The room was almost drowning in semi-darkness. The walls were gray from dust, scorched in places, and covered in the remains of old posters, on which faded faces were barely visible. Exposed wiring hung from the ceiling, and the wind occasionally blew the remains of ash and dry leaves inside.

Leo sat, leaning against the wall. His back seemed to have become part of the cold concrete, his head slightly bowed, his eyes closed. There were traces of fresh scratches on his armor, a shield chipped by paint, dust and dirt stuck to the cracks between the plates.

In his arms was little Casey. A hot, shaking lump.

"Shhhh... be quiet..." Leo breathed out, barely keeping his voice even. — "Please... not now..." he lowered his chin to the top of the child's head.

Casey was sobbing. His tiny hands clutched at the fabric of Leo's chest, his nails pressing into the armor, his lips trembling.

"There's nothing... no water... no milk, baby, I'm sorry." His voice shook. "I don't... I don't know what Dad would have done. Or Raph..."

He squeezed his eyes shut. The sword lay on the floor nearby. Silent. As if he wasn't supposed to fight with it, but with the silence and loneliness inside himself.

Casey started crying louder. Intermittently, breaking into a squeal.

Leo exhaled tiredly. His fingers touched the edge of his mask, as if he wanted to take it off and breathe in at least something other than despair. He hadn't slept for almost two days. Mission. Training. Patrol. And then another fight.

He was at his limit.

And then...

Quiet footsteps. You approached. Softly. Almost silently. Your shadow fell on the walls.

He opened his eyes and looked at you. As if he was pulling himself out of deep water from within.

"What do you... want to do?" — a tired whisper.

You didn't answer right away. You just held out your hands.

Casey, although he continued to sob, was already reaching out to you - with some deep, trusting instinct.

You gently took him from Leo's arms. He didn't resist. He just looked at you, as if he didn't believe that anyone else could endure what he could barely cope with.

You held Casey close. Warmly. Without unnecessary things. Your fingers ran through his hair, as if memorizing its softness.

He whined some more, but weaker. You rocked him in your arms. Slowly. With love.

And began to sing. Quietly. As if in a half-voice, almost a whisper. — "Sleep, my little light. The world has gone quiet, the dawn is fading in the windows. No monsters, everything is behind us, I am with you, you just sleep…"

Leo watched silently. His shoulders shook. A lump formed in his throat.

He watched as your hand slowly stroked Casey's back. As his breathing became more even. As the little hands clutching your clothes loosened.

Casey yawned. Long, childishly. His eyes closed — and he quietly said “mmm…”, as if he had calmed down in the most natural way in the world.

You were still rocking him. Your fingers were softly drawing circles on his back.

Silence.

Only your voice, muffled, like a lullaby from another life.

Leo looks. His face is like a mask. He doesn't know what to say. But in his eyes, there is pain. Hope. And love.