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How many had it been now?...
Just how long had he been this way? Seems like forever...
Bathed in sweat, knees hiked up to his chest, an assertive terra-warrior knowing his used body.
OH! Right theeeerrreeee...
What was this guy's name again? Lenerd? Lardo? Leonardo?
Yes, yes, yes, just a little farther and he'd be-
The ones waiting patiently outside the tent for their turn, received their cue to move forward one place in line by the telltale scream of the bearer as he conceived. Some of the warriors whooped and hollered, congratulating their fellow warrior for the success of sewing his seed. This time tomorrow there would be a new life joining the clan. A small terra-turtle that would grow to be strong, protect, and fight for the clan. A few of the terras grumbled and complained that they'd have to wait longer for their chance to breed.
Donatello collapsed, exhausted. He felt the weight of the other lift up off his worn body and stand tall, seemingly energetic and ready for anything, as if he hadn't just roughly bred the bearer for a long three hours. What a sight to this terra, Don must be. Laying there at the other's feet, legs splayed open, too weak to draw together, bare, and mistakenly wanton in this position. Don's heart dancing to the fevered beat of post climax, he gasped for air. This terra was good on the rug, his unwavering stamina left nothing to be desired.
Unless, your name is Donatello... Unless you are a Bearer. Tired, so very tired, but not one to break custom, he drug himself upright and leaned forward on his knees, beak touching the cushioned floor in ritual submission.
Don's throat was sore from overuse, his voice hoarse, "It is my duty to inform you that-"
"Really!?" Don resisted the urge to look at the strapping terra, who sounded so reverent in joyous disbelief. Don longed to see his, undoubtedly, pleased face.
Leonardo was beaming. All his fears and stressed worrying had been for naught. After a decade, during which he'd experienced the coming and going of three bearers, he was finally going to be blessed with a little terra to raise as his own. Finally, a bearer had done something right. After his first unfruitful tryst with bearer Kep he'd been upset, but understanding. When bearer Lonalin had failed to bear for him, he'd demonstrated generous leniency. And when the last bearer failed him as well, he could only assume it was something they were doing on purpose, and stormed out of the breeding tent after severely chastising the insolent turtle. Now this one had pulled through and Leo was going to be a father.
The soft spoken Bearer confirmed the terra's happiness, "Yes, my terra. You shall have a healthy son about noonday tomorrow."
"That's amazing! I can't believe-... I mean... very good bearer." Suddenly annoyed that he let his cool exterior slip in the presence of a mere bearer he stood to leave.
"This is your first, isn't it? Please forgive me for speaking out of my right, my terra, but it’s perfectly normal to be excited for the coming of your first child." To lessen the sting of the blow that was sure to come for his gall, Donatello prostrated himself even lower, trying to appease the terra's more alpha tendencies, the action causing his hips to burn from the strain.
Surprisingly, he wasn't struck. Instead the terra reseated himself and reached out to touch the bearer's scuffed shell. Leo would never say it out loud, but he felt a warmth, a calmness this bearer's delicate visage seemed to bring. As he studied the turtle kneeling so closely to the floor, careful not to disrespect Leonardo, keeping his eyes solely on the ground, the warrior figured it wouldn't hurt to abide here a while and converse with the life giver. It wasn't technically against the rules, just irregular, and the other terras would give him flack about it. Leo concluded as long as he left quietly out the back and threatened the bearer to stay silent, no one would know of his questionable actions.
Tapping thoughtfully on Don's subtle shoulders, he watched closely for the bearer's reaction to his extended attention, "You talk more than the last bearer. What's your name?"
"Donatello, my terra."
Donatello. Interesting name for a bearer. They usually were given short, simple to pronounce names. That way it was easier to remember.
"Donatello, can you tell me anything else about my little one?"
Don downed a heavy sigh, and grimacing, he reached deep within, something he'd ceased practicing years ago. He'd learned the rough way that learning more about the character and personality of his undeveloped babe only made it harder to give them up to the sire directly after the labor of birthing. It was painful to get a glimpse of their unique beauty and inner potential only to never know, and in most cases, never see the child again. Knowing it would weigh heavily on his heart, Donatello delved deep to feel the tiny life floating at his center, already growing inside him. Even though it hurt, he couldn't deny the terra what he asked as the bearer would no doubt be punished if he didn't comply with a response fast enough for the terra’s expectations.
Donatello found the miniscule babe where he knew it would be, safely tucked inside his womb, minding its own business. The new life was developing at a perfectly precise pace, and it was certain he would be a healthy, happy turtle. Slim, but strong. Curious, yet cautious. Don smiled sadly. His child would be an adorable little terra.
He opened his mouth to indulge the terra-warrior when he did a double take at the elevated sub hormones the child's body chemicals would produce. Donatello's head spun with sick realization. The child... That gender signature...
Dismay filled his broken heart. No! Not yet! This can't happen yet! Before he could reign it in a raspy sob escaped his full lips.
"Oh!"
Leo saw how Donatello cringed away from him and he became suspicious. Would the babe be sickly, deformed? Had the bearer failed him and now feared Leonardo's wrath?
"What's wrong?! Is he alright?" Then Don was being held tightly to a well formed plastron chest.
Panicked, Don thrashed out, "You can't touch me until the bearer is born! PLEASE! Please let me go!"
They couldn't hurt him while the babe used his body for sanctuary. But the time would come eventually. Don had ever been, always acutely aware of this. He lived every mournful day in the perpetual blackness of that fear. He dreamt of it too often. A dark filthy place, greedy groping hands, too many to count, all touching and bruising his pale green skin. Being shoved and yanked into cruel positions that would give the feral terras the most pleasure. And the worst part- what frightened him most was that all the while they abused him, he couldn't see their faces. Couldn't bring his eyes to theirs in defiance, to show them he would not break, that he was more than...
