Chapter 2 - Tempting Fate
April's eyes cracked open as the sound came again. The steady repeating buzz of something mechanical. Annoyed and with blurred vision, she scanned her nightstand for the source of the noise. There next to the alarm clock, vibrating like an angry over-sized beetle was her T-phone. Her eyes snapped open and she snatched it off the stand as she sat up. She flipped it open as she noted the time. Four a.m. Ugh, this better be important.
"Yeah, hello?" she croaked.
The line was static and then there was a pause. Her frown deepened. She rubbed one eye. There was a confused jumble of sounds in the background. Metal scraping, shouts, Master Splinter barking orders, then wheels or something squealing. She listened harder. Her blood ran cold as she realized with a start that it wasn't metal. Someone in pain. Someone was making that sound. Then his voice came on, overriding the chaos. Raphael. His voice was thick.
"April," he paused.
"Y-Yeah, Raph. What's going on? What's that sound? Is . . . Is someone hurt?" she asked stupidly, knowing just by the way he said her name that he was upset.
"You better get down here."
"W-Wait! Raph, who . . ." her voice stuck in her throat and she couldn't finish the question.
There was another pause and she distinctly heard Master Splinter order Mikey to get the electric blanket, that he was in shock.
"Just hurry up," came Raphael's terse reply.
She tossed the over-stuffed backpack to one side and vaulted over the turnstiles. Still in her pajama bottoms and a sweat shirt, sneakers thrown on without socks. She had packed a few things in case she would have to stay for a while in the lair. She wasn't sure what was telling her to plan ahead like that, but she didn't question her instinct. Ever since being taken by the Kraang, she trusted more and more on that inner voice to guide her. She searched the room for any sign of anyone. The lair was quiet. But it wasn't the hush of a peaceful morning. It wasn't the sleepy silence just before going to bed. This was an ominous cloak of withheld breath. Of invisible fingers choking the sound from the air. Leaving the occupants of the room mute and pale.
Mikey stood up from the couch, rising as she moved into the living room. He looked terrified. Her heart sped up but her mind remained calm. She counted down. Two. Raphael was one. Mikey was two. Where was Leonardo? Where was Donatello?
"What happened?" she asked in a mostly steady voice, swallowing back her fear.
Mikey reached out and took her hands in his. She noticed how clammy they were and how they trembled. His mouth opened and closed and he shook his head.
"Easy. First just tell me if everyone's okay."
He shook his head again and in a strangled voice he said, "Donnie."
April felt a lightheaded giddiness hit her. A visceral blow somewhere between her heart and her stomach. Then the room tipped. The next thing she knew, Mikey was supporting her. Her legs would not do their job. Blinking in confusion, he eased her into the love-seat just behind her. Her heart was hammering and her mouth was dry. And all she could think was, Not Donnie. Not him. Not him.
She was babbling and snapped her mouth shut as the words she was saying hit her, "But I never . . . I haven't . . . I . . . haven't had a chance to-" What was she saying? What was she feeling? It was happening too fast. It couldn't be over. Not now. Not him. Mikey's voice broke through the jumbled mess of her mind before she spiraled out of touch again.
"Oh, gosh, April. I-I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to . . . he's okay. Well, not really. But still breathing, I mean. Yeah, he's alive," he chuckled then, a nervous sound, almost hysterical. "He saved me. I-I was standing there and trying to think of a name . . . b-but I didn't think they'd, uh, I wasn't thinking. As usual. I'm so stupid." He ducked his head and suddenly the color of his face shifted and he looked like he was about to be sick. "I'm so stupid," he repeated in a small voice.
She licked her dry lips and exhaled. "Mikey, shhh, no. Don't say that. Why don't you . . . just, start from the beginning."
He nodded. "Right. Okay. The beginning. I was . . . I was playing Space Heroes Artic Adventure when Donnie got a-a message thingy on his Kraang tracker thing and I uh, well, we went and then, there was this big boat docked outside a huge warehouse with all these Kraang-bots unloading crates and then we snuck up," he indicated with his fingers pressing into his palm like legs walking. "And Raph was like, 'let's go kick ass!'" he said in a fair imitation of his grumpy brother. Then shifted his voice into a more deep and commanding tone when he spoke for Leonardo, "Leo was like, 'No, we should scout around the building first.' And they started to argue and that's when Donnie and I slipped inside. I saw them first. I thought they were really cool at first . . . like something out of one of Leo's space shows."
April sat up as Raphael bolted from the lab, interrupting Mikey's retelling of what had happened.
"Why are you sitting around for, Mikey," he snapped. Then spotting April, he froze, eyes going wide. "Oh, uh, April. Did Mikey tell you what happened?"
"He was starting to. You fought Kraang?" Before she could ask anything else, he cut in.
"Something like that. Don got hurt." He put up his hands as she jumped to her feet. "Master Splinter says he'll be okay, but . . . b-but . . ."
"What!?" she shouted, and instantly regretted the outburst as both brothers jumped. But she was so frightened and no one was actually telling her what had happened. She needed answers and needed them now.
