Donatello
They come back like this: a heap of battered bodies, everything covered in blood, the sharp scent of fear. Raphael collapses to the floor and Mikey isn't standing to begin with; he's curled into a ball, so small and so quiet Don barely even notices him.
And Don - he just stands there, feeling as if his insides have been carved out with a spoon. Hollow. Because the sight of his brothers on the floor makes him remember the sight of them dead. It's all he can see. His brothers, all dead.
Then he sees Leo, who is a dark mass of bruised meat standing before him, barely recognizable beneath a layer of grime, sweat and dried blood and Lord only knows. Leonardo is clutching his swords. He looks dangerous. He looks exhausted, out of breath and heaving for air. Don blinks and he feels a prickling sensation at the back of his eyes. Leo looks terrible and murderous and frightening, but he looks alive and that is enough to make Don want to cry with relief. He wants to hug his only older brother and sob like a baby, but…
He looks at Leo and fear lances him through the belly.
Leo has not relaxed, still looks ready to use his weapons. Don thinks he looks like a cornered animal; his eyes roll around the room, his gaze finds Don. He bares his teeth, hisses. His teeth are stained with blood.
"Leo?" Don has never seen this look before. He knows, instinctively, that he could be in very real danger. Twin blades flash as Leo turns to face him. He begins to move forward at a dead run.
"Leo, stop!" Don yelps, barely dodging the attack in time, ducking low to avoid being decapitated by his older brother's weapons. Don swings out a leg to trip him up but Leo leaps over the attempted sweep easily. Leo offers a rebuttal kick of his own, catching Don in the jaw, knocking him flat on his back.
Winded and gasping, instinct alone has Donnie rolling off to the side, barely in time. Leo's katana sinks into the floor only inches from his face, right where he had been just seconds before. Fear pounds through him as he realizes Leo is outright trying to kill him. This is not his brother, no way it can be.
Something is very, very wrong.
The blue-masked turtle's shadow falls across him as he looms over Donatello, eyes dark with deadly intent. He plants a foot on Donnie's chest, pinning him to the floor. He raises his sword.
"LEO," Don barks, grabbing Leo's ankle, trying to unbalance him.. "It's me, Donnie. Please!"
Maybe it's the raw fear in his voice that breaks through. Leo pauses, eyes narrowing as he blinks down at Don. He shakes his head as if to clear it. His hands began to tremble and then he drops his arms, lowering his weapons. Don's stomach flip-flops with relief as the pressure of Leo's foot leaves his chest..
"Donnie," Leo croaks, dropping to his knees. "Thank God."
Don finds himself sitting up, trapped in an iron embrace. Up close, Don notices just how filthy Leonardo is. Leo stinks. It makes Don's eyes water, but he finds he doesn't care.
Stench can be washed away. Dead can't.
He hugs Leo back, clinging to him just as fiercely. For a moment, Donatello allows himself to believe everything might turn out okay.
And then he hears Raphael scream.
Raphael
He is somewhere else now. That's all he knows.
He is lightheaded and dizzy from blood loss, facts he can pay attention to, now that he is no longer fighting for his life. He slumps to his knees, trying not to pass out. It still might not be safe. Around him, there is a commotion of noise. He hears Donatello's voice, but the tone is alarming, sending a strange mixture of relief and fear singing through Raph's nerves.
He tries his best to make himself aware of the situation, to help, but he also knows he needs to deal with his own problems, and fast. Blood loss is a bitch. Besides, he can't see much anyways. He tears the mask off his face and bundles the tattered fabric into a ball. Heaving a deep breath to steel his nerves, he presses the cloth to his ruined eye to staunch the flow of blood.
The pressure makes the pain blossom hot and bright and he can't help the guttural scream that crawls out of his throat. His muscles tremble and jerk and he can't hold himself up anymore, falling onto his side; but he keeps the pressure tight, tight - knows his life could depend on it - so he keeps holding.
He's doing the exact wrong thing, but how is he to know?
All he knows is the pain.
And then hands on him.
Strong hands, gentle hands that encompass his own and that is scary because he feels raw and vulnerable and he hurts right there where the hands are. But he knows these hands and he knows he is safe in them. So though his fingers threaten to betray his commands, though they hesitate to obey, he makes them release their grip.
He clutches at whichever brother is bending over him, groaning piteously. Raph tries to writhe away from the pain when the hands move the fabric to check the wound, he doesn't hear the sharp intake of breath the sight of his face provokes, only feels the second set of hands holding him down, preventing his escape when he can't take another second of agony.
Raphael begins to panic. The pain is overwhelming him and he can't get away from it. His amygdala are still in hyper-drive, making him desperate with the need to get away, his entire being distilled into one of the most primordial instincts. He's lost too much blood though, and his movements are sluggish, his world is spinning.
"Raph… Raphael." Someone is saying his name. Donnie? The voice grounds him, and he stills momentarily, the presence of his brother filling a void inside him. His right eye twitches in its socket, scanning the room before settling on the swimming face above him. He blinks up at Don.
"Where's Splinter?" he asks, but it comes out garbled and broken. He spits out a mouthful of blood. Donnie's face crinkles in confusion and he shakes his head to indicate he doesn't understand. Before Raph can try again, he succumbs to unconsciousness.
