A/N: This little gem had been crawling around the back of my mind for a while, mostly formless, a story about Leo and what he'd be willing to sacrifice in the name of keeping his brothers safe. In this case, Michelangelo. But it was only after a little chat with Alex Hamato that it really took shape. Thanks to her and her wicked imagination, she thrilled me with an even better idea, a sharper one; one that would have never quite found its footing without her input. She plans on doing a version from Mikey's POV and I CANNOT wait to read it. She's one of my very favorite authors on this site for a reason. Check out her work and you'll see why.

For now, I ask for my dear readers to buckle up. This is a grim story. This is a tragic tale. Enjoy.

"And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity." -Colossians 3:14

The Only Choice

He knew things were bad when Mikey stopped joking. When his face fell, sobering immediately as his bloodshot eyes fell on the man entering through the doorway, carrying the small bundled thing, somehow recognizing it before Leonardo even knew what it could be. In all honesty, it was bad from the start. It had been rough the past seventy-two hours as the men from the gang known as The Pride took their time with them, but Mikey somehow, always, forever, stayed playful; mocking and nonchalant; even after nearly choking to death on a molar knocked down his throat by a pipe.

Leonardo's mind worked even as his body was mercilessly beaten. This was not the Foot. There was no honor here. No past vendetta. The Pride were an unknown in a city full of recognizable gangs with easily discerned agendas; routine in their crimes, almost to a point of comedy. The Pride were a different breed. They seemed to be motivated by causing havoc; content in general chaos: arson, riots; spontaneous shootings. Leo knew only that they were a wild card in a dark underworld, a subculture from the typical gangs. As the hours wore on and the instruments of their torture became more varied, Leo realized with no small amount of dread that their singular goal in bringing him and his brother here: to hurt them. No doubt, eventually when they grew bored, inevitably, to kill them.

The man dropped the bundle like a sack of fertilizer in the center of the room, braced his legs, crossed his arms and sneered through his multiple piercings. His left earlobe hung stretched with the heavy ring nearly touching his shoulder.

There was a chilled beat of silence. The dizziness spun his head, making it bob despite his efforts to keep still. He felt a jerk as the cord binding his wrists held out behind his shell was severed. The weight of his battered body carried him forward and he barely caught himself before face-planting into the cracked cement. He blinked, staring down at the evidence of his torture: spatters of crimson, the older splotches now black. Braced on one forearm, Leo lifted his head, blurry, blood-shot eyes trained on his brother, never leaving his face which was focused only on the figure laying on the floor. Michelangelo's eyes were wide. Face a mask of disbelief. Leo frowned, trying to understand this sudden shift in his brother's mood, but he hadn't slept and he was sure he had a concussion.

The bundle sniffled and Leo's gaze snapped to it, a trailing line of bloodied spittle hung from his swollen bottom lip. Blinking rapidly, he tried to clear his vision. Something twisted in his stomach as he made out a head of dark curls, toddler hands, dimpled and plump that braced against the floor. Eyes wide, tearful and blue gazed around, confused and lost, and Leo felt recognition hit him more painfully than any of the blows he'd withstood the past few days. The pieces fell into place. A larger picture formed framed by frightening clarity. If they had her then their friends . . . Casey . . . April. Something crumpled and turned to ash within him then, burned by invisible flames of hatred, anguish and fear.

Michelangelo made a choked sound then scrambled desperately towards the girl. Whatever control he'd been holding onto had evaporated.

"It's okay, it's okay," he rambled through broken teeth and swollen lips; his voice betraying the terror he was feeling. And Leo could only think, out of protectiveness over his brother, Don't do anything stupid, Mikey.

The men surrounding his brother chuckled. Someone whooped with excitement. Another kicked him in the face as two others held him back by his shoulders. Leo growled and rose up only to be kicked in the forehead by a boot, sending him back to slam against the wall. His aching body slumped.

Before him crouched the leader, Argus; he remembered this clearly as the man had carved his name into his left thigh with a Bowie knife. He flicked a line of trimmed bangs from his eyes and repositioned the sucker inside his mouth from one side to the other. He smiled, then grew serious. Eyes, one green, the other blue, considered Leo with something like a sadly appraising expression. Leo willed his shaking body forward, but before he got far, a boot heel pinned each hand; twisting until he fell back and gasped quietly, doing his best to not give these sad excuses for men any satisfaction.