"I mean you no harm, Donatello. Calm down!" Leonardo held fast around the middle of the unexpectedly strong turtle.
Donatello was losing it, crazy bearer! He only meant to stabilize him, not incur this disrespectful behavior. The agitated terra gave Don a good squeeze and immediately the struggling stopped. The sudden pain slapped Don out of his panic in favor of protecting the tiny bearer inside him, "P-please, my terra, y-your child! He is more fragile than terra-turtles, you c-can't handle me this way."
Leo swallowed thickly, "Y-you... The next bearer is mine?"
His arms fell lax and Don slid down his front, shaking violently. Everything was destroyed. All of Donatello's hopes crushed into oblivion. His vision blurred with liquid and his heart constricted painfully. This time tomorrow Don would meet the end of his usefulness... and...and Michelangelo wouldn't want him anymore.
Donatello, being very strong of character, never took offense at even the most demeaning of treatments and insults. He possessed a high tolerance for physical pain, but an emotional strife as compromising as this...
"I-it is my duty to inform you that y-your offspring is..." the despairing turtle's ragged breathing made it difficult to finish what seemed like a damming sentence, "Bearer."
The tall terra was breathless as well. His offspring would be a bearer. Would be... like him? He looked down on the sorry Bearer. After all these years Leo would be rewarded, not with the strong terra son he always wanted, but a weak thing, doomed to a pathetic existence as a bearer. Could fate really stoop this low? Had Leo done something in a past life to deserve this?
Donatello curled a little tighter in on himself. He couldn't gage the reaction and feelings of the silent terra. It was scaring him. By unwritten law the warrior should be ripping through the tent's entrance and spreading the word of a new bearer, boasting that it was he who sired the turtle. Don risked it, out of the corner of his peripheral vision he saw the twisted face Leonardo was making and wanted to scream in frustration. Mikey was outside the tent. When he found out... Yet another thing broke inside of Donatello's battered heart.
Uncaring, Don dared break a most ancient of rules. Curved, sharp, raw-umber eyes sought out the terra's, wordlessly pleading for him to be silent, to be understanding.
Leonardo's jaw dropped in shocked awe, having never gazed into the eyes of a bearer. The most beautiful, entrancing, rich brown eyes. The pale green turtle's wet orbs earnestly tried to convey something, something simple, yet so emotionally complex Leo was momentarily ashamed of the way he viewed lowly bearers. He always assumed that terras were, not necessarily superior just... better than the one who bore the young.
His child will be a Bearer.
Would he be born with such expressive, beautiful eyes as the very vulnerable creature before him? The terra couldn't make tails of the situation, or a clue as to the best course of action. Maybe the ache in his head was affecting his outrageous thinking.
Suddenly the position Donatello- the bearer was in made Leonardo painfully self-conscious, "I- I'm sorry. I-"
Donatello, remembering his place, lowered his head. Then the pains started and he cried out in surprise. Why was the terra-warrior not punishing him? Why was he still here? It all became too much and Don whimpered in distress as his guts changed and moved to better accommodate the life getting larger in his womb.
Where was Raphael? He needed his dear friend right now. The lower expanse of his flexible plastron quivered and grew a little, creating the slightest birth bump. Don grasped weakly, blinded by growth pains, at the legs of the only other person in the tent. The terra stiffened, struggling with the automatic response to shake the Bearer off.
"Dona! Dona, father sent me ahead. He's been waylaid at the forge, but he said-" a young terra-turtle had come through the flap at the back end of the tent. A small terra youngling with dark green skin, pale plastron, and delicately curved shell, standing no taller than three feet. The new comer stopped at the sight of Leonardo, and his creamy eyes narrowed in aggression when they drifted to the bearer's connection to the terra's legs.
"What have you done to my mother?! Get away from Dona!" the small turtle snarled, baring his molars, "He's not a fuck toy, Damn you!"
Leo's brow ridges scrunched together, shocked by the little, but hard to ignore terra, and baffled by the tike's aggression.
"R-Raecoo, w-watch your language young turtle, or no snuggles for you." Donatello hiccupped, releasing Leo that instant, "We don't... talk t-to our elders in this manner, Raecoo. Apologize to terra… F-forgive me, my terra, but might I know your name?"
The odd mood the warrior had adopted since learning of his offspring fled at the bearer's dulled tone and formal speech. Leo's jaw moved with the agitated grinding of his teeth and his posture straightened, "Leonardo."
Don, still very much in pain, but schooled, looked to small turtle expectantly, "Well?"
"I was out of line and disrespectful. I'm sorry Leonardo, sir," to Don he whispered, "Father said it would be safer for you, Dona, if people don't know that I- that we-"
He looked down at his little toes then up at Leo, his plump cheeks flushing in embarrassment, "You... you aren't really going to take away snuggle time are you- he might as well go all the way in front of the adult terra - mama? I'll carry terra Leonardo's weapons for a whole month if you'll still let me come every night."
To Leonardo’s disbelief, Raecoo was openly pleading with the bearer, "Mama? Dona, has it started? Father sent me to hold you until he can love you." He pointedly glared at Leo when he audibly started at that, "Leonardo, sir, it’s hard to believe that, that bothers you considering what probably went down in here a while ago."
The elder terra gaped.
Bold, Raecoo eyed Leo up and down then sniffed, "Father is bigger."
