Hey all, just a little angsty one shot for your reading pleasure.

Plot bunny courtesy of Amonraphoenix, thank you so much!

Thank you also to Amoraphoenix for beta reading this fic for me, you rock! XD

And now, please enjoy!

Desolation

Run!

It was the only thought coursing through his brain; a silent shriek of horror, panic and shock tearing his mind to shreds, incapable of voicing the keening wail of agony that clamoured to be released because the tightness of his throat would not allow it.

Lungs burning with his rapid breathing, his frantically pumping heart thundered against his ribcage as the blood rushed so loudly through his ears that he could no longer hear anything but his body's pure scream of terror.

Get out of here! a phantom voice ordered in his head and he stumbled, salty tears silently running down his cold, pale cheeks.

Water sloshing around his ankles, he righted himself and staggered forward, down another passage, the darkness cloaking him in its concealing embrace.

Runrunrunrun! he screamed in his head, forcing his body onwards, the visceral need to flee giving him the strength to continue his mad dash through the twisting maze of underground tunnels.

He needed to block out everything; focus on running as hard and as far away as he could, no matter how much it hurt.

Tripping over an object hidden in the murky water, he pitched forward, unable to stop himself from falling; almost not wanting to.

Pain he had pushed back into the far reaches of his brain wracked his body and he bit back a cry of agony as he slammed into the shallow, icy water.

Lying there for a moment, he wished that death would take him; that the injuries he had sustained were fatal, but they weren't. And he couldn't lie down and die, no matter how much he wished it because he had made a promise.

A promise he wouldn't, couldn't and daren't break.

Sliding one arm up, he pushed his body up from the refuse strewn water as his other arm hung limply at his side.

Moving one leg and then the other, he managed to get himself back into a standing position.

His chest continued to heave as he gasped for air, the grief that hovered just beyond the edges of his mind threatened to tumble forth and he pushed it back, knowing he couldn't give into despair, not yet.

Something broke the surface of the water in the passageway behind him and a surge of adrenalin turned his blood to liquid fire, terror nearly overwhelmed him.

Dashing forward, he leapt onto the slick ledge, knowing his footfalls would be slightly more muffled than if he ran through the water.

Another sound echoing behind him spurred him to duck into a passageway and through a grate that hung only by two rusted screws. Tearing the grate away from the wall with his good hand, he crawled into the narrow space.

He wasn't sure if what he was hearing from behind him was real, something his mind was tormenting him with, or if it was nothing more than rainwater or a rat falling into the passageways, because it didn't matter. Whatever he was hearing, fictional or innocuous, he pressed on, shuffling his way through the darkness, unable to see anything but the faintest of lights ahead.

A small whimper escaped past his lips and he clamped his mouth shut, gritting his teeth together to prevent any other noise issuing forth.

If he allowed even one more sound to escape, they all would. Every sniffle, every heart wrenching sob, every scream of horror and terror, every wail of agony and unbearable pain would come tumbling forth and he would be unable to stem what he felt would be a never ending flow of desolation that broke his heart and shattered his very soul.

Focusing on the tiny threads of light that lay at the end of the tunnel, he moved forward, one agonizing inch at a time.

His useless arm dragged along with him as his fingers sank into the silt and decaying muck that lined the brick floor beneath him.

Muscles shaking with overuse, the adrenalin that had sustained his mad flight quickly fading, he willed himself forward, drawing on reserves of strength he didn't even know he possessed.

Panting for breath, he reached the end of the tunnel, an iron grate impeding his progress. Reaching out he placed his hand against the rough, rusted metal and pushed with what little strength he had left.

A piece of broken metal bit into his palm, but the grate slowly began to shift beneath his hand.

Suddenly, the grate became stuck; rust, corrosion and disuse cementing the hinges together.

Gritting his teeth, he slammed his hand against the grate again and again, hoping to move the metal enough so that he could escape the suddenly suffocating space he was kneeling in.

Movement could be heard resonating against the brick walls of the tunnel behind him and he redoubled his efforts, slamming his good shoulder into the iron, with only a small amount of success.

About to ram the grate once again, he stopped as he heard voices coming from just outside the grate.

His entire body froze in terror, fear sliding across his tongue; bitter and acidic.

Holding his breath, he listened, his ears trying to block out the sound of his heart trying to pull free from its moorings to seek the freedom of release.

The voices were male, but he couldn't quite understand what they were saying at first, only being able to interpret the tone, annoyance, anger, and worry.

They were searching for something, but his frenzied brain could only take in so much. He heard the word 'explosion' and images filled his mind's eye with such clarity that he had to clamp his hand over his own mouth to keep from gasping at the metaphorical knife that seemed to lance right through his terrified heart.

