Part 11

A thin sliver of moon highlighted the edge of the clouds covering the sky, but the rest of the night was too dark to see. Leonardo followed his brother by the sound of his shouts and the smell of blood.

He ran full tilt through the forest, his empty hand in front of himself—he still slammed his shoulder into a tree, stumbling, then continued to sprint. He felt the shock spread through his arm and switched his sword to his other hand—his off hand, but he had no choice. Already he felt his shoulder going numb.

Michelangelo screamed and the smell of blood grew stronger. Leonardo yelled his name, and his brother's responding shout was closer than he'd expected. He corrected hard to the left and ran into branches and thorns.

Then the branches clattered to the ground and the thorns scraped at his face. Not branches—bones. Not thorns—claws. He'd unknowingly plowed into the creature and knocked it over, and he ran over it and stumbled across his brother, grabbing blindly for his hands.

He found his brother's wrist and yanked, drawing him away from the thing shrieking so close that he could feel the vibrations of its voice in his shell. Then his brother came to such a sudden stop that Leonardo slipped to one knee.

"Keep pulling!" Michelangelo yelled. "It's still got me!"

A loud crack like wood on bone brought another shriek, and as Leonardo held tight—he wouldn't let go, he refused to even loosen what he knew was a painfully tight grip—his constant force began to wrench his brother inches forward.

Panting breaths came from behind them, something charging with heavy steps in the snow. Any hope that it was Raphael was dashed when Leonardo realized how high up the sounds were coming from, how tall the thing had to be. It sounded like a terrible wind rushing closer, tearing branches as it came.

Another crack—Michelangelo finally pulled free and used the momentum to help pull Leonardo after him. Something lashed out over their heads, missing them by inches as they ducked, feeling the force of it instead of seeing it. Michelangelo yelped and pulled them to the left.

"Too many trees," Michelangelo winced, "can't see a damn thing."

Something raked down across Leonardo's shell. He half-turned and slashed, but the blade passed harmlessly in the air.

"You're slowing down!" Michelangelo said. "Come on!"

Leonardo found that he couldn't answer. Cold made it impossible to breathe, let alone talk. He was still running, but in a moment, he didn't think he would be able to walk. They had sprinted further into the forest than before, pushing through the flurries of a blizzard he could barely feel anymore.

He pulled out of Michelangelo's grip and committed himself to a final, wide slash—the arc passed through something thick and lodged deep, his sword immediately wrenched away as something hot splashed his hands and face.

The sudden heat gave him enough of a shock to try to follow his brother's voice in the darkness. As something roared behind him, he found himself pushing through snow that was up to his waist. He bowed his head, bringing his arms close to his body, and as his shoulder scraped up against the rough bark of a tree, he had enough presence of mind to move around it, placing it between him and the thing behind him.

Handfuls of snow and ice fell down on him as the tree shook. Michelangelo was calling his name but neither could see each other. Were they down to one monster now? Or were there still more in the forest, coming at the monster's call?

Firelight—orange and red flame glinted on steel. Raphael's voice followed in a wordless bellow as the small circle of light came closer, and the burning log in his hand sent a sparkle across the sword still buried in the creature's arm. Then Raphael caught its flailing wing in one sai, forcing it back with the fire in his other hand.

"Goddammit, Leo, could use a little help here!"

Leonardo looked up. He could barely make out the blurs of his brother and the monster, an indescribable mass of white bones that moved against a backdrop of trees and snow, but the glint of fire on his sword—that he could see. That he could put his hand out and force his fingers closed around.

He couldn't pull or draw it back, but he didn't have to. Its thrashing against his weight sent the blade through its arm, severing it with a spray across white snow, joined by another mist of blood as Raphael's sai went through its skull.

"Come on, you fucker, I'm over here!"

At first Leonardo thought that Raphael was still yelling at him, but when the shouting continued, he realized that the voice was farther away. He turned his head, wincing at the snow flurries blowing across his eyes, and spotted Michelangelo edging backward. A tall, white blur paced in and out of view, and a moment passed before Leonardo realized that it was one more creature, its wings unfurled, menacing his little brother.

"Mikey!" Raphael screamed, his voice suddenly shrill with panic. "Geddoffa there! The ice can't hold you!"

"Come on, you bastard," Michelangelo said, ignoring his brother. "Fresh meat!"

Leonardo found himself rousted to his feet again, leaning on Raphael's arm as his larger brother rushed to close the distance between them. They moved painfully slowly, one step at a time, and if Leonardo could have thought clearly, he would have realized that Michelangelo was luring the largest monster away from his vulnerable sibling.

The thing stomped onto the ice, then lunged, arms and wings out. Michelangelo rolled sideways, under its arm, sliding with his momentum.

"Get off the ice, you fucking moron!"

But with the monster so close, Michelangelo had to keep moving backward, diagonal away from them. It wasn't until they all heard it that Leonardo grasped what was making Raphael so frantic.

