"What's all this?"
Donnie stared at the huge pile of...well, he wasn't entirely sure what comprised the mound. It looked like a metallurgist's attempt at a shrine to Bambi.
April picked out a spotted ball of fur. "You said, and I quote, '...as many good luck charms as you can get.' I've got seven four-leafed clovers, seven rabbits' feet, and seven horseshoes I found in the barn. And," she paused as she took down a small glass jar from the mantle, "Casey's grandmother's rosary."
Don worked his jaw up then down slowly in an effort to curtail the approaching migraine. "You're getting as bad as Mikey."
She snickered.
"Well," he knelt to examine the odd assortment, "Can't hurt, I guess. But why seven?"
"Lucky number. And besides, there are seven of us, which I mean, seems like it ensures you're all going to get better."
Unless you just jinxed us. He shook away the intrusive pessimism.
She clapped him on the shoulder, and when he looked up, she tossed her head in the direction of the kitchen. "I'm going to start working on dinner."
He started to nod. "Dinner? But it's not even noon!"
"Exactly!" She said. "The best meals take all day to cook!"
Donatello rolled his eyes and made a mental note to keep tabs on how much Mikey and April hung out. He'd be the butt of a colossal prank before he knew it if he wasn't careful. He chuckled good-naturedly. "April" and "prank" in the same sentence frightened him almost as much as Michelangelo in his lab. Almost.
He swept his eyes over the well-worn furnishings. The couch had succumbed to more moths in the past months, and a few spongy pieces of cushion on the floor were stirred around when he opened the window. The fireplace was much cleaner; Casey's semi-regular upkeep had transformed the farm from a pigsty - no pun intended - to a dump. Improvement is improvement, Don supposed.
He and April had come out ahead of the other to ensure the house was in decent condition to support five wounded warriors. Leo, Mikey, Raph, and Splinter were all undergoing one last physical examination before being released from the Utrom's custody. She had helped him cleared out the first level and pushed all of the furniture against the walls to minimize the risk of tripping and re-aggravating injuries. And the family medic. Then they had pulled two air mattresses out of storage and added them to the existing bedroom that spanned the length of the second story. April had stripped the sheets and covers off the beds and put them on to wash while he had gone walking around the main pathways his family would be utilizing.
He knew the farm land was secluded and safe, set back as it was about eight miles from a main thoroughfare and embedded in dense pinewoods. But still, old habits had him checking the overall security of the trails close to the outer acres, the perimeter, the buildings. April had found him in the barn kicking molded straw and rusty scrap metal into piles, and she had called him back inside to run over their preparations one last time. And to throw a shell-load of good luck charms at him.
He smiled as he separated the amulets into piles, arranging them by size and having various mental versions of his two younger siblings taunting him about OCD for it. The smell of wild game and stir-fried vegetables wafted in, and his stomach growled happily.
"Hey, Don!" She called from the kitchen. "I think Casey's back. Are we going now?"
"Um, yeah. We can't do much more damage here."
He rose from his squat, and his eyes fell on the old rosary. Before he could check himself, he was absently fingering the beads and admiring the detailed craftsmanship of the crucifix. He looked long and hard into the eyes, and the only part of the Lord's Prayer he knew floated into his mind.
Deliver us from evil.
Leonardo knew he had been silent for most of the ride up to the farmhouse, and Donatello's penetrating stare was starting to get on his nerves. Don kept sliding his eyes around Mikey's shoulders and looking at him like he wanted to say something but knew better. Leo folded his arms together.
"Don, if you've got something to say, just spit it out." He snapped.
The other four jolted when the comment cut through what stable peace there was in the trailer. Michelangelo swiveled his head around to Donatello, who had turned a half shade paler. "C'mon, Leo. You know how Donnie-boy gets when we're hurt. Probably just wants to make sure your arm won't fall off when he's not lookin'."
Don offered a grateful smile to Mikey, who in turn flashed a thumbs up.
Leo narrow his eyes at the silent exchange and puffed out a short breath. "Whatever."