Michelangelo
He doesn't have the energy to move, that's the hilarious bit. Because he's spent the most recent segment of his life wishing he were free and now that he is, he can only lie there. He's still every bit a prisoner, trapped in his own broken body. Every bit of him hurts and he curls into a ball to protect himself, clumsily scoots himself backwards until his shell meets a wall. Beyond that, he makes no other effort. Around him, he can hear voices, ones that he knows, but they do not process through his mind.
It's all just sound.
He is still waiting for the next blow. This is another trick. Another punishment. He curls his hands protectively around his middle, tucking his right leg tighter into his chest. His left leg won't seem to bend, so he leaves it stretched out like an afterthought beneath him. He does not open his eyes.
A pained scream makes his heart race. He begins shaking all over. That's his brother's voice, Mikey is filled with the terror that they are hurting his brother the way they have been hurting him - that the only reason he is free now is because one of his brothers is in his place.
No.
Terrified, tears leak silently down his face. He can do nothing to help. His body will not respond to his commands. He can't breathe, his chest hurts. The trembling in his limbs is uncontrollable and his throat burns - his throat always burns. Then the screaming stops and the voices sound calmer now.
Then they move away from him and Mikey realizes he is all alone.
He wants to know why, wants to know where he is. His mind is reeling and he's still so afraid. But he's not being hurt right now, and he will settle for that.
He drifts for a while. He goes to a quiet place.
Leonardo
Leo still feels kind of like a rabid dog. Maybe he isn't foaming at the mouth, but it still seems like he has a violent disease creeping through his veins. He feels naked and vulnerable without his swords, like he's missing parts of his limbs.
He can't hold them and help carry Raph at the same time.
His hands are slippery with blood. It's hard to keep a hold on his brother. Leo has to keep shifting his grip to keep from dropping Raph as he and Donnie carry him to the lab.
Donnie. Leo's gut clenches.
He almost killed him.
He staggers down the hall, bearing the weight of his brother and the more unfathomable weight of his own guilt. The world looks like a kaleidoscope, all tilting patterns, shifting shapes and colors. He's so tired, he's not even sure this is real. He might be dying on the floor, even now - bleeding out and having one last wild hallucination before he snuffs it. Leo figures it's as likely as not. As sleep deprived as he is, he's bound to make a mistake sooner or later.
It feels too real though, for him not to leave his swords where they lay on the floor and grab Raph's legs when Don hisses at him to help him, dammit.
There's something about the way Don looks at him with shadows of fear flashing across his features, the awful, tacky feel of fresh blood between his fingers, the way the harsh examination lights in Don's lab make his vision smear…. No, he decides, this is definitely real. It's too horribly detailed not to be real.
He's home. It's starting to sink in.
He helps Don heave Raph up onto the cold metal table and not a second too soon. His legs are already beginning to shake when he hears Donatello snap, don't touch him before his younger brother scurries off to other parts of the room.
Home. The word echoes in Leo's mind and his knees buckle. A violent trembling takes up residence in all of his limbs as his muscles relax for the first time in days. He leans on the table to support his weight as he holds himself up with shaking hands. Looking down at his brother, Leo is glad that Raph is unconscious, glad that they don't have to deal with his fear and pain on top of their own, glad that his brother doesn't have to be afraid and in pain. At least not for the moment. He can just be asleep.
That seems better.
Beyond that, Leo's thoughts are as blurry as his vision. He tries to concentrate on what's important. Right now, that's staying upright and waiting for Donnie's instructions. Which amounts to precisely nothing. Still, it's what he can do.
He keeps vigil over Raphael, swaying slightly and eyes drifting unfocused as Donnie crashes around behind him, pawing through drawers and cupboards and muttering to himself.
It all sort of melds together. He gets that feeling that nothing is real again. Leo blinks and sees a weapon cutting towards him through the dark. He blinks again and it is gone; it was never even there to begin with. Just an instant, a tiny flash of a bad memory. He knows it's not real. He's just tired. Just needs some sleep. He's starting to see things. It's not even dark in here. His mind is playing tricks.
Whatever he tells himself, it is enough to make his heartbeat gallop in his chest, all his muscles screaming in protest as he tenses up again. He tries to settle his breathing, attempting to exhale the sudden terror that clutches him in one long breath. Then another breath.
And another…
pushes it all away until his limbs start to feel like overcooked spaghetti as the strain evacuates his body. He's home now, home. He repeats it. There are no enemies here except the ones he creates. And everything is fine. He repeats that too. Everything is fine.
Leo looks down at Raphael again.
Well… not fine.
Donnie told him not to touch, but Leo finds he is curious. Carefully he peels back the corner of the cloth to check the wound. Underneath, it's something out of a horror film. The white of Raph's eye is red and swollen, bulging out past the socket. The pupil looks like a broken egg yolk. Something jellylike is leaking from the wound.
Leo takes in the macabre sight with an expressionless face. He doesn't even feel sick when he looks at it. He knows he should feel sick, but he doesn't. A cold stone sits in his gut.
He knows Raph is going to lose the eye.
He knows Donnie is still afraid of him (he should be).
He realizes with a start that he doesn't know where Mikey is, doesn't know where sensei is.
Another tendril of fear wraps around Leo's ribcage, squeezes tight until he can barely breathe.
Maybe he's lying to himself. Maybe things will never be fine again.
