Fade

Part 4

By Dierdre

Beta read by Sassyblondexoxo. Go read her fics!

I languidly exhaled a lungful of cigarette smoke and spooned out a carrot cube, blowing away the steam to cool it. I then stuck it in my mouth and chewed experimentally, before grimacing and hurriedly swallowing. Tough and almost burned on the outside, still practically frozen on the inside: another culinary masterpiece courtesy of Raphael. The Iron Chef ain’t got nothing on me.

I shook my head and swirled the battered spoon through my concoction. You’d think three months of fending for myself would’ve given me some clue how to cook something that was even remotely edible. …Hah, stupid you. I didn’t have the patience for working around the kitchen, much less the skill or creativity. That’d always been Mikey’s department.

My heart lurched at the thought and I grimaced yet again, lifting the cigarette to my lips and inhaling deeply before the tremors had a chance to rattle my bones. I hadn’t had a flashback all damn day and I sure as hell wasn’t going to allow one to happen now.

A few more deep breaths of filtered smoke and my pounding heart had slowed to an almost normal pace. My sigh of relief was short-lived, however, as I looked back down the soup, now decorated with a fine sprinkling of ash. “Oh, crap,” I growled.

A chain smoker with no skill, less patience and hands that were prone to shaking should not be allowed within a hundred yards of a stove. I’d religiously stuck to that theory, keeping us alive on a steady diet of delivery pizza and microwavable foods, until about five weeks ago when April had been released from the hospital and had started visiting the lair again.

It’d only taken one look into the nearly empty fridge for April to make it her sovereign duty to see that we ‘ate properly’. This meant she no longer just sent me money, but instead went out and bought the groceries herself. I didn’t like the fact that she was wearing herself out by tramping through the store isles on that gimpy leg of hers, and I really didn’t like that the food she now brought consisted largely of vegetables and frozen meats; all things that needed to be cooked. No amount of yelling on my part could sway her on either aspect, though, so I didn’t even try anymore.

…Damn stubborn dame. She didn’t have a clue the hell she was putting me through with this stupid health crusade.

I stubbed out the spent cigarette into an ashtray by the sink and once again stirred the soup, watching indifferently as the ash disappeared under the onslaught of my spoon. It wasn’t like it mattered anyway. I doubt Leo had any clue what I was ordering him to eat, and food had long since ceased to have much flavor for me. Rampant depression and a pack of cigarettes a day will do that to a body.

I twisted the burner dial to its second lowest setting in the vague hope that I could at least get the vegetables and chicken to cook all the way through. Maybe then I wouldn’t poison us all with salmonella, or something equally unpleasant.

A few more minutes and one cigarette later, I stirred the soup one last time and turned the burner off. The food looked horrible, smelled worse, and I was just waiting for the culinary gods to strike me down with a well-deserved lightning bolt, but at least it was done.

I removed one of the cleaner-looking bowls from the overflowing sink, as well as a metal spoon. Ladling myself a portion of the oh-so-healthy soup, I leaned against the counter and began to eat mechanically; ignoring the weird texture and the unpleasant way the hot food seemed to turn to dust on my tongue. I always ate before my brother; an act of practicality rather than selfishness on my part. Leo required constant supervision while he ate, otherwise he’d just forget what he was doing and wander off with his dinner only half-finished. And I couldn’t let the bastard miss even part of a meal. He was already too damn skinny.

Tipping up the bowl, I downed the last of the liquid and gave the pot of soup a critical glance. I debated on having another helping, but quickly decided that my stomach had taken enough punishment for one day, so I threw my bowl back into the sink. The stack of dirty dishes wobbled dangerously as I walked away, bound for the dojo.

I didn’t knock like April insisted on doing, but just pushed the door open hard enough for the knob to rap sharply against the wall. I’d never asked permission to enter a room in my own home before, and I didn’t see any point in starting now. Besides, I kept hoping that Leo was just faking this whole catatonia shit and that I’d be able to catch him in mid-yawn or stretch. It hadn’t happened yet, but a guy could dream, couldn’t he?

