Coming Home
Throughout his years Leonardo was no stranger to sewer tunnels; the city above could rebuild itself from the ground up-- and boy, it sure had-- but down here, these tunnels were the exact pathways from his youth. Sooner or later talk of revisiting would crop up but there was more than enough pulling them away. Now he didn’t seem to have much choice.
The tunnel was louder than he remembered. Or at least, he was getting louder; grunting as he dredged out from shallow waters. Even as he rose onto dryer ledges the patter of water followed, dripping off every inch of him. Before long he was standing amid dusty ruins that were as well worn as they were lived in. Battered, bloody and soaked to the bone; this wasn’t exactly how Leonardo imagined coming home.
“Donatello!”
Leo’s hoarse voice still boomed with authority that had only sharpened with age, yet did nothing to stir the static world around him. This old, forgotten place didn’t seem to care. He wouldn’t set another foot deeper, not until they’d answered his call; his brother would still be here. After all this time, they’d never leave.