Chapter 3 – Borrowed Strength
An hour later, Leonardo emerged from the room, looking haggard and drawn. Raphael brought him a mug of cocoa that he looked at but couldn't even think of taking. His stomach, much like the rest of him, felt raw and sensitive. His arms hung heavy at his sides.
"Here, Leo," Raph said quietly. "You okay?"
He wrinkled his nose at the bitter scent and tilted his head back. Raph offered it up and Leo turned away without a word, too tired to politely refuse the offer, too spent to speak just then. He just wanted to sit down and catch his breath. He skirted slowly around Raph towards the couch where April and Mikey sat watching him with similar expressions of hopeful anxiety and dread.
Raph looked at the mug in his hands and felt a flash of irritation. He stomped into the kitchen and poured the contents down the drain. It took some effort not to smash the porcelain mug into the basin, but he controlled himself. Leave it to Leo to act better than all of them at a time like this. He gripped the edge of the sink and did his best to calm down. It wasn't his fault that he . . . he almost fainted like a weakling in there. It was just that he wasn't expecting . . . he didn't realize how bad . . . The image of the finger bones poking through the smoking flesh came at him and his stomach lurched as black spots washed the edges of his vision in darkness.
"Dammit," he ground out.
He had to get a grip already. He swallowed and the taste of bile was nearly enough to push him over the edge. He pressed his hand to his mouth and looked into the living room to see Leo talking in a low voice with April. He huffed. And of course Fearless had to be the hero. Staying in there with Splinter the entire time and then coming out like it was nothing. Like he didn't need anything as comforting as the cocoa he'd made for him . . . or a soft spoken word from his stupid lunk-head of a brother. With a sigh he moved into the room with them as Splinter crept from the lab, closing the door behind him but leaving it open just a crack.
All faces turned in Splinter's direction. Leo stood up and immediately hurried into the kitchen past Raph to get a kettle of water on for tea. Raph gritted his teeth, thinking sour thoughts about his brother being the biggest kiss-up, but said nothing. Even Raph understood this wasn't a time for petty bickering that would get nothing accomplished. He set his hurt to one side. April closed in on Splinter as he moved towards the couch.
Splinter wiped his hands on a blood-splattered rag. He gave their friend a tentative glance. April approached him as if he were an explosive device set to go off with the slightest motion. Her hands were clasped together and pressed between her breasts.
"Splinter? How is he?"
Splinter considered the question, his amber eyes flicking from her young face to the floor before he spoke. Deciding at the last second to be as truthful as possible. "Donatello sustained a terrible injury. He is unconscious for now." He paused. "The likelihood that he will be . . . that his hand will . . ." he shook his head and sighed as April's face grew paler; eyes brighter as they grew wider. The freckles spattered across her nose and cheeks stood out in contrast to the gray of her skin. She appeared much younger than her years. Fragile and delicate. Despite this illusion, he knew it was folly to lie to her. She would learn of his condition soon enough. Besides that, the girl was strong. In some ways, stronger than his sons.
She'd displayed courage time and again in the face of enemies, resilience when her father was taken from her and mutated; her friendship with his sons endeared her to him, her patience with them was a gift; a steady, enduring heart beat within her chest. Just being near her brought out a paternal inclination that was unlike what he felt towards his boys. It was softer, less rigid and more compassionate. When she was around he missed Miwa with a fierce ache. At once he was weakened by April's affection and strengthened. It was good that she was there, now.
"We will have to keep hope in our hearts that I will not be forced to remove the damaged limb. However, I fear that may be the outcome, after all."
The words he spoke struck like tiny blows. Miniature fractures erupted and spread through her heart. She absorbed his words and as they settled with their meaning intact, coming together like a puzzle to form an awful picture of the bleak situation, she reeled. She pressed a hand to her mouth. She shook her head. Donatello would lose his hand. Because of a spattering of seconds where he was not careful enough. When he moved a fraction of a space between complacent normality and irrevocable consequence. In the blink of an eye, his life was to be changed, forever. It was too horrible.