Leo's angry retort was toned out by Don's whimper of pain, and his ire was averted, "Bearer?"
The hunched over turtle reached for his child, seeking comfort and love. Raecoo's chest swelled with pride and excitement for his birther's affection. Trembling arms embraced the mini terra and pulled him close, Don's chin resting on the round rim of smooth, barely scuffed shell. Raecoo's churring was high pitched and clucky, normal for a seven year old terra-turtle, as he basked in the snuggles he craved.
Leonardo couldn't stay too upset with the young thing when he cooed childlike assurances to a fully grown turtle and pecked tear streaked cheeks with multiple owie-dispelling kisses as though they were the only tonic for hurt in existence and he had to lay as many on Don as he could to prove the effectiveness of his healing method. Stranger still, the scene caused foreign stirrings within Leo and he couldn't want to look away.
The warrior felt like an intruder when Raecoo began rubbing soothing circles against the steadily rounding curve of Don's belly, whispering softly, "Remy loves you, he sends huggies. Ripin loves his Dona, he said so. Raelee asked me to give you this (a tiny lick just below Don's nostril slits). Also, Ruemin, Ruetoo, and Rueyue wanted me to nip your tail buuuuut," his serious face crinkled, and he nodded in Leo's direction, making Don let out a shaky chuckle, "yeah, they can do that tonight..."
Leo stared. Never in all his life... The bearer shuddered, whimpering, and unwittingly, Leo jerked forward to help, but stopped mid-step. What was he doing? Trying to comfort a bearer!
Hot breath at his neck made him jump three feet, exclaiming his surprise with a squeaky 'eep'!
"The fuck ya doin' in here?! Some turtle better have a damn good explanation for me, or shits' gonna fly."
Leo whipped around. There stood the largest, scariest turtle he'd ever seen, half a head taller than him, with wide shoulders, a broad chest, and heavily muscles limbs. Piercing golden eyes that promised anguish glared at Leo, daring him to make a wrong move.
The Bearer hiccupped and hugged little Raecoo impossibly closer as if to shield him from the profanity, "It's no wonder Raecoo has such a mouth. His father's is atrocious."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"Are ya deaf, or just straight up stupid?" Angry yellow eyes seized the shorter terra by the body and held him in place firmly while he was visually dissected, every inch of his naked being roughly, and Leo suspected unfairly, assessed.
Leonardo didn't want to admit it, but he was definitely feeling stupid just then. Stupid, and intimidated by the sheer mass of hulking terra before him. He himself was considered rather tall for the average height of terra warriors; others automatically assumed Leonardo had the right to the authority of command, and differed to him in battle solely based on his size. He wasn't ignorant enough to believe he was the biggest terra of their clan, but... seriously this guy was huge, big and scary looking with all those scars, all muscly, and really, really pissed.
Dumbly, Leo stammered, "W-wa-?"
"Oh, thank shell! And here I was thinkn' ya might be a threat, but ya just a dumb little mud crawler aren't ya? Hey, do ya squat before ya sh-" Donatello growled, deafening the young one by placing his hands on either side of Raecoo's 'innocent' head.
Attention averted, the giant saw past a blustering Leo and took in the bearer's haggard expression and the weary slump of his slender shoulders. Donatello sweat in visible waves, his coloring almost sickly, and his breathing shallow. Raecoo was crouched in front of Don's midsection, small noggin resting easily against upper plastron, little hands rubbing light patterns on his mama's now obvious conception bump, and cooing short childish chirps of comfort to let it get across: that it was going to be okay because father was here now.
Raphael shouldered past Leonardo and approached the kneeling pair somewhat cautiously, voice filled with concern and something else entirely different that Leo couldn't name, "Don! Sa'matter? Is ...is it-?"
The leaking sadness of the eyes that rose to meet his were answer enough, "Oh, Don... I'm so sorry sweet stuff."
Donatello couldn't hold on to what little composure he'd been clinging to for Leonardo's sake any longer, and a pitiful whimper acknowledged the ugly pieces of his crumbling world.
Life... it’s not fair, never was, and will never be. Not for someone like him.
He never knew what hope was- what the word meant -in his earlier years. He was unknowing of all he would eventually be sacrificing and enduring as the Clan's sole bearer. (Not that there was ever the chance he'd be given a choice) But it had been easier then, if only just, when the things that happened to him- were done to him –were truths he'd always been taught to believe were how things rightfully are.
The time he noticed something was off about the way he existed was the day of his very first conceiving. The experience had shocked its haunting memory onto an eternally revolving slate of horrified understanding, never to be forgotten by his mind's eyes. Donatello was what they called a bearer. He lived for a specific purpose and would perform flawlessly, not only without a say or break, but to the conditioned expectations one would beat into a mutt. Over the grueling course of several years that lasted far longer than forever, Don dealt with his lot in silence. It hurt. The terras would breed him whenever, and treat him however they pleased. He would fight the one battle they, biologically, could never. Give birth to their young and watch, infuriatingly helpless, as one after the other, the little bodies of his babies, who he had slaved so hard to meet, where whisked away; never to see him in the light of a living being with as much right to feel, to cry, to live... to love...as a budding terra.
Then he'd met Raphael, and a strange longing/idea took seed in Donatello's oppressed heart, but it never progressed past its sewing. Until Michelangelo. With this abnormal terra he learned what hope was, and how promising, uplifting, and sustaining such a miraculous thing was. Hope.
And now Don's hope was dead, stabbed and drained of its red beauty to dry in gory splatters all over the bound feet of fate's bitch. It was gross and so very wrong.
