Disclaimer: Nothing in this story belongs to me. Nothing at all, zilch, nada.

A/N: Much thanks to HOODOO for beta'ing and encouraging me! It was much needed! Also, if you have a problem with this fic, please glance at my bio before telling me about it. If you still have a problem with it, then drop me a line!

I ran.

My legs burned fiercely in protest of the punishing pace I forcing on them, my breathing reduced to ragged gasps. The ground was soft beneath my calloused feet, the new grass yielding to my harried footsteps.

Every step I ran, I left a trail of crimson upon the newly birthed stems.

My left hand futilely gripped the crater that had been blown in my plastron; no matter how much pressure I applied, crimson red still stubbornly ran out. If I had been able to admit it to myself, I would have been alarmed at the amount seeping through my blood-stained hand.

My breathing echoed wretchedly in my ears as I stumbled through the wakening forest. I had to find a place to hole up, I thought dazedly, relentlessly trying to keep my mutinous body at the abusing tempo. I wasn't thinking clearly. The thought never occurred to me that all my would-be murderers had to do was follow the yellow-brick road. As it were. But I wasn't thinking straight, and my focus was zeroed in on finding shelter.

I don't know how long I had been running before I collapsed, my legs refusing to take another step. My graceless fall had happened in the middle of a small clearing but I didn't have the strength to drag my sorry carcass to a nearby shrub and attempt to hide.

I lay there on the ground, lungs screaming and wheezing for the sweetly scented oxygen they so desperately needed. I could distantly feel the rest of my body trembling uncontrollably against the warm earth. Everything seemed so muted. Adrenaline still coursed through my veins and subdued any pain that had been inflicted. All I could do for several long minutes was fight to remain conscious. The trees overhead swam like a kaleidoscope and for a moment I was afraid that my stomach was going to jump out of my throat. But presently the roiling nausea calmed to a simmer and the trees reluctantly stepped back to their resting places.

But with that small relief came a curse.

Pain--overwhelming, sharp, electrifying--shot through me. I plastered a shaking hand to my side again and had to bite back an agonized groan. My eyes watered at the sheer intensity of it. I choked out a curse, my voice breaking. I could feel my warm, viscous blood seeping between my clenched fingers and running down my side.

I could hear my Donnie-conscience yelling at me to examine the wound and stem the bleeding! except in terms that I didn't understand. I got the gist of it, anyways.

Gritting my teeth together, I levered myself up on my right elbow and tried to get a look at my wound. The pain was excruciating; my lungs siezed at my abomen's fierce scream of protest and I ground out several colorful words before I could breathe properly again.

Sweat was rolling down my head at an alarming rate. Funny, that at the time I was more worried about dehydrating than bleeding to death.

But that was before I got a good look at my bullet wound.

The slug had hit me in the right side of my chest, a black-edged crater spurting blood. My mind flew to Donnie again. A few months ago he sat all of us down to give us a "basic" course in emergency med treatment. Needless to say, my brain quit working after five minutes of him spouting medical terms, but sitting on the ground with blood gushing out of me caused me to think real hard about what Don had been teaching about chest wounds. Something about livers and blood and... Trauma to the liver would cause massive amounts of bleeding and internal hemorrhaging...

I felt nauseous. There was no way in shell that I could get to the lair with an injury like this. Thinking back on it, I consider it a miracle that I'd even been able to stand up, much less run. Adrenaline could do amazing things to a turtle's constitution.

I felt my mind begin to wander. My eyes left the gaping hole in my plastron and drifted to my red-stained belt where my two trusty sai resided. Or used to, leastways.

"Aw, shell," was all I could bite out. The thought of my precious sai lying lost in some god-forsaken wilderness angered me; it angered me more to think that some two-bit, half-weaned punks could be pawing all over my cherished weapons. I growled, forgetting the important fact that I was bleeding kinda profusely. But by then the pain had sort of dimmed, anyway.

Curses that would curl the hair of my sensei flew through the air as I groped around for my shell cell. The keypad danced lazily in front of my eyes before solidifying enough for me to angrily punch in Leo's number.

"Raph, is that you?"

Duh, Leo, of course it's me. Who else would be using my shell cell number? I thought testily. I considered telling him off, but I settled for a simpler answer.

"They took M'sai."

It was easier to articulate than a long string of curses. And since when had it gotten so difficult to form words?

"Raph, where have you been? We've been worried sick!"

Leave it to Fearless to worry about insignificant details.

"Leo--"

"Raph, tell me where you are, can you do that?"

Throughout the conversation, if you could call it that, Leo's voice had inched upwards an octave. I could tell he was worried or angry about something. And I guessed that it had something to do with my illicitly sneaking out of the lair last night. I growled at the thought of someone my age needing a dang curfew.

"Shaddup, Leo."

My throat felt raw, and my voice had all the musicality of tires on gravel.

"Those idiots took M'sai."

Can't you understand? I wanted to growl at him, but didn't have the strength to voice. In fact, this whole conversation was getting me really tired.

"Raph, listen to me; listen to me, Bro."

The utter fear and simulataneous authority in Leo's voice cut off any protest I might have made.

"Raph, are you there?"

I tried to grunt an affirmative but all that came out was a wet cough.

"Raph, are you injured?"

I heard a roar in the background and vaguely recognized the Battle Shell's throaty voice.

"Talk to me, Bro."

The pain in my side had subsided to a low-grade throb; the bleeding even had started to slow.

"Raph?"

"M'fine. It don't 'urt nomorrrr..."

I stretched out the last word, enjoying how the "r" reverberated in my head.

"Raph, keep talking, alright? We're coming to get you."

Irritation soared through me and I opened my mouth to tell them exactly what I thought of them babysitting me. But instead my lungs decided to convulse.

Agony ripped through my side as I tried to drag air into my lungs in between paroxysms. I was whimpering by the time the attack subsided. Tears and sweat mingled together as they ran down my chilled face.

My shell was to the ground, my eyes staring at the fleece-white clouds scudding across the azure sky. Distantly, as if in a dream, I could hear someone's tinny voice screaming at me.

I drew in a labored breath, suddenly feeling short-winded.

And all I could think about in that moment was how the air smelled of Spring.