A loud crack of ice breaking on top of the lake. The monster roared, flailing as the ice shifted beneath its hooves, and its hand caught Michelangelo's jaw, sending him sprawling backward.

Leonardo didn't remember how he was suddenly leaping under the monster's outstretched arm, and then sliding across the ice to catch Michelangelo's hand just before his brother could completely vanish under the water.

Furious yells came from behind him, Raphael roaring louder than the monster he faced. The battle was moving away, leaving Leonardo and Michelangelo balanced precariously at the edge. Leonardo held tight, but his arm felt like ice and he felt his blood slowing like slush. In his grip, he didn't feel Michelangelo moving at all, and he wondered if they would pull out a corpse.

Two corpses, he thought, watching the world blur into darkness. But he swore his hand would freeze before he let go, even in death.

Two bright beams of light flashed over the forest, Raphael's only warning as he sprang to one side. There was a sickening crunch, a hot splatter that he assumed was blood, and then he was staring at the monster's body pinned against a birch tree. The monster shuddered, its wings flapping uselessly for a moment, and then its skull-like head slumped down and its whole body went limp.

He took only a second to glance in the driver's seat at Donatello, pushing the deflating airbag away from the steering wheel. At his weary thumbs up, Raphael charged back toward his brothers.

His jaw dropped when he only saw Leonardo prone on the ice. With a steady string of prayers, he braced one arm around his older brother, then reached into the lake, following the line of Leonardo's arm and hand, still firmly grasping Michelangelo's hand. Grunting at the cold, Raphael grabbed his little brother and dragged him out, then started pulling both them of them across the groaning ice.

"I got L-Leo," Donatello said, coming from behind him. "Is M-M-Mikey br-reathing?"

"D-dunno yet."

Raphael sounded more calm than he felt, gathering his little brother into his arms and hurrying him out of the wind into the van. Leonardo was set beside him, and then Donatello slammed the doors shut and was back in the driver's seat.

"Check for a pulse," Donatello said over his shoulder. "Then listen for breathing. Chest compressions if no pulse, breathe for him until he starts."

"Kinda hard to feel anything," Raphael muttered, but he put his fingertips at Michelangelo's throat for several seconds. Cold chills not from the snow started to creep up his shell, but just as he turned to beg Donatello to come back and do this instead, he felt a solid thump against his skin.

"Shit, I only felt one heartbeat," he said, bending low to put his ear by his brother's mouth. Nothing.

"His heart might have slowed," Donatello said. "Don't panic."

"He ain't breathing, Donny—"

"Don't panic," Donatello repeated. "Just do the breathing for him and he'll take over when he can."

Donatello didn't hear anything afterward, and he glanced in the rearview to see Raphael bent over Michelangelo, holding his brother's head in his hand, giving him every other breath.

He drove slowly through the forest, careful to avoid the trees that he'd grazed as he drove in. Branches hung askew, snapped and hanging by strips of bark, showing just how close he'd come to crashing or smashing the windshield. He hadn't had time to change out the slashed tire, and it made the whole van shudder and pull to the right.

When they came out of the forest, he didn't stop at the house, instead taking them straight into the barn. He couldn't leave the engine running, but he moved quickly to gather armfuls of wood from the pile at the kitchen, then hauled them back and closed the doors behind himself. Within a moment, he had the wood in the middle of the barn floor and kindled with the smoldering branches Raphael had left in his wake.

"How's Mikey doing?" Donatello asked as he opened the van, already pulling Leonardo into his arms.

"Heart's beating faster," Raphael said. "Still ain't breathing."

"Bring him over to the fire."

It was another several minutes as Donatello brought blankets and futons from the house, piling them so that he could sit with Leonardo in his arms, sharing body heat along with the warmth from the fire. Long minutes passed with nothing but the sound of the fire crackling and Raphael working on Michelangelo.

The faint cough and gasp nearly brought them both to tears. Donatello buried his face in the crook of Leonardo's neck. He wouldn't admit that he hadn't really believed it would work.

"Jesus Christ, you little shit," Raphael said, gathering Michelangelo up against himself. "Don't scare us like that again."

There was no response but a weak breathless laugh. Raphael brought the blanket up over himself like a cloak, wrapping them up in a bundle. He rubbed his little brother's hands in his, not mentioning how he felt like he was sitting with a block of ice in his arms.

"How's Leo doing over there?" he whispered.

"Breathing with a pulse," Donatello murmured. "Just have to get them warm again."

Raphael gave him a look. "Really?"

Donatello met his gaze evenly. What else could they do?

"...uh." Raphael wasn't sure how to respond to his brother's silence. "So, um. Guessin' we're here 'cause the house has a hole in it."

"The house has a lot of holes in it," Donatello said. "It's almost as drafty as here, but the barn doesn't have a huge break in the roof."

"Don't have a kitchen, either," Raphael said, no judgment in his voice. "Or bathrooms. Or...nothing."

"...yeah."

Donatello sighed and pulled Leonardo closer.