"The baby Raph... I-I- w-what will M-Mikey think? This is my last-"
The burly terra crossed the last foot of distance between his shaking friend and his pressing urge to comfort in one great stride.
In an instant the bearer was grieving into Raphael's neck, the other's securing arms the only obstacle in the way of misery's crushing claim on Donatello. Don let loose, he felt no shame or weakness in weeping while it was this turtle who held him so caringly. (and fuck what the other terra in the tent thought)
The blacksmith was solid, safe, and understanding. Someone Don needn't hide from. Aside from one other terra, unlike the others Raphael cared. He never hurt Don, intentionally or otherwise, physically or emotionally. Every time the large turtle lay with the bearer he handled him as though his very shell might cave and his skin bruise by every wayward breeze. Raph even allowed the bearer to match him gaze for gaze. Went as far as to demand that Don look nowhere else but at his face when the candles burnt low, the flickering orange glow playing the shadows of their entwined bodies. Just the two of them.
What Don loved most of all about his dear friend was the mini hoard of precious bitties Raphael had gifted him. Twenty and two little terra-turtles who all loved and adored their
'Dona' (It was difficult for some tiny mouths to pronounce Donatello and the nickname had stuck perfectly). Raphael had been the first and only to allow further contact other than the womb between his children and Donatello...
.../The infant's cries tore jagged breaths of profound loss from the bearer's deflating middle. Twenty-four hours. That's all the time he'd had with the mite terra and all the time he'd get. Pitifully, Don clutched at the elastic section of plastron that had cradled his babe only seconds ago.
'Correction', his mind stated bitterly, 'The babe. Not yours. He may be of you, but never yours.'
Don's eyes shut tight, crinkling to the point of producing a headache. This child was Raphael's; caring, strong, crazy, gentle Raphael, and that made this birthing colossally tragic. Tragic, because Raphael was just so good, so... Raphael, and Donatello knew without a smidgen of doubt that any child of Raphael's would be beyond beautiful. Even the declarative mewls and burps Don tried unproductively to ignore were gorgeous and echoing in his ear slits.
So, he did not look.
Instead he trapped his tears behind the iron clamping of his earth toned lids. The new baby’s sounds silenced with a chirping gurgle, and the bearer heard the rustling of thick fabric as someone exited the tent, the minutes old terra probably being presented to the clan for the first time.
The bearer gingerly sat himself up, wincing only slightly as his body dumped the last of the evidence of labor and repaired itself with uncanny ability. Don's whole countenance sagged in his dreary sadness. Alone in the tent. Left to clean the afterbirth and ready himself for the warriors within the hour. Alone and dirty, with no one to scoff and berate him for his born weakness.
So, he let it all out.
He cried and raged. Still in his state of self-made blindness the fed up turtle crawled to his sleeping pallet and hammered the pillows with clenched fists.
"Damnit! Damnit, damnit!" he croaked.
"Do ya really want that ta be the first word the tike says, Don?"
Disbelief and shame had the bearer crying harder and turning away from the terra's voice. He'd thought he was alone! Now Raphael knew of his real weak self and would quit coming around. No more sweet nights with the only terra who seemed to care, and hold him like the world couldn't possibly bear a hope of getting to him. He didn't know if he could handle the cold end of a grueling day of breeding by himself after having known the blacksmith's kindness. It was all too much.
"Hey, Don I don't know what I've done ta upset ya, but at least don't treat the kid so hard," the big terra's words sounded softly and close by, earning Don's full attention, "He's a wiggly little bite'a and he's cute as a hellion. Wanna see?"
"N-no." Donatello's answer just as wavery as his trembling lower lip.
"Afraid I might take him away afta'?"
"Y- ...yes."
Raphael's deep chuckle was fond and knowing. Reluctantly Don let it ease the cramps in his chest and shifted to face where he could feel the terra's aura. Without receiving fair warning, a warm youngling was placed into his shaking hands. Startled, he quickly cupped the infant to his plastron to support the back of his silky feeling shell. Raph was right, the terra in his hands wiggled all over the place, centimeter length fingers patting and grasping at the scutes of the bearer's belly, spoon sized heels trying to dig into Don's plastron.
He couldn't help his smile.
"He's looking right at ya Don." Raph laughed, gripping the bearer's chin in one hand and guiding his head down, egging him to peek.
So, he looked.
Only to have more tears of a different kind mar the perfect sight snuggled happily against him.
"Oh! Oh, he's perfect, a little angel." Don breathed, then sagged tiredly against the largest of the three, who'd moved up behind him to hold them both at the same time.
"Nah, this tikes' a feisty little imp. Ya can tell by the tricky gleam in his eyes, and the powerful grip of them chubby demon fingers." Raph's point was humorously proved when the babe refused to free his knew plaything, using picket fenced baby teeth to naw savagely on his father's knuckles.
The bearer sighed, the happiest he'd been in a long while, and struggled halfheartedly with the heavy drowsiness overcoming him, content with knowing that Raph wouldn't let their child fall should Don's arms give.
Raph jostled him lightly, "Hey, what shall our imp go by?"
"Hmm?" Don blinked, not comprehending.
"What'll be his name dumbass?" Fond patience contradicting the words.
The bearer smiled, curling around his baby and getting comfy in the blacksmith's warmth.
"Raecoo," he whispered, "My little demon angel."/...
Raecoo pouted from his awkward heap on the floor, only half annoyed that he'd been dumped without forethought. As sore as his bumby was, being a tough terra-turtle Raecoo ignored the reddening ache on his bottom and crawled over to the tense and still Leonardo to make a comfortable sitty spot at his feet. The serious, fixated face that the towering adult was making bothered the little one. He followed Leo's flinty glare and found his attention on both of Raecoo's parents.