"Don't get excited, hero. Not yet."

Behind him, the sound of Shadow crying reached him, above that the whimper that Mikey made as another series of blows kept him from going to the little girl. Leo's chest tightened. He ignored the strategic part of his mind that laid out exactly what these punks could do with her to inflict further suffering. He could not bear to think of it. And still, his need to protect Mikey, to get him away from these monsters masquerading as men was an overwhelming presence, crawling over his skin, pressing on his psyche, squeezing his soul breathless.

"You know what's not cool about fiction?" Argus asked as he settled deeper into the squat. His teeth clicked across the surface of the sucker as he spoke. "You never get to choose." He reached out and slapped Leo, bringing his attention back from trying to peer over to see if Mikey was okay. Leo glared at him. "This is important. Pay attention or you may lose pertinent information."

Leo said nothing but continued to stare into the man's uncanny gaze.

"You have these characters and the plot, but everything's staged and set and where's the fun in that?"

Leo found himself wanting to drive his thumbs into the man's mismatched eyes. But his hands remained pinned painfully under a pair of boots.

"I could write. Ain't that so, Peanut?"

A tall, thin punk with a topknot nodded.

"I always wanted to be a novelist." He spread his hands out wide. Then settled them onto his thighs and stood up. He clapped his hands together. "But I'd rather direct."

He strode over to Shadow and knelt down, draping his arm around her tiny shoulders. Mikey's growl reverberated into a snarl, cut off by a crack of a small bat. Leo's throat tightened as his brother slumped back. He wasn't out, just dazed. Shadow took this in and through her tears, she balled her fists and true to her father's nature, swung at the man next to her. Argus laughed as the tiny fists pattered against his bare chest. He opened his fur-lined vest to give her more area to pummel.

"Ah, so cute. So lively."

Argus knocked her back, swatting an insect. She crumpled and he stood.

Snapping his fingers and pointing to Leo. "Here's what I see. A hero and his brother. A little lost orphan."

Leo's heart sank. His jaw clenched as tears blinded him. Casey . . . April. It couldn't be true. He focused past the threatening grief, focused on the here and now. His brother. His friend's daughter.

Argus's eyes glittered as they scanned his audience. The men grew more excited as they shifted and whistled, some clapped once or slapped their hands against their thighs. Someone slapped the back of Leo's head. Argus pulled the sucker from his mouth and spread his arms wide like a mad conductor in front of an orchestra from hell.

"Who will he choose?"

He crossed the room and bent to look Leo in the eyes. "Well, hero. You've got a choice and I'm all for improvising. So, you can pick one to live and one to die."

He produced a switchblade. Leo went still. Argus's grin widened. He raised his finger and several guns were aimed at both Mikey and Shadow.

"I said I'm all for improvising, but make one move I don't approve of and you'll be thrown off set. Alone."

He dropped the blade onto Leo's lap and the men on his hands relented. Leo grabbed the knife and immediately lunged forward; sloppy and uncoordinated. Argus jumped back, laughing.

"Blow off the kid's hand."

"No!" Mikey screamed as the men took aim.

"Wait!" Leo shouted. Then threw the switchblade down, raising his hands afterwards.

"But that's not how this scene plays out, hero." Argus picked up the blade and handed it back. "You have to choose."

"Kill them both," he said without hesitation.

Argus threw his head back and laughed. It was full-throated and rich. He stuck the sucker back into his mouth and shook his head. "Oh, you are just perfect. Is that what you really want? Because we can do that." He gazed around, cocking one pierced brow. The men grew taunt with anticipation. A ripple of something predatory slid through the room.

"Leo," Mikey gasped. "Don't let them hurt her."

All the mirth was replaced with a desperation that he didn't recognize in his younger brother. His face shot from Mikey to Shadow. She stood up and Argus held his men at bay with a raised finger. They stood still as she stumbled across the floor bare footed and dressed in a tattered night gown, and fell into his chest, arms wrapped around Mikey's neck. His shoulders shook with the effort of trying to free his arms from the men's hold in order to embrace the little girl. But he could only lean into her. His face was a mask of agony.

Argus turned to leer at Leonardo, watching the heart-breaking scene, helpless and enraged, but impotent.