He heard Raphael stirring around, no doubt trying to find a somewhat comfortable position. His brother hissed as the vehicle ran over a series of potholes.
"Hang on, Raph."
"Yeah...I know." His retort lacked the venom it usually had. His breaths came in short, infrequent bursts, and each one sounded more painful than the last. "Ain't like it...can...be helped."
Donatello nimbly maneuvered around Mikey's legs to kneel beside Raph. He laid a gentle hand on Raphael's plastron, just above the bandages. "I told you: deep breaths. It won't matter if your ribs heal but your lungs don't."
"I got...it the first hund...red times, Don."
"Then listen for once." The order was direct and clipped, and most definitely did not come from Donatello's gaping mouth.
It was the second time Leonardo had spoken up during the trip, and the second time ever he had spoken in a blunt challenge. He cocked his head at Raphael, as if waiting to be obeyed. Raph glowered at him and probably would have yelled or intentionally not breathed if Don hadn't place a steady restraining hand on his forehead. Placated, he inhaled as fully as he could under Donnie's coaxing. "Ow."
"My son." Splinter had a distinct tone of voice he used to address each of them, and it was clear this time, Leonardo was in his crosshairs. "I know you are in much pain, as are we all, but that does not excuse your behavior. You will apologize to your brothers."
"Sorry." Leo spat the word out in a mildly subdued tone and hunkered further into the corner farthest from the others.
Michelangelo pushed himself into a more upright position and tried to reach past his knees before Don caught him and smacked him. Again. "Doonnniiieee, can I puh-lease scratch my legs? It feels like I've got a horde of angry ants biting me!"
"No."
"Pretty please?"
"No!
He flopped dramatically into Don's arms. "Do you not care about your poor, crippled baby brother's suffering?"
"Do you want your legs to bleed into your boot and then have it congeal and rot right next to your foot?"
Mikey pursed his lips as if thinking about how viable a response Don had given. Seeing as he was the super nerd, Mikey had a fifty/fifty chance of being lied to and not catching it. 'Cause Don was tricky like that. He could tell you something that sounded smart enough to be true without telling you the whole truth. Like a Jedi. Michelangelo grimaced. Pity he couldn't outrun a lightsaber at the moment. But that didn't stop him from worming his hands into the casts.
Smack! "Ow!"
"No scratching!"
Leonardo rolled his eyes. The van was scattering gravel like so much shrapnel that made a faint ting ting as it ricocheted off of trees and hills alike. If he had to venture a guess, they were probably still a good two, maybe three, miles from the farmhouse. He couldn't wait to arrive. The air in the enclosed trailer was hot, stifling, and his own bandages were constricting more and more with each second. He shuffled listlessly.
Donatello inched his way over to him cautiously. "Can I check your dressings?"
"Sure." He pulled himself a little closer to the self-appointed medic, patiently tolerating the poking and prodding and stretching. "So what's eating you?' He winced as Don's eternally stoic expression slipped into something approaching panic.
"Uh...well…" He glanced over his shoulder at his family, and apparently satisfied they wouldn't hear, he continued, "Are...are you okay?"
He snorted. "I came within an inch of being internally decapitated, Don."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
The van slid to a stop, evoking groans from all aboard. Someone, probably April, was running toward the farmhouse to open the door, while the other fumbled with the padlock on the trailer. Leo stood, only to have his least injured shoulder pinned against the metal wall. Donnie arched his eyeridge meaningfully, clearly not about to let him go until he answered. He reined in a growl, determined not to let Don have any more on his plate than he could handle.
"I'm...I'm fine."
And with that, he pushed past Don and leapt out of the trailer.
A/N: Well, here I am again, apologizing for any missed typos. I have a tendency to upload around midnight, when my brain sees what it wants, not what's actually (and sometimes incorrectly) there. Thank you once again to all of my readers and my reviewers! *HUGS*
I promise I'm gonna try to expand on these chapters a little, but I kinda like this length for this story. What do y'all think? And is everyone still in character, flow still good, etc., etc.?