"But he needs both hands, Splinter," she said weakly, noting how stupid she sounded as the room titled.
Splinter jerked forward. He grabbed her shoulder as she swayed. She blinked with glassy eyes, confused and frightened. She hadn't meant to startle him. She pulled herself together and noted that she couldn't stop shivering. With a gentleness only a father could wield, he guided her back to the couch. Once she slumped onto the cushion next to his son, Raphael, who threw an arm around her shoulders, she murmured, just loud enough for them to hear, "He'll be okay. It won't come to that."
Splinter nodded sadly. If only it could be that simple. To will something to be or not to be reality. There would be so much he would fix. So many mistakes along the path of his life that he would correct.
On the other side of April, Mikey wrapped his arms around his middle and he shook his head in misery. "It's all my fault," he mumbled.
Splinter inched to one side until he stood in front of his youngest boy. He stroked Mikey across his head and gave him a reassuring pat on his cheek. "Do not fret, my son. It is not your fault. When you and your brothers go out into battle, you each run the risk of a mishap . . . a miscalculation. Your foes are many and their ingenuity and cunning more than a match for even the most skilled of ninja."
Mikey looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears, full of misery. "B-But I stood there, like an idiot, trying to think of a name. If Donnie hadn't shoved me out of the way, that woulda been my face!"
Splinter shook his head sharply. "No more of this. Holding onto guilt for something that you did not do does nothing to improve the situation. Not for you or your brother. Do you understand me?" he snapped, eyes flashing with irritation.
Mikey flinched at his father's tone. He nodded morosely and took in a broken breath. April leaned gently into him. She felt him press back, and both took comfort in the contact.
Splinter wished he could offer more words of comfort and fewer sharp commands, but perhaps that was what his child needed right now. He did not mean to be harsh, to any of them. He did not want to add to their stress. He ran a hand over his face, ears flattened. He could not think straight about parenting right now. His mind was a jumbled mess; his heart, battered and wounded by the past several hours' events as well as what no doubt lay ahead for his boy. A shiver of ill foreboding passed through him. He couldn't think about that now. He needed to sit for a moment. Collect himself. Gain his composure and calm. Set the example for his boys.
He turned and dropped the soiled rag to the coffee table, feeling his children and April's gazes each fall in unison to stare at the stains, a painted testimony to Donatello's suffering. Splinter sat heavily, opposite from April, into the loveseat's plump cushion. Leo entered the room, a mug in his hand. All of them huddled closer with an unconscious need for contact; for comfort. The air hung silent and full of apprehension. Splinter took the proffered tea from Leonardo with a slight nod. Raph and Leo noticed the way their father's hands shook as he reached out for it. They exchanged quick worried glances. Leonardo moved backwards and sat on the edge of the sofa, ready to get his father whatever else he may need, despite his exhaustion. He perched there next to Mikey who flanked April on one side with Raph on the furthest end, one arm still braced across April's shoulders without realizing it.
"I have done what I could." He glanced at his claws with some revulsion; withholding his fears that he had merely exacerbated the situation by handling his child with his own bare hands. He swallowed. "He will need time to rest. Keep the lair quiet." Splinter wondered how long his remedy would keep Donatello under the refuge of sleep. Sweeping his vision across his gathered family, he read in their expressions the worry and exhaustion etched around their eyes, the grim lines of their pressed lips, the rigid way they held their shoulders, hands clasped together, knuckles pale.
"You should all rest while he is at peace."
Splinter gazed down into the swirling steam, feeling his age. The herbal scent should have been comforting. It stung his sensitive nose. He felt dizzy; his body and limbs loose and weighed down all at once. The struggling and whimpers of his child in the throes of anguish haunted the edges of his mind. He understood that they would for quite some time; knowing that the worst was still to come.