Dona was crying. His mama's tail was twitching and jerking, curling up on itself tightly, locking the single muscle, then unfurling with an audible snap. Dona was in pain. Raecoo glowered up at Leo. In an unintentional way, mama's hurt was this strange terra's doing. He wouldn't blame the elder turtle as he'd been taught how to reason the difference between people acting out of spite and when they inadvertently caused harm.
He'd also learned a mannered respect for adults.
However, this wouldn't conflict with Raecoo's firm belief that Leo needed the lowdown, and maybe then he'd stop judging Dona so arrogantly, like he had a clue.
"Terra Leonardo?"
Leo was off in a shady state of sub-conscientious jealousy. A baser part of him did its darndest to convince him, as he watched the inexplicable show of tenderness in the rumbling churs the giant emitted for the bearer's benefit, that he could be doing that. Purely instinctual, mind you.
An insistent pull to his right ankle almost succeeded in pulling him away from his funk, "Hmm?"
"Dona's tummy hurts," Leonardo looked down sharply at the deadly serious whisper in the youngling's voice, "It’s because of the baby, you know? Mr. Leatherhead explained it to me. The baby grows too fast and mama's baby pouch starts too small. Dona wasn't born all the way right, so it hurts. Dona has babies almost every day... Mama always hurts."
Leo, rightly, had nothing to say to that.
Instead he frowned at Raecoo and stepped away, purposely moving his leg out of grabbing range, and ‘hmphing’. An airy sigh brought his line of sight back up to the other adults, and his green faced darkened considerably with the rushing flow of embarrassed blood.
Kissing!? Touching one's lips affectionately- at all -with those of a bearer?
Leo coughed loudly, earning him a leveling, narrow eyed look, and even more surprisingly, a menacing snarl. Never breaking eye contact, the blacksmith assisted Don in lowering himself down into an easy lounging position before turning to advance on Leo, who took a startled step back, bringing his hands up in an insecure gesture of passiveness.
"Ya challenging me?" Raph asked quietly, "I don't have time for this, as little effort it'll take ta mangle ya, he," he pointed a thick index finger at the pale bearer, "doesn't have time for ya getting all horny-terra in the head."
What!? No! Leo shook his head. He wasn't so stupid as to try and tussle for breeding rights with such a heavy weight terra while the bearer was already carrying, and his child too!
"No- I.. I was just-!" He clumsily fumbled to pull off righteous indignation. Which is hard to pull off when he is pathetically pleading with the other to understand he wasn’t intending to oppose; cringing to make himself appear smaller and nonthreatening. Little good it did him as the bulkier terra kept coming, growling deep from within his chest and coming to stand chest to face with Leo.
"Just what, bottom feeder?"
Something in the other terra's eyes brought out the worst, inopportune case of weak knees in Leo, their intensity cutting through his proud stance just above his calves. With a growl of hopeless admonition, he realized his legs were shaking as they hastily back-peddled to escape the bigger turtle's carelessly invoked power act.
"S'what I thought. Tuck in ya tail and mosey on out'a here."
Leo grit his teeth and hissed. The swords wielder hated nothing more than the humiliation of lowering one's head in defeat, surrendering, and being made less than another. Hated it to the obsessive extent that he'd made it his primary focus as a warrior to always come out the victor, no matter how excessive the lengths. Now here was this turtle, this no-name terra, and Leonardo found himself breaking under some imagined force of his dull, plain, searing, baring, stripping, unfair eyes- Huh?!!
Leo shook his head to force it clear, only succeeding in making himself dizzy and twice as irritated with the way he'd been presenting himself. He was better than this. An esteemed terra warrior, a famed leader and tactician, he was immovable, he was strong. And yet...
Suddenly Raphael pulled away and the harsh V of his brow ridges softened.
Callused hands gripped the corners of Leo's shell, "Don't ya worry about ya little one. Dons' never lost one, okay? Now..."
Then he was being pushed out of the dimly lit tent and into the glaring sunlight, wondering what in the shell just happened.
"They kicked me out too."
Leo jumped about an impressive two feet. Of course the annoying terra-turtle found this funny, the little kid quality of his laughter stayed Leo's scolding tongue. Initial what-in-the-world shocked out of his system he sighed, rolling his eyes. It was just the little brat.
Raecoo smiled widely. He knew terra Leonardo was trying to get along with a difficult turtle, whose head barely reached his mid-thigh, and that it was a meddlesome first for him.
"Father likes you, terra Leonardo, sir."
"Oh, yeah?" the elder terra didn't know what to make of the odd swirling of warmth that blossomed in his chest in reaction to this news, but it was... kind of nice.
"For your sex. He likes them tall, lean, and full of themselves. The perfect size and attitude for shell scuffing."
"Excuse me?" the elder turtle grit out, a very tempting imagination of ringing Raecoo's cute grin off his adorable face by way of strangulation playing out in his head. He could get away with it too: training accident, collateral, an inconspicuous hole behind an equally inconspicuous hill, his word as an honorable terra...
The youngling took delight in the way Leonardo clenched his fists as if making a great effort not to strike him. Yes, Raecoo decided he liked Leo very much. He knew Leo had heard him well enough, and said in an all too innocent voice, "This doesn't bother you, does it terra Leonardo?"
Leo breathed in deep, calling on an exercise he hadn't needed in years before addressing Raecoo with his regularly heeded, crisp, commanding voice, "Young terra, I don't believe I was mistaken when you said you'd assist me with my equipment for thirty days. Does this unproven turtle make good on his word, or have you no honor?"