He wasn't sure how long he sat in petrified fear, but eventually he noticed that it had become quiet again. The men that had passed by -city workers- would never find what they sought.

Pulling his hand away from his mouth, he again slammed his shoulder against the grate, the coppery smell of blood filling his nostrils as his cold, abused skin tore open on the sharpened metal which finally swung free.

Blood.

So much blood; too much blood…

His mind reared back and away from the thought that had slid into his unwilling brain and he gasped for air, as if he had just been punched in the stomach so hard that he had lost his breath.

Black dots flashed before his eyes; unconsciousness attempting to drag him into the comforting oblivion of nothingness. He slumped forward, dropping onto the cool hard stone below him.

Landing on his useless arm, he wasn't able to bite back the cry of pain that tore through him arm like a hot poker searing its way through soft flesh.

Tears filled his eyes and trickled forth, moistening his already damp face with fresh agony.

Rolling onto his plastron, the sounds of approaching footsteps fueling his movements, he made it to his feet.

RUN! another phantom voice shouted in his head, this one a roar filled with fury and a desperate plea.

Stumbling forward he blindly ran, his feet making much too much noise as he splashed through various depths of water as the passages narrowed, changed, twisted, became larger and finally ended.

One foot on the rung of the metal ladder, his hand grasping another, he pulled himself towards the sound of the life that teemed above his head.

His motions became a blur of movement and action; of lifting the manhole cover and exiting out onto the deserted, evening street.

He stood for a moment, icy rain falling heavily upon him, soaking him within a matter of moments.

The fresh water mixed with his salty tears as the rain streamed down harder, the sky filled with dark, angry, rolling clouds that occasionally lit up with a flash of lightning, and the sudden crack of thunder following shortly after.

Feeling chilled, he knew that the cold that had seeped into him was the kind that no amount of heat or warmth would be able to remove.

"Find somewhere safe! GO!" a ghostly voice in his head insisted, this one different; gentler but just as adamant. It shattered the numbness that had overtaken him and he felt a renewed spark of adrenalin leap across his badly beaten body.

Pulling down the stairs of a nearby fire escape, he pushed his weakened body forward.

Catching himself on the railing as he slipped on the wet metal, he pulled himself up, his feet moving relentlessly up the remaining flights, until he reached the rooftop.

Across the roof he ran, leaping across to another building, his legs threatening to collapse beneath him, but he fought to stay upright as he ran towards the only other safe place he knew.

But the reality was… Nowhere was safe.

The only place he had ever felt safe had been irrevocably taken from him and he knew, deep down, that he would never feel safe again; possibly ever be safe again.

No matter where he was -where he hid- the instruments of his torment and terror hadn't been left behind; they would always follow him, if not in body then in the spirit of the horrific, violent actions he had witnessed.

Continuing his flight, the rain that had been pelting against his skin like tiny, vicious needles abated, the sky clearing enough that he caught glimpses of the deep indigo overhead.

His heated breath condensed in the cool air, the ebb and flow of humanity thrummed below him, acutely unaware of the senseless brutality that had been committed beneath their hurried footsteps.

A steel fire escape came into view before him, and his feet swiftly flew down the steps until a warmly lit window appeared before him, this one familiar; heartbreakingly so, because the room on the other side of the glass held so many memories, that he was suddenly overwhelmed.

He collapsed upon the metal grating unable to stand or move anymore because he had reached the place he had always deemed a second home; a safe, warm, inviting place filled with laughter and friendship and beyond all reason, he knew if he entered, he would destroy all of that.

The memories that had been built within would be corrupted, tainted and befouled by the misery he brought with him.

It clung to him like the blood that had not completely washed away, even as the rain attempted to rid him of the crimson stain upon his body.

Sitting with his head buried in his arm, which he wrapped around his drawn up knees, he sobbed heartbrokenly as everything came crashing back to him in devastatingly crisp detail.

The sounds were the worst; worse than sight, worse than smell, worse even than touch.

Sound was where it had begun.

The screeching blare of the alarms alerted them to the threat, but it hadn't saved them.

Explosions shortly followed, brick and mortar turned to dust, furniture and possessions flying through the air and tumbling along the floor while the yells of his brothers and the battle cries of the black-clad wave that invaded their home filled the air.

What followed next was something he would never be able to scrub free from his mind.

The chaos was indescribable.

Dust floated in the air, smoke added to the haze from burning hunks of furniture, and the Foot were everywhere.

A seething mass of killers bent upon their annihilation swarmed and attacked; a merciless throng of dark bodies wielding deadly silver bladed weapons.