How could this have happened to his boy? His jaw clenched and released. If there was anyone to be angry with, it was himself. A feeling like grief washed through him. How useless he was. How pathetic in this form. What he would have given to have been able to take his boy to a hospital! His chest tightened. His clawed fingers pressed into the sides of the mug. The heat of the tea permeating the porcelain reminded him of his child's temperature.
Donatello had felt so warm as he wrapped the injured remains of his hand and arm. Unnaturally so. He knew what it meant. Fever. His breathing turned shallow. The fever indicated what he feared most: infection.
The hand would have to be removed. There was no doubt. To save his life, he would have to take the child's hand and possibly part of his arm. But how? How could he do that without incurring more damage? He was not a doctor. His first aid knowledge was limited at best. Setting a broken bone or awkwardly stitching a gash was the extent of the experiences he knew over the years in raising four independent and wild boys. Watching over one with the flu through the long hours of the night. But removing a limb? Doing so in such a way that it did not lead to more damage or worse infection?
Despair dragged at him. And he would have cried out in frustration had he been alone. But the weight of his family's eyes were upon him and they alone were what kept him from losing his composure. They wanted reassurances and hope where there was none to give. He needed to remain positive and thank god that he still had his child. But he felt unable to muster the courage needed to be grateful just then. There was no room for gratitude in his angry, exhausted heart just then. And he had nothing to give to his family. He could not bear even to look his children in the eye and tell them lies. He'd failed to keep their brother whole. This failure a symptom of his cursed mutation, limiting his access to medicine and medical care for his family, the ones he was tasked to keep safe and secure. To provide and look after. He had failed.
This acknowledgement of his failings drew his exhausted body deeper into the chair. He blinked hard and squinted. He was so very tired. Tired of the struggle. Tired of enduring in a world that put all its efforts into placing obstacles in the way of their survival. Tired of the very nature of man. So cruel and ignorant. His child suffering without justification for it. And so much more to come. There was no reason for his boy to have lost his hand. His dominant hand. His poor boy. His gentle intellectual marvel. And the world cared not for his hardship and pain. One mutant child's pain meant nothing. There would be no safe harbor, no sanctuary from the prejudice against his boy for the way he was created should they seek outside help. He would be given no aid by the human world above. What waited above was merely more pain, more terror.
How could this have happened? He should have prepared them better. Trained them harder. This was his fault for failing at protecting them, for failing at securing their safety. He was a sorry excuse for a father. He should have never let them go above. He should have gone with them this evening. Guilt tore at his insides. The dizziness returned.
"He'll be okay, guys." April's voice brought him surfacing from his traitorous thoughts. She was holding Mikey and Raph's hands each in one of her own. Her eyes were bright and her face flushed with the steady determination of youth. "We'll get him through whatever comes next."
He stared curiously at the girl. Admiration bloomed inside his heart. Such strength after all she'd been put through. She was doing a better job at setting an example than he. It shamed him. He had to pull himself together. It did no good to sit and sulk about the world. None of this was new to him or his family. He had to be strong. For his children. Donatello, who was usually the one to administer care to his siblings would not be able to help him now. He may be able to answer a few questions, should he awaken and be lucid. Anything that this girl could offer in the way of help, whether it be encouragement, or fetching supplies and medicine, would be a godsend. Not for the first time, Splinter was deeply grateful that she was in their lives.
Yes. She could help them. There would need to be supplies gathered if not available in the lab. He would need antibiotics. Sterile equipment to sever the hand . . . something to help his child with the pain.
He would need to . . . need to . . . pray. He cradled the mug in his hands and listened to the sound of her voice reassuring his sons with gentle words. His eyes drifted shut as he, too, found some comfort there.
A/N: A big THANK YOU to theincredibledancingBetty who has offered sound advice and help with all things concerning amputation and the trouble that can arise from the situation, like gangrene, yay! LOL - Seriously, I could not do this without your help, Betty!
And I would not be writing without all you guys/gals following, favoriting and reviewing - so THANK YOU as well!
