A/N: Okay, my muse couldn't let the story end after all, so here, have Mikey's trek back home. And it's still not done, so there will be an epilogue coming sometime soon. Title for this section comes from Blue October's song of the same name. Not mine.

-o-

Into the Ocean

So this may not have been the best idea ever, Mikey thinks as the cold air whips past his face, making his eyes water and his heart race. If the upcoming impact doesn't kill him, a heart attack might – it feels like his heart just might beat right out of his chest.

The worst part is that Mikey's not sure if what he's done even worked. He's caught a glimpse of the familiar fuchsia-tinged glow that comes from Kraang droids on the fritz in the fog above him, and so he knows there's at least a couple droids falling after him, but he's not sure if he got all three, or even if he got them all before they fired at Donnie.

And the last image Mikey has of his brother is Donnie staring down at him – eyes wide and a growing look of horror on his face – because the fog has all but obscured the Kraang ship above him. Mikey doesn't know if Donnie's made it back into the ship with Raph and Leo, or if he's still in danger, or if he's been hit by one of Mikey's shuriken, or if he's been hit by one of the Kraang, or if the rope broke and he's falling after Mikey, or if he's even still alive, or if he's–

No, Mikey thinks firmly, squeezing his eyes shut as he retracts fully into his shell. The wind whistles past and his heartbeat pounds in his ears as he tells himself that Donnie's fine, it worked, Donnie's fine, he's safe, Donnie's fine–

Mikey hits the water at an angle, bearing the brunt of the impact across the upper part of his carapace, and he would scream at the pain of it, but the impact and the shock of cold ocean water swallowing him up has driven the breath from his lungs. And he's still falling, even after he hits – the water slows his momentum but doesn't stop it, and he sinks, and sinks, and sinks. The pressure makes his ears pop, and his lungs burn with the need for air.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he stops sinking, and he pops his arms and legs and then his head out, the nictitating membrane protecting his eyes from the saltwater as he opens them. It's completely dark, and he hovers there for a moment, unsure of which way is up.

Then the saltwater, combined with his natural buoyancy, sends him moving back toward the surface, and he starts swimming to speed up the process. Between the depth and the darkness and the lack of oxygen and the residual pain from hitting the water, which spikes every time he moves, Mikey feels like he's swimming through sludge, but every movement propels him back to the surface, toward air, toward his brothers, and so he pushes back the pain and swims.

Just keep swimming, he thinks, and he would laugh if he had air.

Suddenly there's a familiar fuchsia light above him, growing rapidly brighter, and he barely manages to move out of the way before a sparking, shorted-out Kraang droid, and then another, shoot past him, disappearing into the depths of the ocean.

Mikey's so busy looking at the two droids that he misses the third – right up until the moment it manages to snag his left wrist as it passes him and continues to sink.

For one agonizing moment, there's a fiery pain in Mikey's shoulder before his entire left arm goes numb, and then he's being pulled deeper into the water – away from air, away from safety, away from his brothers.

Mikey cannot let that happen – if nothing else, he has to find out if Donnie's okay, because he still doesn't know.

He reaches for the remaining nunchaku he had stashed in his belt; somehow, it's still tucked into its holster, and he sends up a little prayer of thanks even as he pulls it out and swings. The water slows the momentum behind the blow, but it's still enough the break the Kraang's grip, and the weight falls away as the droid sinks to the bottom of the ocean with the others.

Mikey starts rising again, but now he's even deeper in the water than he was before, and he can't move his left arm at all, and his head is pounding and his lungs are screaming from the lack of oxygen, and all he wants to do is take a breath – one breath, just one deep breath, and then he can swim to the surface, he just needs one breath, there's a reason why he shouldn't yet, but he just needs one –

MICHELANGELO!

Donnie's voice is so loud that Mikey turns his head to see if his brother is there next to him, and is confused for a moment when all he sees is darkness and not Donnie's glare.

Then he remembers Donnie launching himself after Mikey and catching him as he fell; Donnie dangling from a ship, unaware of the Kraang droids taking aim at his head to take out two turtles in one blow; Donnie's eyes wide with shock and fear – and Mikey starts kicking his legs in a desperate attempt to get to the surface because Donnie's in danger, Donnie almost threw himself off the ship to get to Mikey, Donnie doesn't know about the Kraang that are trying to kill him, no, no, Donnie, Donnie, I'm going to save you, please don't fall, Donnie–

The cold air on his face comes as a shock, and Mikey reflexively sucks in a deep, heaving breath, and another, and then another, and the rush of oxygen is almost as dizzying as the lack of it had been.