"Uncle Mikey," she sniffled. "I wanna go home."

Michelangelo brought his mouth down to the top of her head, kissing her hair once and whispering something Leo couldn't hear. Didn't need to. He raised his eyes and met Leo's. The desperation was gone. Resolve, cold and unflinching, told Leo what choice to make. Demanded it from him.

"Mikey's a little skunky brat!"

"Raphael."

Mikey sniffled, rubbing the bruises blossoming on his shoulder and arm.

"He asked for it."

"You will apologize to your brother and then clean his side of the bedroom this afternoon to make up for what you've done."

"But he teased me! He called me fat and slow!"

"No I didn't!"

"Yes, you did! Ask Donnie!"

Donatello looked up from the thick encyclopedia braced across his lap. He regarded them indifferently and went back to reading.

"I hate you!"

"I hate you!"

"Raphael, Michelangelo, I said that's enough! Go to your room and clean it."

"But his side is piled with tons of garbage! It ain't fair!"

Splinter eyed Raphael in silence until he spun on his heel and left. He turned to Michelangelo.

Leonardo watched Raphael go. Feeling torn. Raph had every right to be mad at Mikey, the little trouble maker was always doing things to annoy them. And then Raph would blow up and make everything worse instead of just ignoring him. And Donnie . . . he was just weird. His younger brothers were a pain. Sometimes he wished he didn't have siblings. It would be so much nicer if it were just he and Splinter. He focused back to the scene in front of him as Michelangelo stomped off to apologize to Raphael.

Splinter rolled his eyes to the ceiling and took several calming breaths. Leonardo took this action to mean he felt the same as he did with regard to his brothers.

"I wish it was just me and you," Leo said and reached out to hold his father's hand.

Splinter stiffened. He moved subtly to avoid Leo's touch, folding his hands in front of his body. "That is a poor thing to wish for. Your brothers are gifts."

Leo scoffed at that.

"A life without family is an empty vessel. The walls of which are brittle and fragile. It takes very little to shatter such a thing."

Leo considered this. Unsure.

"You will come to understand that there is nothing as important or precious in your life as the gifts given to you which were unasked for. Your family. Your siblings. You are one blood. One clan. Nothing can sever that truth."

He crossed his arms over his chest and poked the floor with one toe. Feeling oddly as though he were being chastised. Why did he seem to get in trouble whenever his brothers were bad. That was the other thing that stunk about having them. He realized with a start of guilt that he'd not been listening to his master. He looked up and tuned in.

" . . . oldest you are tasked to safeguard this bond. With patience and courage you will lead them. And I ask of you only this: protect them."

He wanted to ask why it was up to him, just because he was the oldest. It didn't make any sense. But he never liked questioning his father. It was easier to simply trust. To simply have faith. Before he ever understood the meaning of the concept, Leonardo acted upon such ideals. He glanced at Donatello lost in his book and heard the distant mumblings of his two youngest brothers apologizing to one another in the other room.

Splinter's hand on his shoulder brought him back to look into his father's amber eyes.

"Protect them from the dangers of the world. From each other. They are the support to your life, your heart. As you all are to mine."

"Leo," Mikey's voice wavered with the plea unspoken but understood. One of the men rubbed Mikey's head affectionately and he grimaced, knocking his head to one side to avoid the touch.

Leonardo's blackened eyes darted around the small room. Assessing. Struggling to come up with some way out of this. Some plan to rescue them all. To be the hero his brother expected.

The guns remained aimed at both Shadow and Mikey, but not to kill, no. Just one more tool at their disposal for causing the pain these monsters hungered after. One exit blocked by more than a dozen armed men who enjoyed creating new ways to elicit pain from their captives. No windows. No grates or vents. Even if they hadn't been weakened by starvation and nearly dying from thirst, even if they hadn't been beaten until delirious at times, flesh sliced and burned, bones fractured, and ribs bruised, it would've been a struggle.

His eyes locked with Argus's, standing with his hands on his hips. The man was losing patience. The animals around him were growing antsy. There was a disturbing scent of arousal that Leonardo tried to ignore, but couldn't help but add to the equation as his mind continued to search for some way out. Frustration and despair clawed at him. Argus narrowed his eyes.