My feet made no noise against the softness of the tatami mat as I walked over to my brother’s side and looked down at his cross-legged form. His eyes were still fixed at some point beyond the dojo’s brick wall, his hands slack at his sides. I gave him a sharp prod with my foot and waited a moment, not really surprised when there was no reaction. The lights were on, but still no one was home. I scowled deeply. ‘Fearless Leader’, my ass.

“Get up,” I said. After a long pause and another fruitless wait, I sighed and crouched down, attempting to meet his eyes. It was useless, though; his gaze just kept sliding away. April had described some of the symptoms of catatonic stupor to me a few weeks ago, but the whole thing still didn’t make a lick of sense. How could he keep avoiding my eyes if he didn’t even know I was there?

“Get up, Leo,” I repeated. He still didn’t move and my hands curled into fists, my voice made gravely and deep with pent-up anger. “Get up now! Stand on your own two feet, or so help me I’ll beat your face in.”

I knew it was the repeated command rather than the threat that finally made him move, but at least he was standing up now. Straightening as well, I spun on my heel and threw another order over my shoulder, “Follow me.” There was a hesitation and then the barely discernable sound of footsteps echoing my own.

Once again in the kitchen, I pulled a chair away from the table and said, “Sit down, Leo.” It took two more repeats of the order before he complied, sitting stiffly in the chair with an expression as empty as a dry well. I breathed a sigh and muttered bitterly under my breath, “Good boy.”

Ladling up a serving of soup into another semi-clean bowl, I set it down in front of him and curled his fingers around a spoon with stern instructions to “Eat, damn it.”

Obedience came slowly, but Leo’s fingers eventually tightened around the utensil and he began to eat in the same perfunctory fashion I’d previously displayed. Apparently he was hungry today, because I didn’t have to repeat the order again.

He was about halfway through the bowl when I figured it was safe enough to turn my back on him for a moment. I put a lid on the pot of rapidly cooling soup and, using both hands, lifted it up and levered the refrigerator door open with my foot. I was leaning forward to insert the pot into one of the cool shelves, when I noticed the little interior light bulb had shorted out. Well, the fridge was going to have to stay dark, ‘cause fuck me if I knew how to fix-

-ducked the wide swing, my body bending sideways as the katana blade carved a swath from the air just millimeters above my shoulder. I lashed out with a sai and neatly severed the tendons that stood out sharply beneath the skin of my attacker’s right wrist, feeling a surge of wild joy as he dropped the blade with a strangled cry, his fingers suddenly rendered limp and useless. A simple spinning roundhouse kick and the guy was eating tile, spitting out teeth as unconsciousness yanked him savagely from the fight.

I turned my back on the defeated man and engaged another, metal clashing sharply against metal. There was no real need to kill anyone and I was feeling generous tonight, so I merely hamstrung the man and tore the kunai from his grip as he folded up like a marionette. Striking him across the skull with the pommel of my weapon, I sent the kunai spinning into the fluorescent brightness of the office building, where it buried itself into the shoulder of a Foot clan member trying to get the drop on Donatello.

The black-clad man went down hard, clutching at his shoulder, and my lips drew back into a primal smile of satisfaction. That was the whole point of this fight, after all; to keep the Foot busy and away from the real players in this game. The rest of us were just a distraction, and I for one was enjoying every minute of it.

There was a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye as Leo flitted past me, his eyes closed as he fought off an unknown number of cloaked Foot-tech ninjas, that spooky sixth-sense of his allowing him to fight blindly with a speed and grace that surprised even me. He ducked an invisible blow, lashing out behind him, and was rewarded with a shower of golden sparks and the reappearance of a very surprised ninja. The look of shock faded quickly, however, with a snap-kick to the face from our Fearless Leader.