They hadn't stood a chance.

Another choked sob wracked his body and he couldn't seem to stop the flow of grief-stricken tears that streamed down his face.

There had been so much blood, too much blood, some their enemies' most of it his brothers'.

Shouts of triumph, grunts of exertion, cries of pain, and screams of terror twisted and writhed together with the fierce clash of steal upon steal, wood against metal, wood against wood and flesh against flesh in a cacophony of sound that even now seemed to echo in his head and tear at his mind.

There was a soft noise, like wood sliding against wood and a feminine voice gently inquiring his name, but he couldn't seem to drag his mind away from the terror he had watched unfold before him.

His name, more insistent this time and coupled with a hand gently grabbing his wrist.

Looking up, he could see the woman standing before him, her features as familiar to him as his own, pulled into lines of worry and fear, but he couldn't seem to speak, to answer her question of what had happened as she quickly assessed his injuries, trying to pull him inside, and finding that he was unable to stand.

He was trapped as the image as his brothers, one by one, fell before his eyes; murdered for the sadistic pleasure of the man who ordered their deaths.

Hands grasped his shoulders and his eyes widened as pain blazed through his previously cold, numb body and he let out a cry of agony.

His useless arm was taken by firm, gentle hands, then swiftly pulled and rotated, which caused another cry of pain to exit his lips as a sickening pop filled his ears and his shoulder slid back into place.

Arms went around his carapace and he was insistently hauled upright and somehow he remained vertical, even though his body, once again, had become numb and the world swayed sickeningly before him.

Hustled inside, he was promptly seated on the soft, worn couch that had, for so many years, hosted a plethora of exuberant, movie and pizza nights and sleepovers.

But no more.

Never again.

Already, like a dark poisonous cloud, this realization drifted and settled across the room, blanketing it in despair, destroying all of the good memories that had imbued the small space, and tainting them with the knowledge that it was all they would ever be: past remembrances.

Recollections embedded firmly in the past, never to be repeated again.

A heavy blanket was thrown over his shoulders and two small, fair, feminine hands grabbed his own in a firm grip, designed to drag him back to reality.

He focused on her eyes; brilliant green orbs filled with worry, fear a light shimmer of tears and beneath it all dread.

Swallowing down the lump of despair that he was positive would remain lodged in his throat forever more, he finally managed to say, "Leo…" his quavering voice choked with emotion trailing off in misery.

Leonardo had been the first to fall. He had tried to save them all, realizing immediately that there were too many ninjas to fight off, he had ordered a retreat at them, determined to stay and fight alone; sacrifice his life to give them a chance to escape.

They had all protested, watching in horror as Leonardo was quickly overwhelmed. "Get out of here!" he had barked, at them; the final command of their leader.

"Raph…" he hiccupped as a sob escaped.

Raphael had ignored Leonardo's order, wading through the ninjas, desperately trying to reach their older brother's side as the black-clad crowd beat upon Leonardo who was curled up on the floor in a ball trying to protect himself from the kicks and blows delivered upon him; laughter and taunts filling the air and adding to the vicious cruelty of it all.

Not being able to leave their brothers to battle to the death alone, they jumped into the fray, their weapons feeling almost useless against their opponents.

There had been so many; too many.

Still they fought on; blow after blow delivered upon their enemies only to be returned back upon them fourfold.

Raphael's guttural roar of fury and grief suddenly sounded, and through the black mass of bodies they glimpsed Leonardo's limp, battered, bloody and barely recognizable body lifted up in grisly triumph.

Sais nothing more than blurs of sliver stained crimson, Raphael fought fiercely, killing many of their enemies, but it wasn't enough and they all knew it.

Raphael, looking over his shoulder at them, bellowed in a desperate, pleading voice, "RUN!" before his voice was suddenly silenced as more than one bladed weapon was plunged through his plastron and carapace.

Blood bubbled up and out of his mouth, eyes open, blank and unseeing as more cries of victory echoed around the lair.

Numb and unable to move due to shock, hands grabbed at him and dragged him away. Struggling against the hold, the thought of leaving his older brothers' bodies behind an anathema to him, he was unable to break away.

His last glimpse of their hated enemy was of his silver, metal clad body, arms crossed over his chest, unmoving, as if it was beneath him to go up against the freakish creatures that had plagued him for so long.

Fighting their way backwards, he was hastily pulled into the lab, the heavy, reinforced steel door sliding closed as their bloodthirsty pursuers were suddenly denied their prey.

"Donny…" he whimpered.

Donatello, his hand upon the large yellow button that had closed the door suddenly fell, causing him to have to try to support his collapsing brother's weight.