"His hand. His left hand. It got hit. With one of those lasers." He rubbed his face and crossed his arms, staring at the floor between them. "I only got a quick look, Leo and Master Splinter wouldn't let me see . . ."
April didn't know when she did it, or how she managed to find the strength in her legs to do so, but she had crossed the room and had placed one hand on Raphael's arm, the other was pressed hard against her churning stomach.
He panted and swallowed then added, "It was burned. Really badly. Like almost gone."
Mikey made a soft desperate noise behind them. "It's all my fault."
For now, April focused on Raph as he went on, ignoring the way her vision was darkening at the edges. "It didn't look like much was left." His chin trembled and his eyes got huge and glassy. He straightened suddenly; wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. He squinted and reemerged with a determined expression on his face.
"He was out. But now he was waking up and he's in a lot of pain. I gotta get the water and alcohol. Mikey," he snapped and Michelangelo jumped. "Sensei wants his herbs." The youngest gave him a blank look. "You know, the ones he uses when he needs to knock us out! In the little cabinet by his personal junk." Mikey blinked. Raph hollered, "The small black bag by the stuff we ain't supposed to touch!" With that Mikey nodded and dashed to Splinter's chambers and headed directly to the small cabinet full of things that were off-limits but each of them knew exactly what was inside. Special candles and incense and herbs and other odds and ends that were often peeked at but never removed. Raph went back to rushing from the kitchen to the lab, leaving April to stand in frightful misery.
His hand.
His hand was burned.
Not much left.
Her eyes shot to the lab door. The room that Donatello usually spent most of his time in; inventing, experimenting, working. What would he do without the use of his dominant hand? She knew he was a lefty. Had teased him often about it being worse than only having three fingers because of the lack of decent tools for left-handed folks. She ran a hand through her hair, feeling sick and wanting only to be next to him. But unless they told her otherwise, she would not get in the way. Donatello deserved every chance he had to recover and if they needed space to work on him, she would not crowd them. There'd be time to support him afterwards. Right? Fear rocked her.
She shook her head and banished any doubt from her mind; chased away the irrational desire to run back home as fast as she could. No way was she going to bolt now. Donatello was going to need her. And whatever it took, she would be there for him.
"Hold him, Leonardo."
"I-I'm trying," Leo ground out as he held Donatello's shoulders back, one arm wrapped around Donatello's throat, doing his best to keep his brother still. But Donnie, despite being unconscious, continued to squirm and buck. Moaning and grinding his teeth.
"Do not try! Do!" Splinter growled and Leonardo flinched.
Splinter applied the alcohol and Donatello bucked furiously. He knocked Leo back and off the table. His eyes popped open and he screamed as his legs kicked and jerked. His body shuddered and he curled to one side, whimpering and howling in pain.
"Leonardo!"
Leo scrambled to his feet and moved to hold his brother down as Donatello thrashed against him. A fist slipped free and struck Leonardo in the snout. His vision exploded in a flash of pain. He shook it off, eyes watering from the pain but also from the exertion. He grappled and locked his brother's long limb in place. But Don continued to buck and struggle; groaning and grunting as Splinter did his best to clean the ravaged remains of his son's hand and wrist. Twice more his injured arm jerked and Splinter felt his son shudder in pain as he gripped him harder. He spun on Leonardo.
"If you cannot be of use, then send Raphael back in here!"
"H-Hai, Master," Leo replied in a strained voice, staring at his brother's body as he redoubled his efforts to keep him still. His heart was hammering against his rib-cage and he was having trouble keeping hold due to the amount of blood now covering his hands. His eyes blurred and he swore under his breath as his feet slid to brace himself better and he fumbled once more.
His father needed him to remain calm but he was losing his grip on that as well. He knew he should run out and fetch Raphael, should admit that he was doing the best that he could, and failing to be of any use whatsoever, but Splinter had just sent Raphael out of the room to catch his breath after he nearly fainted a moment ago. Mikey wouldn't come near the room. It was up to him. His father was counting on him to stay strong. He couldn't let him or Donatello down. He pushed away his fear and did his best to fortify himself.
But he couldn't blot out the sounds Donatello was making from the terrible pain. The groaning that rose to sharp pitched whines of anguish. His eyes kept going from Donatello's ashen face to his brother's hand. Kept seeing the bones, the tendons stretched and torn, the blackened peeled skin, and the blood . . . the blood. It was on everything. Sticky and syrupy. Thick and wrong. Just . . . wrong. The smell of burnt flesh like something rancid and broiled, the coppery raw scent of the blood was too strong.
Suddenly the room was spinning and the colors grew garish and too vivid. His gorge rose and he turned his head in time to be sick on the floor. When he surfaced, Splinter was looking over his shoulder at him. He shrank into himself as the disappointment in his father's eyes pierced him; pinning him like an insect under glass. But an instant later, Splinter's countenance softened.
"Fetch Michelangelo with my bag. Get some fresh air."