"When they're better," he said softly. "When they're...when they're awake and moving around."

"Then what?" Raphael asked. "We fix up the house?"

"That would take a lot more resources than I have," Donatello said. "In more ways than one."

Raphael watched him cling to his older brother, holding him like a security blanket. Unconscious, Leonardo shifted, barely turning his head toward the sound of Donatello's voice.

"So we're leaving," Raphael said. "Where to?"

"I have to steal a new wheel for the van," Donatello said. "We have to load it up with whatever we can scrounge. Then..."

He sighed, his plan crumbling apart without any goal.

"Back to the water treatment plant?" Raphael asked.

Donatello didn't answer, merely slowly shaking his head.

In the morning, he still didn't have an answer. He went through the motions of making breakfast, brushing snow from the kitchen countertops as he cooked and forcing something hot down everyone's throats. Then he built the fire back up again as they waited.

By then, they were in one pile together, huddled for reassurance as much as warmth. None of them spoke, content to watch the fire and listen for anything outside.

In the evening, as Raphael fiddled with the radio again and found nothing but static, he huffed and glanced at his brother.

"So...any idea what they were?"

Donatello didn't have to ask. He half-shrugged.

"Mutants? Cryptids? I mean...we're not all that far from the Pine Barrens. I would've said Jersey devils, but..."

"Ain't no woman giving birth to something that big," Raphael said. "Not without a lot of ripping on the way out."

"I don't think they're that big when they're born," Donatello said, rolling his eyes.

"Still...three or four...how many'd we kill?" Raphael half-shrugged, shifting Michelangelo in his arms. "Hell with it, buncha dead devils. We should call Casey, he could get on National Geographic."

Donatello pulled out the communicator he kept in his belt. He dialed the number, then held it out so Raphael could hear the lack of a signal.

"Still too cloudy?" Raphael asked.

"...no." Donatello put the communicator back. "I tried calling them before, back when we were leaving. Figured I just missed them, but now..."

"Wanna swing by? Y'know, just say hey, check up on 'em, crash on their couches."

"I don't want to live on April's good will," Donatello said. "But...there are abandoned buildings in New York. We could probably stake one out."

"And what, hope no one drops by?" Raphael chuckled at the thought. "Ain't many abandoned places in New York. Just places the owners ain't using."

"I can take care of that part," Donatello said. "Well, me and Leo, if neither of us minds committing a few felonies."

"What, bank fraud?" Raphael asked, his humor fading. "I ain't asked either of you where you get money from. Don't think any of us really wanna know. It ain't like he...hell, ain't like any of us have any legal ways of getting money."

Donatello stared into the fire, adjusting his grip as Leonardo mumbled something and turned in his arms, curling up against him. Minutes passed, and Raphael thought he wasn't going to get an answer. He was laying Michelangelo out on the futon, lying beside him for the night, when he heard his brother.

"This place won't work anymore," Donatello said softly. "I won't go back underground. I just...I just can't. We either find a place or...or we go on a road trip down to Florida."

Raphael lifted an eyeridge. "'Florida'?"

Donatello lay down beside him, Leonardo nestled between them with Michelangelo.

"I'm tired of being cold," Donatello said finally.

The fire underscored his frustration, the way they were sandwiched between the flames and the van which blocked some of the draft. They could see starlight between some of the slats in the roof, and the wind blew against the walls as if winter wanted to creep in and settle over them, suffocating them with ice.

"Yeah," Raphael said, reaching across to touch his hand. "I get what you're saying."

The doors rattled, knocking against the latch. Both of them stiffened, but underneath the doors the moonlight came clear and unbroken, a cold draft with no shadows. Just the wind.

Raphael didn't think he'd ever again believe anything was just the wind.

"Okay," he said. "We swing by April's, make sure she's okay, then see if we find a place. And if we don't..."

There was a faint slurred murmur from between them.

"...then we're going to Disneyworld."

Raphael's face split into the first grin he'd had in days. He gave his little brother a nudge, pleased with the tired smile he got in return.

"Hell yeah, we're going to Disneyworld."

He glanced over at their older brother, who hadn't responded in all that time. As usual, Leonardo was still quiet against Donatello's shoulder. Raphael sighed, trying to be content that his brother was breathing at all, and instead kept up a quiet chatter to his little brother, bringing him up to speed as well as quietly soothing him back to sleep.

"Disneyworld, no matter what. Just gonna head to New York one more time, maybe crash in the basement under April's shop. Then we find our own place. Just gotta make sure she's fine, then Leo and Donnie break bad and get us millions of millions and we buy a damn condo."

Donatello rolled his eyes again. "Don't know about millions..."

Raphael smiled. There was precious little to smile about—the draft under the van chilled the blanket and blew against his shell, the barn walls were as useful as a threadbare blanket and his smaller brothers seemed no better than when they first arrived—but they were alive, they were getting better, and soon they'd be on the road again.

He would take what he could get.

end