One step at a time.
Left foot, right foot, repeat. His heavy duffel bag dunked against his thigh with every step, making him sway. He thought of all the goodies inside, the tiny generator and the working fuses and-
Donatello clutched his side, his hand shook when he stared at the blood on it.
He dropped his duffel bag in a sewer pipe, memorized the tunnel number with blurry vision before stumbling forward.
It was much easier now. What a stubborn moron he’d been for dragging that boulder along with him this entire time. Now he’d have no problem getting home.
If only… if only the walls would just be still. Be in place. No wait, that defies all laws of gravity, the walls shouldn’t move. He rubbed his eyes, and was rewarded with a static-y view of the tunnel. And blood. Blood all over his face.
The next step made him stumble, falling right into the nearby sewer water. It was shallow, would have only covered his ankles if he was standing. He tried to get up, but only found enough strength to turn around to stare at the ceiling.
Damn those Foot ninjas. Damn him for thinking he could do this alone. Why’d he always run away alone like that? Even as a teen he would…
His head had begun to pound loudly. He closed his eyes.
Would his family find him here? Dead in the sewers? Would they know who was to blame? Would they fall apart? And would Leatherhead…
Don chuckled, or it was more like a cough really. The water was freezing.
Of course he couldn’t not think of that face-grabbing lunatic. Don was still just a dumb, sappy romantic by heart.
He still had his eyes closed, and that made him hear every sound around him. The stream rushing past him, the cars above, the large footsteps-
Donatello’s heart did a flip. Footsteps? Had the Foot soldiers come back to finish the job?
He struggled to get up, but just spluttered like a fish on land, there was no way he could fight them off in this condition.
Well then, let them take me, a part of him thought, as he stilled and laid down flat against the sewer water. With any luck, they’d pass him in the dark and-
“Donatello, my friend,” A familiar voice spoke, jolting him out of his grim thoughts.
Leatherhead stood above him, already reaching down to take him into his arms. Don was so happy he wanted to embrace the alligator, hold him tight, tight against his aching body. But he didn’t have to do that, because Leatherhead was squeezing him against his chest, careful to avoid his injuries.
“What happened?” He asked.
Leatherhead blinked, “What?”
“My duffle…. 29… need fuses…. home…”
Then he passed out.