thought he could get any redder, but she was delighted to be proven wrong. With a gentle laugh, she rose to her feet and held out her hand. "Come, Casey. Shall we return to my sons? They have spent many years listening to the story of the boy to whom we owed so much."
Returning her smile, he let her pull him to his feet. "Yeah. But… Master Shard?"
"Yes, Casey?"
He rocked back on his heels, shifting his weight with endearing uncertainty. "Could you… not tell the guys yet?" He opened his hand, looking down at the key. "I still… I…"
She rested a hand against his hair. "Take the time you need to sort through your feelings," she said. "The mystery of the boy with the key has kept for ten years. It will keep a little while longer."
"Thank you," he said. "...Sensei."
A quiet thrill ran through her as he tested out the unfamiliar word. She doubted he was even fully aware of the unspoken promise he had just made, but to see him change from the defiant, swaggering peacock who had sauntered into her dojo into a young man who was willing to be guided…. She knew she had been right about him.
"Sensei," a new voice came from beyond the doorway, and Shard's hand fell away as Raphael pushed the screen aside. "I'm really sorry, but we wanted to make sure that Casey wasn't dead."
Casey glanced up at her as she steeled her expression. With the eye on the side that was hidden from Raphael's view, she winked.
The ghost of a grin stole across Casey's face before he groaned and doubled over, clutching his side. "Ohhhhh! Ohhh, the pain!"
Fighting the laugh that threatened to break free, Shard folded her hands over her staff. "Yes. Let that be a lesson to you."
"Ohhhh! I have seen the error of my waaaays."
Raphael rolled his eyes and took Casey by the arm. "Come on, drama queen, let's get you an ice pack."
"Ohhhh." Casey went limp, sagging against Raphael. "Can't walk. Legs…. Failing."
"Aw, for crying out loud." Tugging on the arm he held, Raphael hauled Casey over his shoulder. "Sorry, Sensei, lemme get this out of your way for you."
"Please do," Shard said, and turned her back as Raphael lugged the groaning teenager out of the dojo. She maintained composure all the way to her room, where she had the peace and solitude she needed to collapse onto her futon and howl her laughter into a pillow.
When she emerged an hour later, however, she was not at all surprised to find Casey on his knees in the corner of the dojo with a soapy bucket in front of him, scrubbing the last traces of the paint from the wall with stubborn, single-minded determination. The only pause he gave was as Shard passed by, and rested her hand for a moment against his head.
In the end, the secret did not last as long as Casey had hoped, though Shard had seriously doubted his ability to keep it much longer. The little things - the way his face brightened when she entered a room; the way he inched closer when she was telling a story; the bouquet of flowers that materialized in a vase in the kitchen one afternoon - they were destined to give him away.
But in the end, all it took was one jibe too many at Raphael in the dojo during one of their exchanges for Raphael to declare he'd had enough, catch Casey's stick with a sai, and fip the teenager over his head.
The fall didn't hurt him. Though the path of the ninja was decidedly not the one for Casey, Shard had determined that she would train him so that his unorthodox style worked with that of her sons, and how to fall properly was one of the first things she had taught him. But the fall was hard enough to knock the wind out of him, and cause the key suspended on a cord around his neck to come loose from the hoodie where it was hidden.
Raphael, already reaching to help Casey up, froze as he saw it. "Wait a second. Is that the Special Key?"
At his words, the rest of her sons froze, and April looked over in confusion from the corner where she was sparring with Donatello. "What's the Special Key?"
"No way!" Leonardo protested, and was nearly bowled over as Michelangelo rushed past him.
"Duuude," Michelangelo breathed, yanking on the cord until Raphael smacked his hand away as Casey struggled to breathe. "It is the Special Key!"
"Are you sure?" Donatello asked, making his own way over.
Michelangelo scowled at him. "Dude, if you'd spent as much time trying to get your hands on it as I did-"
"I beg your pardon?" Shard said.
"Uhhh, I mean what's a Special Key?" Rolling to his feet, Michelangelo laced his hands behind his back and sauntered to the other side of the dojo with a singularly unconvincing whistle.
"Now hold on," Raphael protested, planting his hands on his hips. "How come he gets the Special Key?"
Leonardo nodded. "Yeah! I'm the leader, I should get the Special Key."
"You don't get everything just because you're leader," Donatello interjected. "If anybody should be getting the Special Key, it should be me. It's my turn!"
As the voices of her sons swelled in argument, Shard helped Casey to his feet. His hand tightened on hers for a moment, and when she raised a questioning brow, he gave an almost imperceptible nod. With a soft smile, Shard returned the gesture.
"Yame!" The crack of her staff against the floor silenced the boys, who turned to her with wide eyes. "He has the Special Key because we weren't using it any more and I thought it was high time I gave it back."
There was silence for a moment before realization dawned across the faces of her four sons (well, three, though Michelangelo caught up a moment later, once he had finished chasing whatever errant thought had distracted him). "Wait, wait." Raphael turned to Casey in disbelief. "The mystery kid… that was you?"
"Goodness." Shard pressed a hand to her chest. "Did I forget to tell you of my Fierce Baby?"
"He has a baby name?"
As the four voices swelled again in counterpoint with the loud, obstinate fifth, April inched closer to Shard. "Sensei, what am I missing here?"
With a gentle laugh, Shard put an arm around April's shoulders and led her toward the now tussling pile of teenage boys. "Come. It is a story that has been told in this house many times over the years." Pausing, she plunged her arm into the mass of children and drew a bemused Casey out by the back of his hoodie before plonking him down beneath the tree. "I believe it is high time we heard the tale from the other side."
Casey blinked as the turtles settled before him in listening pose, looking at last to Shard. She smiled at him, her hand absently stroking April's hair as the girl leaned against her, and inclined her head. A broad grin spread across Casey's face before he leaned back against the tree, lacing his hands behind his head. "So lemmee tell you about the night I learned your mom can throw a trashcan lid like Captain America's shield…."
As Casey wove his tale rather admirably given the frequency and volume of the interjections from her sons, Shard could feel the pride welling within her anew. Yoshi would laugh if he could see this, and tease her about her propensity for gathering foundlings into her litter, but there was a rightness here. Fate had tangled their lives together, but what kept them from drifting again was not the cold, impersonal hand of destiny, but something far greater. Something that filled the little room beneath the streets of New York with the warmth and light that sustained them all.
They were family. And at long last, the missing brother had found his way home.