It takes awhile, but gradually his breathing evens out as he bobs there in the ocean, fog swirling around him. He can see nothing overhead; nothing on the horizon. "Donnie?" he calls, just in case, because his brother's voice is still ringing loudly in his head, as if he's right there. "Leo? Raph? Donnie?"

There is no response; no sound at all, in fact, save for the gentle lapping of the waves hitting his shell.

Mikey is alone.

-o-

When they were very young, there was a time when the turtles were terrified of swimming. Leo had slipped into the runoff from a torrential rainstorm and nearly drowned; it was only thanks to Master Splinter's speed, a low-hanging piece of piping, and just the right amount of luck that Leo had survived at all.

Their fear of swimming wasn't one that was easily broken; most of the places where it was deep enough to swim in the sewers had swift currents or hidden undertows that threatened to pull them under and never let them surface again. It wasn't until Sensei had found a small reservoir that they were able to learn what came so instinctively to their species.

Mikey had been the last to overcome his fear of getting into the water, but the first to master swimming, and though he doesn't get to swim as often as he'd like, he enjoys it now. His speed on land becomes even faster in the water – to the point where, on those very rare occasions where they can swim just for the fun of it and race, none of the others can keep pace with him for any length of time.

Sure would be nice to be that fast now, Mikey thinks ruefully as he takes yet another break. His entire body aches from the impact of slamming into the water; he can't draw a deep breath without pain, a good sign that at least a couple of his ribs are cracked; his left arm is completely useless – he's pretty sure nothing is broken, but the Kraang had dislocated his shoulder when it grabbed him, and there's no way for Mikey to try and set it back into place; and he's tired, a bone-deep weariness he's never really experienced before, not even after staying up for more than twenty-eight hours.

But the sun is slowly coming up, the fog is starting to burn away, and off in the distance, Mikey can make out the silhouette of the New York skyline. There's been no sign of the Kraang ship; Mikey tells himself it's because his brothers are off searching in another area. It has to be, because he knows his brothers will be searching for him, and if they aren't, it means something has gone wrong. Which means Mikey has to push through the pain and get back to shore; if something's gone wrong, then they need him.

Nothing is wrong; they're safe, Mikey thinks as he resumes his swimming and tries not to dwell on the image of Donnie dangling from the ship, the Kraang looming overhead. Just keep swimming. They're fine, they're FINE, Donnie's safe, Donnie's alive, I saved him, the Kraang didn't touch him, and I'm going to go home and prove it.

-o-

And Mikey swims.

And swims.

And swims.

New York is getting closer, but it's still a slow and arduous and painful process. He ends up floating on his back several different times so he can sleep for a little while without the fear of drowning.

Every time he does that, though, his body stiffens up, and it takes awhile for him to get his aching joints moving again. He wants nothing more than to collapse into his bed and sleep for a month – which is good because he's pretty sure that once he makes it home, he's not going to be able to move a muscle for a week.

But that's still a long ways off. And as Mikey awakes from another nap with a pained groan, he realizes he must have slept much longer this time than he thought, because the sun is setting. Which means he's been out in the water for nearly a day; it feels much longer than that.

And there's still no sign of his brothers.

The longer Mikey goes without seeing them, the more he's afraid that something awful has happened and that's why they haven't found him yet – because they're caught up in some other disaster with the Kraang, one that he's not there to help out with.

Or maybe they think I'm dead and they've given up, he thinks suddenly.

Well. Not ideal, but he'd rather have that than the alternative. Mikey can show his brothers they're wrong, that he's still alive, that he saved Donnie and that what he did worked – but only if they're still alive.

They're fine, he tells himself for the millionth time since he landed in the ocean. Donnie's alive, Donnie's fine, they're ALL fine, and I'm gonna be home soon, and everything will be fine.

Mikey grits his teeth as he forces his aching body to start moving again. Just keep swimming, he thinks. Just keep swimming.