As the man crumbled silently to the ground, Leo cried out, his swords still twisting about his body in a deadly blind dance, “How’s it coming, Don?”

Don didn’t move from his crouched position by the machine, a black metal contraption that looked menacing for all its small size, but his reply nevertheless wafted over the sounds of battle, “Just give me a few more minutes, guys. This wiring is surprisingly complicated.”

I was busy pounding the hell out of a guy armed with a pike (of all the ridiculous things to use during close-quarters combat), so I couldn’t see Master Splinter, but I still heard his voice clearly, “You must make haste, Donatello. Time is of the essence.”

He sounded a bit concerned, but a quick glance confirmed that he and Mikey were still holding their own against the Shredder. In fact, as I watched Shred-head fly backwards from a simultaneous sucker-punch to the jaw courtesy of both Master Splinter and Mikey, I decided they were doing more than just holding their own. They were kicking some serious metal ass.

I couldn’t see what Master Splinter was worried about. I had a good feeling about this fight; Don would defuse the bomb, April would work her magic on the computer with Casey as her bat-swinging bodyguard, and the rest of us would take down the bad guys. It was cake, it was in the bag… hell, this world-saving shit had practically become routine. Something for the whole gang to do on a Saturday night.

I kneed one unfortunate bastard in the balls and used his back as a springboard when he went down hard, my sais whirling in a blur about my body. The army of Foot soldiers surrounding Leo and I were beginning to thin, and as much as I was enjoying this, I decided it was about time we stopped playing around with these small fry and helped the others bring down the big fish.

I signaled to Leo and opened my mouth to say as much, when a sudden cry from Don’s direction brought me up short. I whipped my head around to find Don still hunched over the metal box, but his calm demeanor had changed, replaced with a kind of desperation as his hands worked feverishly deep inside the innards of the bomb.

Leo spun his swords in a furious arc to force some distance between him and his two opponents. “What is it, Donny?”

“The bomb’s been rigged,” my brother responded grimly. “It switched itself to a count down.” A few seconds passed as his hands delved into the machine one last time, before his face drained of color and he suddenly shouted, “I… I can’t stop it!” Don surged to his feet, his voice cracking with fear as he cried out desperately, “Everyone get outta here! Get out NOW!”

For a moment time stood still as everyone, friend and foe alike, suddenly froze, weapons and fists still raised in poses of attack and defense.

Then the true meaning of what Don had said jolted through us all like an electric shock, and a lot of things happened at once. The remaining Foot soldiers that surrounded me and Leo were suddenly no longer interested in carnage. Instead they darted away, some dropping their weapons or tripping over the bodies of their fallen kindred in their hurry to escape, as Casey scooped up a protesting April and ran for the office’s main doors, shielding her with his own body.

Shredder used the distraction to execute a powerful split-kick that sent Mikey and Master Splinter crashing to the floor. He spun on his heel and would have made good his escape if a blur of green and purple hadn’t slammed into his back with a speed and power I’d never seen Don use before. The force of the impact sent both of them skidding and sliding away from Mikey and Master Splinter, Shredder’s armor kicking up sparks and ripping away tile, until they crashed through a door and plunged into a separate office.

We had one final glimpse of Don riding on top of Shredder’s chest like a lumpy surfboard before he disappeared into the darkness of the unlit room, the bomb clasped close to his chest. But it wasn’t until we heard his cry of “Run, damn it, run!” that we truly understood what our brother was planning to do.

A simultaneous cry of horror ripped itself from four throats as we began to run; not away from Don as he wished but towards, because he was our brother, our family, and to do anything else was unthinkable.