The small terra giggled and pointed from his toes to his head, "I'm full of this much honor! And I solemnly swear, on my honor, that I will not mishandle, chew on, or drop your stuff in shi- mud! I will trail your big bad shadow like a good puppy, and fall back when told to do so politely! Well... most of the time."
Leo nodded, "Very well then."
He retrieved his blades from the stationed terra waiting off to the side of the bearer's dwelling, deposited them straightaway into Raecoo's hands, and sped off towards his home, purposefully turning his shell on the place he knew the terra, Raphael, was caring for the bearer, Donatello, who now suffered for carrying Leonardo's child.
A child Leo wasn't sure he even wanted.
His child would come into this world so small and helpless.
His baby, a bearer.
His long hoped for posterity, who he wished with his uncertain heart would never look at him the way Donatello had: despairing, broken a hundred times too many, and forced to keep going.
Leonardo was a strong turtle, a terra above terras and he didn't want to deal with this.
So he turned his back on the sick pity he felt he was too grown to feel for the bearer. It was their way of life. This is how it is. The clan must thrive and grow, and someone had to bear the young. Donatello was born that turtle, his child would be born that turtle...
..and there was nothing he should do about it...
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"Michel, where are you when I need you?!"
His grassy refuge was discovered. Shouts from a stray group relaying his position to one another alerted the physician to their threatening proximity. He could hear their exerted panting and picture their excited approach, spears and blades in hand, at the ready. Searching about with the wild whipping of his great head he found, to his sinking dismay, there was no cover of any sort to run to. No concealing boulder or accessible thick brush. His sudden movement caused his patient to gasp, the weak sound worsening into a wet gurgle.
This was insane, sending females out to do battle! But the humans did it often, seemingly ignorant or uncaring of the most basic of logistics.
The pitiful pulse pressed to his middle and forefinger was spending fast, compliments of half a dozen jagged knife wounds. Her weight was dead in his lap, and despite their opposing sides the woman leaned into him, searching for her last comfort in the gator's encompassing presence. It was all he could do not to give voice to the mournful mewls itching at his throat. No matter how many times it happened, every single time without fail, each life he felt drift off to that irretrievable place came as a harsh personal loss. He knew better, some were beyond his skill to save. He could only give his best efforts in this peace barren land, and with its limited resources, that wasn't much. His eyes stung as he barely held his frustrations inside.
The female was being very brave, bringing a sad smile to the gentle beast's long muzzle. Knowing that fear and panic would do nothing but cause her heart to race and her life force to gush faster, she settled for accepting his odd care and nuzzled his plated chest, the clumps of stickiness matted in her hair streaking his scales reddish brown with drying gore. She brought a shaking hand up in a futile attempt to wipe away her mess from his middle. This time the hoarse sob came unhindered. He caught her hand with his large, clawed one, and moved the ratted strands out of her ghostly face, tucking them back behind her bleeding ear. For mere seconds, she lay atop his crossed legs while he whispered softly to her till she found ultimate peace. As the pale fingers turned limp and cold in his grip he lowered the lifeless limb back down to her side, and after carefully lowering her head to the ground, staggered to a stand.
Unlike when battle prepared men lost their lives as a consequence of their people's refusal to compromise, Leatherhead had to consciously fight to maintain his professional composure when faced with the natural frailty of human females. Untrained, conflicted, and obviously lost, these women were handed a tool and herded onto the plains to flounder beside their men, all for the sake of increasing their numbers and tempting the terra warriors with the ease of their killing. It was a low tactic, but sickeningly effective.
Distant and solemn, Leatherhead didn't turn around to confirm by sight what he knew: that the soldiers were almost upon his exposed backside. He couldn't care, his ingrained instincts for survival overpowered by the intense twisting in his gut. The Clan of shelled reptiles he serviced could never hope to understand the severity of what they did. Leatherhead knew. Like a perpetual nightmare he would wade through the dead and dying of every bloody campaign, healing those few he could, and sending the rest on their way. No matter how fervently he prayed to the gods known by his people, despite his pleadings with the elders to spare them, always, Leatherhead found himself losing pieces of his suffering will with every delicate, soft featured body he had to leave behind. He couldn't help but compare these women with the loving, kindhearted females of his species. In their glistening eyes he saw his mother, his sisters, his possible offspring. All of them cold and lifeless, their sweet futures wasted, much like the desensitized unfortunates who's lives these women would never get to touch and influence with their nurturing light. It felt like an eternity, but Leatherhead finally allowed himself to look away from the corpse and bent to retrieve his knapsack, full of his healing supplies.
As he straightened the shaft of a precisely thrown spear shattered on forceful impact with his integument hide. A terrible roar of inconsolable rage stopped the men in their tracks, a few stumbling back from the glazed, unseeing whites of a monster. When it did nothing but stand there breathing heavily, massive fists clenched at it sides, they shook off their previous hesitance and charged the creature. It stayed un-moving till the first came within reach. A blur of claws, the snapping of a powerful jaw, and several screams later Leatherhead was the only living being in the grassy clearing.
Exhausted and disappointed to the depths of his soul, Leatherhead fell to the muddied soil.
"Michel, help me... Michelangelo! Where are you!?"
________________________________________
Being a low ranking soldier had its meager perks.