-o-

By a stroke of pure luck, Mikey wakes from another short nap near dawn just in time to see a small cargo ship passing by on its way toward the harbor. It's trailing one of its mooring lines off the port side; Mikey can see the bright white rope trailing by him in the water, and he grabs the tail end of it with his good arm, letting the ship pull him along. The sudden movement is painful, as is the strain of holding onto the slick rope with one hand, but it's no less painful than trying to swim at this point, and this is much faster.

The occupants of the ship don't notice any drag from Mikey's weight; it continues moving at a slow but steady pace. Within a couple hours, they're passing by Liberty Island; Mikey can't help but stare in awe at the early morning light on the Statue of Liberty.

Certainly not a view we ever get to see, he thinks, and in that moment he misses his brothers and his sensei so much that it hurts, deeper than any other ache or pain he's feeling.

The ship continues on its course and heads up the Hudson River. It's still early enough that Mikey's not too worried about being seen in the water, but he uses his legs and his arm to slide up the rope until he's being pulled along in the shadow of the ship, and he keeps a wary eye out for anyone who might be looking off in his direction, just in case.

Eventually, they pass a set of docks that's familiar to Mikey – there's a runoff tunnel from the sewers nearby that's big enough for the turtles to enter, one they've used before. Taking a deep breath, Mikey lets go of the mooring line and dives beneath the surface, kicking swiftly to get far away from the propellers. Giving the silhouette of the ship a wave in thanks, he then turns and swims for riverbank.

He surfaces in the pocket of air beneath the dock closest to the tunnel entrance, only to suppress a scream of frustration. Through the slats in the wood, he can see the rusted grate covering the tunnel – and its large, shiny new padlock. Even with two good arms, he wouldn't be able to pick the lock and get inside without being seen in the daylight; with only one good arm, Mikey's not even sure he can pick the lock at all.

Which means he's going to have to get back into the sewers the old-fashioned way – through a manhole.

Which means waiting until night falls again so that he won't be seen.

The only saving grace that keeps him from crying in frustration is the cross brace he spots above his head. It's dry and looks just wide enough for him to lie on, giving him a place to be out the water for awhile. If he can't be home with his family, at least he can finally get out of the water. He'll sleep there until evening and then head home, he decides.

It takes Mikey a couple of tries to get up onto the ledge; he bites his lip so hard it starts bleeding as he tries to keep from crying out in pain when the movement jostles his arm and shoulder. When he finally makes it, he lays there for a few minutes, waiting for the pain to subside. There's gotta be a way to make it not hurt so bad. Maybe bind the arm so it doesn't move – that is what's causing the pain right now, he thinks. What would Donnie do?

His eyes suddenly burn with tears at the thought of his brother. He's so close to home, and yet so far, and he still has no idea what happened to Donnie, and he just needs to know his brother is safe – is that really too much to ask?

He scrubs his eyes with his free hand. Come on, Mikey, one thing at a time, he tells himself. Make your arm stop hurting, get some sleep, and then go home.

Resolve firmed, he unwinds the wrap around his left wrist, doing his best to do it without having to move his arm too much. With a little bit of maneuvering with his hand and his teeth, he's able to knot it and form a sling; the pain in his shoulder flares as he manipulates the sling into place so that it keeps his arm firmly strapped to his chest.

That done, he settles into his little ledge, resting half propped on his right side, so as not to lie on his back, which is one of the sorer areas of his body, or on his left shoulder. He's shivering in the early morning air, and this is far from a comfortable position, but it doesn't matter; exhaustion sweeps over him, and he's asleep in moments.

-o-

The next time he wakes, it's dark again, and for a moment, Mikey forgets where he is and rolls over – right off his ledge and back into the water.

He surfaces almost immediately, but the pain from the sudden movement is so intense that it whites out his vision for a moment and he feels like he might throw up.

And that's not even the worst part. The pain reminds Mikey what's happened; it reminds him that he's still alone. Anytime he's been injured in the past, at least one of his brothers has always been there when he wakes to keep him from doing something that would cause him pain; to reassure him that he's home; to tell him that he's safe.

But this time, Mikey's alone, and that hurts the most, and he would cry except that would set off his ribs again, so he holds it in.