We’d only made it a few steps, however, before we heard a roar of absolute rage, a truncated cry of pain and then a deceptively mellow beep from within the dark room, and I only had one last brief glimpse of Master Splinter running on all fours for better speed before a powerful force slammed into my side, sending me careening behind the dubious safety of an overturned metal desk, and then the feel of heavy weight settling over me, additional protection, my brother, and suddenly there was an explosion of sound like the end of the world and a burst of blinding light and searing fire-

The pot slipped from my suddenly numb fingers and crashed to the ground.

A wash of soup, now nearly cold, sloshed in tiny waves around my feet as I stumbled away, an involuntary moan on my lips. I buried my face in my hands, my fingertips rapping against my temples in a shaky staccato beat as my whole body trembled. Breathe, Raphael, just breathe. Relax. It’s over, it’s over, it’s done, so stop this shaking shit, you fucking nut job!

It took a few moments, but my legs eventually stopped wanting to fold up beneath me and the drumming at my temples began to slow. I took a final deep breath and slowly lowered my hands back to my sides, where they immediately clenched into white-knuckled fists.

Looking down at the mess by my feet, I grimaced and ruefully shook my head. Perfect. Just perfect. There goes tomorrow’s lunch.

Suddenly remembering, my head snapped up and my gaze fixed on Leo’s chair… which now stood empty, the bowl of food only half-finished and now stone cold. Sometime while I’d stood rigidly at the refrigerator, trapped in the delightful throws of flashback, Leo had forgotten my orders and slipped away from me.

I snarled, my eyes narrowing to mere slits of rage. How dare that useless bastard leave without my permission? Crazy, good-for-nothing piece of sh-

-the desk slammed into my side as the explosion ripped through the building and it was only through the grace of my brother, my living shield, that the fire didn’t snake around the desk and envelope me too, but that was no comfort because now I had to watch, helpless, as the flames roared overhead and seared into my brother, burning his mask away and igniting the leather sheaths at his back, tearing into the right side of his body and twisting and searing flesh with the curiously familiar smell of burning pot roast, and all I could do was reach out and try to draw Leo closer as he threw back his head to scream, and inhaled fire-

My vision cleared again and I found myself on my hands and knees, gagging from the remembered smell of burning flesh, my heart pounding with such force it threatened to crack my plastron in two.

I shuddered and shut my eyes tightly, but found no relief even in this self-imposed darkness. The flashback was over, but I could still see a faint flickering image, like a badly superimposed movie reel, playing itself out behind my eyes. Images of flames roaring overhead with mercurial speed and of flesh charring from sudden heat, green skin peeling and spinning away from my brother’s body in flakes of greasy ash-

My stomach convulsed and I clamped a hand over my mouth, tears springing to my eyes as I fought down the powerful urge to vomit. Oh, shit. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. Goddamn it all to hell…

I don’t know how long it took, but sheer stubbornness eventually won out over the urge to lose my dinner. I took my hand from my mouth and swallowed hard, letting my hand drop back down to the floor. My palm encountered wetness and I drew back with a start, opening my eyes and staring at the concrete. When my legs had given way beneath me, I’d apparently fallen smack-dab into the puddle of soup.

This whole mess suddenly struck me as rather funny. Here knelt Raphael -the hothead, the loner, the self-proclaimed tough guy- reduced to a shaking pile of neuroticism, with soup squelching between his toes and insinuating itself into the fabric of his kneepads. Raphael, who no longer had control over his own mind. Raphael, who suddenly had a wild and almost overwhelming craving for about twelve cigarettes and a stiff drink.

I was as crazy as Leo, as crippled in my own way as April, and about as useful to them both as a chocolate hammer. We were all doomed. It was just a matter of how much longer fate wanted to torture us before allowing death to deliver the final blow.

Laughter clawed its way up my throat, a compulsion I was powerless to stop in my questionable mental state. And so, my shoulders shaking and tears trailing lines of acid down my cheeks, I gave in to the urge, throwing back my head and howling in twisted mirth. The sound of it filled the lair to the brim, reverberating and bouncing around me in desperate echoes, and it was a long time before I was able to stop.