The Killing Moon

The Fear

Raphael sat in a cross-legged position in front of a great array of flickering candles, the wax dripping onto the mat below, and his eyes stay closed as small tendrils of smoke arose. Slowly the oldest turtle stepped forward, sitting in front of his younger brother; flinching as his brother's eyes abruptly snap open a startled breath escaping him. Leonardo reaches his hand forward, moving to grasp Raphael's wrist, but the turtle stares straight behind him as if he isn't even there. The blue cladded turtle blinks, slowly lowering his hand as the painful realization sinks in. He isn't there with his red cladded brother, not in the body. 

"Raph, I...I don't know if you can hear me," Leonardo chokes out as the latter's eyes slowly blink shut," But I just want you to know that I'm here. I'm here, little brother. And I'm coming home."

"L-Leo..." Raphael murmurs, eyelids twitching.

The blue cladded turtle feels a smile twitch against his lips as he utters," I'm almost home, Raph. I'm so close...I don't know how I'm back, or why but I know this," He closes his eyes briefly, sniffing softly," I'm never leaving you again. Do you hear me? I don't care who or what stands in my way. Nothing will stop me from coming home to you, to my family...Just promise me that you'll wait for me."

Raphael opens his eyes again, blinking rapidly as a deep frown appears on his lips. Hesitating, he reaches a shaking hand out before the shrine, nearly grazing the latter's astral form. "I must be losing it," The red cladded turtle confirms to himself, pulling his hand away as if burned. As soon as the words leave his lips all of the candles are extinguished with a sudden gust of wind," Really losing it, Raphie-boy."

Leonardo stood, watching as Raphael slowly makes his way towards the exit of the dojo with wary eyes scrutinizing the seemingly empty dojo. The blue cladded turtle followed behind his younger brother, but stumbles backward, overwhelmed at the sight of all of his brothers, his family, gathered in the pit of their lair. Michelangelo was splayed across the couch with a piece of pizza dangling over his head. Donatello is sitting in front of the couch, his shell laid back against it as he fiddled with a small remote control. Raphael is standing off to the side of the couch, arms crossed over his platted chest as his emerald hues narrow at the television.

"What are you watching," The red cladded turtle questions.

Chewing thoughtfully, the orange cladded turtle answers through his mouthful of partially chewed food," Space-Heroes: The Next Generation. I found the entire series boxed up in some abandoned video store."

"These are from the early '90s, but most were put in a landfill because the show was deemed too disturbing for kids," The purple cladded turtle chips in before yelping when the remote control emits an electric shock and smoke begins to rise from the device," For good reason, too. I bet it's even lamer than the first series."

The blue cladded turtle, despite knowing that his rant will not be seen or heard, flushes with anger as he growls," Of course you would say that! You wouldn't know quality television if it slapped you upside the head," And to emphasize that point, he slaps the turtle upside the head, but doesn't expect the startled cry that comes out of the latter's lips," Wha...he felt that?"

"What was that for, shell-for-brains," Donatello snaps, going to his feet," That was my neck, not a piece of pizza!"

Michelangelo, confused, replies with a frown," Did you finally short circuit? I didn't touch you, bro!"

Leonardo, realizing he was about to start a pointless brawl in the lair, stumbles back only for his hand to slap away the box of pizza from his youngest brother's fingers, right onto the back of Raphael's shell. Michelangelo's mouth nearly hits the floor as he laughs awkwardly. Raphael slowly turns around, the pizza sliding with a mess of cheese and tomato sauce down his shell with his eyes barely slits for how narrow they are. Donatello stands, gently settling the malfunctioning remote control on their makeshift coffee table in front of the television, before practically stomping to his youngest brother.