Like being allowed to prove their unwavering loyalty as a body on the front lines. The higher ups in turn demonstrate their appreciation by using them as sword cushions. Lucky them, the first turtles in and the first turtles out. Oh, and was it mentioned that they get the privilege of showing everyone how it’s done with their bare fists? Yes, that's right, they aren’t actually armed with weapons, those sharp and pointy things being expensive and all. Sometimes they get to be lazy and filch a blade off one of the dead, but that's only the really nontraditional ones. Real low class terra turtles die before they have the chance to scavenge mutilated carcasses in the hopes to even the odds for their survival. The best part is that they are already at the bottom, they can only go up from here. Most of the time literally.
Yeah...
This was the spry turtle's third run as an honorary sacrifice, only two more and he could graduate from good-as-dead to not-quite-living. It should have been on this cheery morning, if he made it out with all four essential limbs (tail and head optional), that he could don the black scribbles on his shell that would indicate his advancement to second rank. But his pesky habit of falling behind for wounded comrades, and, or, openly flouncing his ever so positive attitude at the most inopportune times (like in the midst of his betters) never failed to impress his running leader. That happy, hunched terra always bestowed upon him the most pleasant of rewarding positions: standing runner up for the deceased.
If he were any other poor idiot he'd be contentedly molding with the remnants of his first and second platoon. No biggy.
Today they were ordered to run with the southern border guards. Once again, their human neighbors had grown covetous of their rolling plains and fertile soil, and refused to settle the dispute in a civilized manner. Many platoons from the various borders were being called to the south as well and word by the carapace was that their destination was the current location of the clan’s bearer. Every terra among the ranks whispered questions and theories as to why the elders weren't just simply pulling the bearer out.
They could gossip all they wanted. He wouldn't get involved in rumors when he was self-assured of the truth. They weren't relocating the bearer because the turtle couldn't be moved. Because the bearer was bearing. Bearing his last babe.
Mikey hugged himself as his group ran in formation. Donny, his Donny, was almost free.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Worn out, but content as any proud father would be, Raphael pulled the corner of the large blanket over the jumbled body pile he was squished in the middle of, and tucked all freezing feet inside the boundaries of the woolly fabric with the use of only one arm. The other was stretched out to support as many sleeping heads as his sturdy limb could handle, the heaviest one being Donatello's. The burly terra double checked his children's comfort before studying the pale, drawn face resting nearest his. Even in exhausted slumber, Don looked to be in a continual state of pain, but at least his breathing had calmed and his pulse eased off the rushing adrenaline flow. The mama of his rambunctious bunch lay curled into Raph's side, his rounded middle completely shielded, surrounded by turtles who cared and happily provided much needed snuggles.
They didn't get to do this often, but it couldn't have happened at a better time. Don was carrying his last contribution for the clan that mattered, work at the forge had tripled in orders, running the blacksmith's availability thin, and terra soldiers were arriving by the platoon. Something ugly was up and the Elders were keeping everything disclosed to all but the highest ranking. Things were changing at an alarming pace and the bearer need all familiar semblances of security and protection he could get. Raphael's terra bitties got to spend time with Don, Raph enjoyed a break from the sweat inducing fires at the forge, and the bearer was sustained under all the attention and love.
As he lay there waiting on sleep to catch up, dusty thoughts surfaced, bothering and harmful. Some things even the patience of time cannot erode away. These had not, and they always manage to squirm their way into his head at the most contrary times; when he was most happy and convinced he wanted for nothing. Their suddenness surprised Raph. He hadn't been of the mind to revisit those thoughts for a good long time, not since he'd come to grips and unburdened himself with the past. He’d found purpose in protecting his bearer. Why now? What had changed?
The large turtle grunted when a little foot got him right under his chin, then sighed tolerantly. Roepule, the most shy and respectful of his younglings had quite the history of often throwing reflexive fits in his sleep. They usually never escalated to the point where anyone got hurt- maybe a few boo boos and ruffled feelings -and were easy enough to temper with a few light strokes to the stout child's chubby tail. Roepule was indeed a withdrawn butterball. Definitely not due to being overfed, the terra-turtle was simply thick boned and proportioned this way since birth. Watching his son toss about in his sleep detachedly, Raph became lost in the brilliant memory of Roepule's birth.
Donatello had panicked when the emergence was taking longer than usual, and when the babe was finally out it was immediately apparent as to why. They'd never seen something so small with that many chub rolls. He wasn't lengthy in inches at all, a few centimeters off the mark of average newborns in fact, short and round. Just born that way.
The welcomed, distracting image helped a big grin spread across the blacksmith's dark face. Grievous reflections forgotten, he went into more speculations of all his children.
First there was Raecoo, headstrong and possessing a fierce love for his Dona. Then the triplets, Ruemin, Ruetoo, and Rueyue, all three mischievous pranksters, destined to spend their lives recompensing the adults they deliberately targeted. Remy, curious about everything by nature and easily dazzled by the world around him. Ripin was a true cuddle monster, glomping his family at every possible convenience. Reeray was king in both words and actions, but often selfish when it came to the odd ‘treasures’ he would acquire from the fertile ground. Poor Razeek seemed to have inherited his father's short temper, but his younger brother Roolili was always hovering at his side to calm him down with one of those marvelous shell scratches he happily gave. Rotzar was wholly committed to assisting at the smithy with Ryze and Raezic, who wanted to learn how to craft the most beautiful metal works. Excited Rebel, always fidgeting and bursting out in seemingly random giggles. Raenili, an instigator of all things rowdy and worrisome. Rin liked to bite, a lot, but was always quick to kiss the hurt away. Redeem was definitely the peacemaker of the lot: slightly cross eyed and Raph worried it would lessen his boy's chances finding a decent mate, but Redeem's loving nature more than made the difference. Raphael couldn't wait for Ryenel to be somebody else's problem, grudging turd was a spiteful git (still loved him though). Rebnala would be the tallest and strongest of his siblings, if only he wouldn't slouch and daydream of whatever the hell it is that goes on in that drifting mind of his. Roptulin and Repenzi were nigh inseparable, alike in every aspect except height; poor Roptulin would never catch up. And finally the teeniest (youngest), Rifel, so cute with his gummy smiles and those gimmie-gimmie hands.