Well, that, and he also remembers that for all that he's hidden in the shelter of the dock, he's still out in a public area where people can hear him. Fortunately, there seems to be no one around; there are no footsteps above him, no voices anywhere nearby. He can hear the faint hum of street traffic – engines purring, a horn honking – and somewhere out in the distance, a buoy bell clanks.

But no humans approach; no one tries to investigate the strange splashing and groaning from underneath the dock.

With a wince of pain, Mikey swims out underneath the dock and heads for the nearby concrete boat ramp, stumbling when his sore and weary legs take on his full body weight for the first time in three days. He takes a step, then another, then collapses to his knees once he's left the water again.

"Land ho," he croaks with a short, raspy laugh, curling up around his limp arm and touching his forehead to the ground for a moment.

The feel of solid ground beneath him is invigorating, and the contact strengthens his resolve; he pushes himself to back to his feet, adjusts his makeshift sling to make sure his left arm is still firmly strapped to his chest, and takes off. His legs are rubbery, and his muscles burn at the exertion, and the fastest he can move is little more than an unsteady lope, but Mikey narrows his eyes and keeps moving, darting as best as he can from shadow to shadow until he finds a manhole cover.

He's going home.

-o-

Unfortunately, adrenaline and sheer determination can only do so much after nearly four days without food or water or much sleep.

Once Mikey reaches the safety of the sewers, things get kind of… fuzzy. It takes all his effort just to stay standing; he thinks he might fall asleep standing up a couple of times when he pauses to lean against a wall and rest. Plunged into the dark and windowless sewers, he has no idea how much time is passing. And this isn't really an area that he knows all that well – not that it matters at this point, as Mikey can't really see much, anyway.

Just keep swimming, he thinks, trailing his good hand along the brick as he keeps stumbling along. Leo and Raph need you; Donnie's in danger. The Kraang are – Donnie, save Donnie – no, wait, Donnie's safe, right? Kraang can't swim, and the ship – just keep swimming. It worked, it had to, Donnie's safe, just… keep… swimming…

The brick beneath his hands feels familiar, somehow. Has he been going in circles? He's not sure. But it feels… safe.

Hang on, Mikey, I've got you. That's Donnie's voice. I've got you. Stop here. I've got you.

"Dee?" Mikey mumbles, opening his eyes – when did he close them?

Tears well up when he sees no one there – he's still alone, Donnie's not here, Donnie's not safe, this isn't–

Mikey recognizes his place. Why does he recognize this place? He blinks a couple of times before he realizes it's near the entrance to the lair – he's almost home!

Well. He thinks.

He's pretty sure, anyway. Maybe.

He's just so tired; he slumps against the wall and slides down until he's sitting. Just a moment of rest, and then he can finish the trip. He can go home–

-o-

There are footsteps approaching. They're quiet, they shouldn't be enough to pull him out of sleep, but Mikey knows those steps, has been waiting for days to hear them and he fights the pull of sleep, opens his eyes–

And sees his brothers round the corner.

All of them.

Leo's leading the way, Raph and Donnie right behind him; their shoulders are all curved in, they're moving slowly, like every step is painful, like they're about to break, and Mikey can't help the tears of utter relief because they're alive – Donnie's alive, Mikey saved him, they're all fine, they're alive, they're–

They're looking right at Mikey, eyes wide and haunted, frozen mid-step like they've seen a ghost. "Mikey?" Donnie breathes, voice quavering.

Mikey grins through his tears, ignoring the pain of his screaming muscles as he staggers to his feet. "Hi, Donnie."

Donnie's face twists up at that, and suddenly he's there, hugging Mikey as tightly as he dares and sobbing, "Oh thank god, thank god, you're alive, you're alive, I thought – I've got you, Mikey, you're okay, thank god, I've got you, I've got you–"

Mikey clings back just as tightly and cries into his big brother's shoulder because Donnie's alive, Donnie's alive, and everything – the fall, the days spent in the ocean, the broken bones and abused muscles and the aches and pains – it was all worth it because Donnie is alive, and Raph and Leo are there, they're safe, they're all safe, and Donnie is here, whole and healthy and in one piece and alive, and Mikey doesn't think he's ever been so happy in his life.

"You got me, Donnie," he chokes out, hugging his brother even tighter. "And I've got you."