Feeling more than useless, Leonardo scrambled to the door and yanked it open. Mikey was standing outside with the bag in his fists. Beyond him, April was kneeling on the floor next to Raphael, offering him a mug of something steaming. She looked up. Her eyes fell onto his blood stained hands and she blanched.
Mikey's eyes roved over Leonardo's shoulder, face pale. "Can I stay out here?" Mikey asked, in a small voice, his head low between his shoulders.
Leo moved to clap him on the shoulder, but remembering the blood, stopped himself. He nodded. "It's fine. I'll bring this in."
From across the room, April asked, "Can I see him? Is he okay? Is he awake?"
Leonardo shook his head and backed into the room before quietly closing the door. Splinter braced his hands across Donatello's shoulders as Leonardo approached. He raised a brow.
"I told you to get Michelangelo-"
"Mikey can't do it."
Splinter rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. He muttered something under his breath in Japanese. Sometimes it was easy to forget that his ninja were only children playing at being warriors. He huffed through his nose and eyed Leonardo sharply.
"You must do as I say."
Leo straightened up. Ready to accept his second chance. "I will."
Splinter sighed. "He will need the red pouch. There are capsules inside. Give him two. Place them into his mouth."
With hands that trembled, Leo searched inside the bag and produced the bag. He fumbled and finally pulled the strings to open it and pinched out two oddly shaped pills; chalky and pinkish gray. They stuck to his fingers from the blood and Leo did his best not to think about it.
"Got them."
"Put them into your brother's mouth," Splinter said as he returned to murmuring softly into Donnie's ears to be calm.
Leo did as he was told, but it was hard because Donatello was clenching his jaw. He tried again and nearly dropped the tiny pills. He made a desperate sound and Splinter reached up. He squeezed his brother's cheeks until his mouth opened with a gut-wrenching whimper. His legs kicked feebly. Leo's eyes snapped to Splinter, but he was concentrating on Donnie's face. He dropped the pills into Donatello's mouth.
"I am not trying to hurt you, my son. Swallow. Swallow this now. You will be at peace." Splinter held his hand over Donatello's mouth as he shook his head weakly from side to side. Twin tears streaked down his face, leaving light green lines through the grime and blood. He choked and his throat worked.
"W-What are they?"
Only now did Splinter's amber eyes shoot to Leonardo. "They will bring him no harm. They will make him sleep. Deeply."
And as Splinter said the words, Donatello's body seemed to collapse all at once and lay heavy and still against the stained cot. His head lulled to one side. His breathing was soft pants and a low whimper with each exhale. Splinter closed his eyes, with a slight heave, he straightened up and set to finishing cleaning the wound. But first he pulled the blanket his son had kicked free up and over his legs. Leonardo reached out with one hand and held his brother's arm.
"Use the warm water to sponge him down, Leonardo. Then go clean yourself."
Leo nodded. With an exhale of relief and exhaustion, thinking his father had, as usual, come to the rescue and made everything better, he said, "I'm glad the worst is over."
Splinter paused. He turned his head to speak over his shoulder. "Do not say such things in the face of tragic events, my son. You tempt fate with your arrogant naiveté."
Leonardo ducked his head and dropped his eyes. Suddenly ashamed. His cheeks flared. He didn't mean anything by it and his father's superstitions often left him confused and anxious. Something Donatello would refute as nonsense whenever Leo tried to talk with him about it. He'd never say that to Splinter's face, of course. But Donatello did not believe in anything outside of science. But despite his brother's assurances that there was nothing to Splinter's eccentric spiritual beliefs, Leo often found himself wondering if he believed in the same 'silly' notions or not. His father seemed rooted to his convictions. And Leonardo tended to lean towards whatever his sensei put faith in. He felt cold and a little sick and wished he could take back what he'd just said. His stomach started to hurt as the adrenaline wore off, leaving him feeling spent and shaky.
"I . . . I didn't mean. I know it's bad. I just meant, for-for now . . . that he's sleeping and you can fix his hand."
Splinter shook his head. "I cannot fix this, Leonardo. His hand was severely injured." As Leonardo's face mottled, Splinter softened his tone. But he was not going to spare his oldest son the truth of the matter. If any of them had to build the strength to face reality head-on, it was Leonardo. "My son, you passed him through miles of sewers to get to our home, if he does not develop an infection, then you may thank the spirits that the worst is past. Until then, there is much at risk."
Leo swallowed dryly and nodded his head, unable to speak.
"Get to work," Splinter said and with a heavy sigh, he returned to the gruesome sight of what remained of his child's extremity; knowing that it was unlikely that Donatello would ever be able to use it properly again. His shaking hands balled into quivering fists and he needed a moment to collect himself. Not for the first time, he wished he were human again, with the deft fingers and thumbs that held no sharp claws to inadvertently scratch and add to the chances of infection. He knew that as a mutant rat that there was a chance that he carried bacteria simply on his flesh that may come to hurt his child. He said a quick prayer to protect his child from further harm and attended the oozing wounds with steadier hands. For there was no one else that could help his boy. And he had to do with what he'd been given.