"What'll it be, champ? We do this my way, or my men take their time with both the girl and your brother."

The man next to Mikey pinched his cheek, shook it and released as Mikey growled and shuddered.

There was no real choice here. They would savage them if he allowed it by refusing to play out this sick game. They were capable of things he could not bring himself to even imagine. The child and his brother. He could not stand to allow the worst to happen to them. He trembled. What it would do to Michelangelo to be forced to witness this girl whom he loved nearly like a daughter at the hands of these depraved, evil men.

He could end this. It was in his power to make it clean and quick. He had a choice. And it was bad either way. The innocent or his family. The little girl or his little brother. The razor's edge sliced layers of logic, veils of emotion, thin and thinner. Translucent.

Leonardo pinched his eyes shut. Oh god. His brother. His baby brother. His blood. His empty stomach roiled. His heart seemed to reside on a distant shore, the thumping like thunder on the horizon. Honor and loyalty butted up against each other; wrestling for domination, rending his soul, shredding his heart, tearing him in two. Presiding over all was the most powerful, most dangerous virtue; the most pure: Love.

His fingers, numb and clammy, circled the handle of the blade. He struggled to stand, finally climbing to tingling feet. It had been days since he'd stood upright.

Argus sucked hard once on his candy, rolled it around his mouth, then stepped back, giving Leonardo room to sway and catch himself, positioning his fingers and thumbs to frame the scene as it played out. The anticipation sharpened and the hunger in the room became ravenous; starved.

Mikey seemed to read his brother's resolve. His pupils shrank in fright. "Leo," he warned thickly, the fear nearly too much for Leonardo to bear.

For everything that ever mattered, he had to be strong now. He lumbered forward, swaying and paused long enough to meet Michelangelo's glassy eyes.

"Leo! You know what to do." It was a statement that asked the question. One filled with brittle fright. Edging on hysterical terror. "It's me. Leo, you have to pick me. Do you hear me? Leo?"

He reached for Shadow's shoulder. He pried her from his brother's chest, fingers trailing until they no longer felt him, still reaching. Pulling her back and away, turning with her; his shell to his brother now. The weight of the switchblade measured by the damnation of his future. Mikey would never forgive him for this. But that was not what was important. Not here. Not in this impossible situation. What mattered most was protecting his family. His brothers. His blood.

"No! You're n-not . . . No, Leo! Don't do this! Leo! Leo!? Don't you do this! Don't you fucking do this!"

Mikey began struggling. Bucking. Snarling. Furiously fighting to get free from the men pouring over him, keeping him upright to watch, but secured to the spot on his knees. Above these panicked sounds of his brother, the men began laughing, shouting, catcalling, but it was a distant cacophony, in a language Leo didn't speak. The shapes and forms of this place blended into shadows on the very edge of his corner of consciousness. His focus had always been complete. And when he needed to be, he could remove himself more fully than even Donatello. Centering on the pinpoint. Balancing on the atom.

There was nothing but the frigid expanse here in the country of resolve, of the higher ideals that made up his soul; the place where he emptied himself to do what was necessary. Nothing but one choice. The only one there ever was, the only one that ever could be in this situation. His loyalty remained, as it ever did, on his family. To protect them. Even from themselves.

The blade sang, swift and sure. He caught her as she slumped, feeling the heat of her spilling over him, the warmth of her body so quickly fleeing.

Sound rang tinny in his ears. He realized with a start it was his brother howling, cursing, vowing to kill him himself, damning him. More startling still was the open door, spilling yellowish gray light over the room, painting them in sickish tones.

Argus bowed. One hand over his stomach, the other arm splayed to one side. He straightened, took the sucker and crunched the head of it. Grinning all the while. His men exited without a sound, slipping through the doorway like kite strings through unsuspecting fingers of children on a windy afternoon.

He tossed the dark fringe from his eyes. "Some other time then, gentlemen."

And Leonardo was left kneeling in a circle of crimson, a pool of regret, a grim grasp on the fact that he just saved himself and his brother. By inches his gaze rose, not wanting to see, but needing to. Fearing what remained, if anything, of his brother's connection to him. He'd made the choice. And he'd made it, inevitably from love. His eyes locked on Michelangelo's face. Seething with unfathomable grief and fury.

The whisper was a vow, "I hate you."