His brother had told him to set him on the ground, and that was when he realized that Donatello was covered in blood, most of it his own.

Donatello prodded at the wound located between his plastron and carapace before he glanced up and met his gaze.

Leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes, Donatello finally opened them and shook his head back and forth.

Pleading with his brother not to give up, tears streaming down his icy cheeks, he sobbed that Donatello was going to be fine, that he had to stay with him, but Donatello argued, his voice choked with pain, that the wound was too deep and too severe; fatal.

He couldn't lose another brother; the thought was a pain too agonizing to bear. He placed his hands upon the laceration, pressing down, trying to stem the crimson flow that seeped through and around his fingers anyway.

The banging upon the door ceased and Donatello quickly informed him that it would only be a matter of moments before the Foot blew the door open as they had done to the wall of the living room.

Teeth gritted in pain, Donatello pulled his hands away, covering his own wound and asking him to help him to stand.

Obeying, he pulled Donatello up from the floor and held him steady as he placed his palm flat against the wall just below the button that his brother had pressed earlier to seal the door.

A panel slid open revealing another button, much the same as the first, this one red in colour, and somehow ominous.

Donatello told him to go out the emergency exit he had built at the back of the lab years ago.

He had of course refused to go, but Donatello insisted, telling him that he had built a failsafe into the lab, a way to bring the whole room down in case something he had invented or discovered got out of hand. It would seal the room and was not intended to damage or compromise the structural integrity of the rest of the lair, but given the damage sustained to the lair by the explosion perpetrated by the Foot, he intended to bring the whole place down and hopefully take their enemies with him.

Fighting against such a plan, Donatello got him to promise to leave, and he finally agreed. As soon as the vow left his mouth, Donatello pressed the red button, amber lights activating, the blare of another alarm this one more like a buzzer sounding in his ears as Donatello gently told him, "Find somewhere safe," Before roughly pushing him away and shouting, "GO!"

The explosion knocked him off his feet and he was thrown backwards as the door was torn out of the wall.

Slamming into a metal cabinet, pain exploded through every synapse in his body. He lay upon the ground stunned; his mind foggy, ears ringing and his eyes watering.

Forcing himself to sit up, his gaze desperately searched the rubble for his brother before he found Donatello, trapped beneath the remains of the door, blood pooling around his burned and unmoving body,

Like an army of insects, the Foot streamed in though the opening they had made, easily finding Donatello and he watched in horror as a ninja put a katana blade straight through his brother's throat.

He wasn't sure if Donatello had survived the explosion, but there was no doubt left in his mind that his brother was dead.

Staggering to the emergency exit, his progress was awkward and painful as his arm hung limply at his side.

His movement garnered the attention of the rest of the Foot and those not busy lifting the heavy metal door off of their desired trophy followed him.

Quickly he slammed his hand against the button for the emergency exit, the door sliding open before him just as a massive explosion detonated within the lab.

Again he was thrown to the ground, shrapnel and debris striking his carapace as he rolled into the tunnel.

Dragging his abused body up, he stared at the doorway he had just exited, now filled with nothing but brick and stone, completely blocked.

A momentary silence and stillness seemed to come from behind the newly created wall before the sound of stone grinding upon stone was heard and the collapse of the lair shook the very ground he stood upon. The lair was crumbling, taking many of the Foot with it, but he wasn't sure how many had escaped, or how many still pursued him, possibly ordered to comb through the tunnels to cut off any possible escape while the main force had entered their home.

So he ran, ran harder and faster than he ever thought he would be able to, adrenalin and grief lending power to his weary muscles, allowing him to put distance between himself and those who were in possible pursuit.

"Mikey?" April's voice was soft, her eyes full of tears of despair.

He had only one answer to give her, one blinding painful fact that he now had to live with. "I'm alone," he whispered wretchedly.

Shaking her head back and forth, tears of grief streaking down her pallid cheeks, she wrapped her arms around him, trying to give him comfort and solace."You have me," she refuted.

But even though he heard the words, acknowledged them, knew they were true, they both knew, deep down, that it wasn't the same. He had lost his father years ago in a battle with the Shredder, and that sorrow had never completely faded.

He and his brothers had continued on, they had each other, they were family, but the four of them were the only ones of their kind and now he was the only one that remained; the last of his kind, and that sort of loneliness could not even begin to be fathomed.

I know I am so cruel *sob* but I hope you all enjoyed anyway *hands out tissues*

A/N although I plan for this to be a one-shot, if any are interested in second chapter (suggested by Amora after reading this fic) I am open to another chapter, please let me know your thoughts on this.