They were worth every effort of every day, every single one of them. His tikes, and their Dona. Having all present and accounted for set his mind at ease and he could lay curled up with his family forever. Raph felt his tense body finally relax, signaling that 'yes, sleep is now possible', and heavy eyelids drooped shut. All about him was the collective heat of his precious turtles, their soft breathing steadily lulling him to a peaceful rest...
"Nngh!" That foot again!
Raph managed to sit up, one kid sliding off his belly, and quite a few complaining groans heard now that their incubator was moving away. A series of rapid kicks to his side guided his eyes to the small terra beginning to thrash under the weight of the bearer's protectively curled arm. Roepule's round face was scrunched up as if in fright and he was starting to fuss half huffed whimpers as he squirmed and kicked out at his unseen restraint. Fearing the noise would disturb the whole nest, Raph made to lift Don's arm and take his son into his arms and shush him. When his hands made contact with the youngling's legs to still their jerking, Roepule actually cried out and thrashed harder.
Cursing under his breath, Raph lifted his child up by his shell, and held the struggling bitlet as lightly as he could and still keep a sure hold of him.
“Shhh, Sh-shh.” he tried shushing his little one.
Roepule kept crying, barely noticeable beads of tears managing to squeeze out from behind closed eyes, and roll down round cheeks. Some of the other younglings were stirring now, and Raph was going to panic if they woke up Don, the bearer in desperate need of a solid nights rest. He stood up, mindful of little bodies around him, and made his way as far from his family’s hearing as the limited room of the tent allowed. He had to shift Roepule to decently rock him, and nearly dropped the bitlet; the kid was fighting him good.
“Here, let me.”
There, a few feet away, was an adult terra soldier. Young, having barely reached full maturity, and almost as tall as Raphael, the turtle held out his arms for the child. The blacksmith didn’t feel anything for the other’s sudden, and uninvited company. That’s what he told himself. He hadn’t expected to see this turtle for months, let alone hear the sweet voice that might as well have been another’s for all Raph’s hearing cared. He stiffened and squared his shoulders, but wordlessly, he handed his son over.
Just when he thought the memories couldn’t touch him….
Roepule whimpered and kicked against the gray plastron of the newcomer until a soft voice soothed him, “Sh-shh, so’kay baby. Shh baby.”
Raphael watched, relieved, as the other terra pressed numerous kisses to chubby cheeks, whispering to the fussy child. The youngling hiccupped once then settled, boneless and churring in the terra’s loving support. Calm, but struggling to make it appear so with his grim set expression, Raph gestured to the pile of squeaky snores, hinting for the other to put the tike to bed. How gentle and caring the younger warrior was with Roepule as he tucked him in caused a dry lump to form in the scarred turtle’s throat. After one last good night peck, the other turned to him, head down cast.
Raph cursed his hesitancy. He should probably say something-
“What ya thinking, showing up here?”
-probably not that.
“Father I-“
Raph hissed lowly, “Not here, Lonalin!”
The other’s light skinned head snapped up at unexpected use of his name. It sounded strained, almost pained, coming from the turtle he’d never heard address him as such. Hope gleamed in a flicker of dying candle light, and passed quickly… just as it should.
A hardy soldier stood before the blacksmith, “I had to warn you.”
Raph let out a deep breath, the tension easing in his shoulders a bit, “Warn me? How’d ya get here anyways? I was told ya were running with the Southern platoons.”
Lonalin fidgeted from foot to foot, “I am, we’re here for second line duty.”
That didn’t bode well, “What ya mean? Ya saying the border skirmishes have picked up again?”
“No, the East territory defenses have been compromised. The humans are gaining ground fast. At the rate they’re going they’ll be here in three suns. The West side borders are holding their own just fine; the human’s main focus seems to be cutting their way here, and contact with the East border patrols has been lost for nearly a week. North sent their grunts to join us on the run here and-”
Golden eyes narrowed to pinpricks, “Which rank?”
Lonalin faltered slightly, “The clan’s primary physician and his party were escorting outskirters to the trenches, but-”
Raphael cut him off with a growl, “Buck up, and act like a terra. Quit out-talking the issue!”
The shorter terra huffed angrily, “The gentle doctor and attendants have been trapped in the thick of the fields. They haven’t been sighted for too long and the Northern border troops have already been dispatched for search and rescue.”
“Ya mean a suicide run. Those are our terras, Mike and big L are out there damnit!”
“I tried, I-”
Calloused hands gripped wheat green shoulders, “Get ya tail out there and bring our brothers home!”
Raph hurried his oldest mistake to the entrance of the tent, and pushed him out into the night’s crisp cold air. He felt a curdling of guilt twist in his gut, but he’d say nothing to him just now. He knew how capable his eldest was, and felt a display of concern was untowardly for this instance. Lonalin was a cautious soldier. He’d be fine….
“I will do my best f- terra Raphael.” He almost slipped, but Raph didn’t catch it, or if he did he wasn’t going to acknowledge it.
The large turtle’s mind was positively racing with the dread of Don finding out his strapping, low ranking terra was running into a death race. That, and that their dear friend who was to deliver Don's last babe was missing.