Chapter Four
"What did you find?" Leonardo's voice was hopeful as he crossed the threshold into Donatello's room.
Donnie was sitting at his desk, his elbows resting gently on his knees, staring at an invisible spot on the floor. "Close the door, will ya?"
Leo stopped briefly in his tracks, a look of confusion crossing his face. Opting to not ask any questions, he turned and quietly shut the door. Then, he turned back to his brother and waited patiently in silence.
A few minutes prior, Donnie had knocked gently on the doorframe of Leonardo's room.
Leo had looked up, surprised. But, as soon as he saw Donatello, his feelings became a mixture of excitement and fear. No words needed to be spoken. Instead, Leo's eyes, full of question, said it all.
"Could you come to my room?" Donnie's voice was soft, yet nothing uncharacteristic.
Leo nodded. "Do you want me to get Mikey?"
Don shook his head. "No, not yet. Just you."
Before Leo could ask any questions, or utter a single word, Donnie had turned and walked silently from the room.
Leo's heartbeat raced as he slowly pushed himself to his feet and made his way toward Donnie's room. It took every ounce of self-control to stop his feet from running down the hallway.
He had paused outside the door. A million thoughts and ideas were scrambling through his head, jumbled and incoherent. Finally, he forced his thoughts to calm slightly. There was no need to speculate anything without talking to Donnie. He had taken a deep breath, composed himself, pushed the door open, and crossed the threshold.
Now, Leo stood with his shell against the door. His thoughts had returned, stronger than ever.
Donnie still sat, staring at the floor. His face showed tension and contemplation. His expression was grim. His shoulders were high and tight, as if they carried the weight of the entire World.
Leo stayed silent, giving Donnie as much time as he needed. However, his breathing was deep. He didn't like the look on Donnie's face.
No, scratch that . . . he didn't like the whole damn situation.
Finally, Donnie snapped out of his thoughts. He rubbed his hand briskly over his face as he released his breath noisily through his mouth. Bringing his head up, he found Leo's eyes. He held his gaze as he stood from the chair.
"I want you to see something."
Leo nodded. His mouth had suddenly gone dry and he wasn't sure if he could speak if he wanted to.
Donnie gestured at the microscope that was spotlighted on the top of his desk.
Leo walked forward, but it was difficult.
It felt like a dream.
He couldn't feel the floor beneath the soles of his feet.
They dragged like leaden bricks.
This was going to be bad. He could feel it deep within his bones.
At last, he reached the desk and, bending slightly at the waist, put his eye against the eyepiece.
It was cold and he flinched slightly.
Pressing his eye firmly against the cold rubber again, he squinted at the contents of the Petrie dish. It moved as he watched. Red, black, and grey swirled together, creating a kaleidoscopic effect. He had no idea what he was looking at, yet he continued to stare at the substance.
"What is this?"
"It's a sample of Raph's blood."
"Okay . . . so?"
"Do you see how there are black spots?"
Leo nodded, his eye still pressed against the eyepiece. "Yeah. What does it mean?"
"And do you see how they seem to be devouring the red spots?"
Leo pulled his eye away and looked at Donatello in exasperation. "Yeah, Don. I see. But, what does it mean?"
The room was silent as Donnie slowly took his eyes from the floor and brought them up to meet his brother's gaze. At last, licking his lips, he shrugged his shoulders feebly. He took a deep breath and held it, preparing himself for the words that he must say.
"It's killing him."
Although his words came out in a whisper, they were still audible in the silent room.
Yet, Leo stared at him as if the words didn't make any sense.
Donnie took another breath and released it shakily. He dropped his shoulders slightly, broadened his stance, and forced his voice to be stronger, even though the words ripped through his heart like a sword.
"Leo . . . he's dying."
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Raphael was quickly deteriorating.
Hours had been stretched into days.
And, as these days went on, he got significantly worse.
At first, the rage was ever present. It was impossible to take blood, administer drugs, or talk to him with any hopes of an answer deeper than a grunt or sarcastic remark. But now, it didn't appear that he had the strength for such anger.
Now, his skin had changed from an effervescent green to an ashen grey. His eyes were sunken and black, his lips cracked and dry. He panted, and at times even gasped for breath.
He had stopped eating a day ago and it was becoming a chore to make sure he drank anything. If they placed a cup to his lips, he would attempt to take a few drops, but the effort would cause him to erupt into a coughing fit. They would help him to sit up slightly, supporting his shell against their chests, as his weakened body was wracked. Finally, the coughing would desist and exhausted, his head would fall to the side, and he would rest.
He slept the majority of the day, hardly moving. When he did open his eyes, somebody was always by his side.
Normally, it was Splinter; sitting close, his eyes closed in mediation as he kept a constant grip on Raphael's hand.
When Splinter needed rest, Michelangelo took his spot. Completely unlike Splinter, he spent his time talking. He told Raph stories and jokes. And, although Raph rarely answered back, he kept his spirits high. His light laughter and exciting antidotes could be heard through the semi-closed door.
However, when he finally left Raphael's room, Donatello could see the strain that he was under. He knew that Mikey was trying to stay strong, but over the last few nights, when Donnie was up late working, he could hear the sobs of his youngest brother.
It broke his heart and pressed him to work even more diligently.
The amount of times Leonardo had been in to visit Raph was able to counted on one hand.
And when you only have three fingers, this was saying a lot.
His guilt was too strong. It was overpowering his ability to make decisions. He kept reliving his argument in the dojo and it tore him from the inside out. He was unable to see his strongest brother like that.
So weak.
Perhaps, if Leo had done something productive, instead of let his tempter get the best of him, Raph wouldn't be like that.
It didn't matter that his entire family told him otherwise . . . he was still too guilt-ridden to stay next to Raph for very long.
Instead, he spent his time in the dojo, secluded, either practicing or meditating.
Donatello had spent every waking moment working in his room, testing blood and mixing chemicals, trying to find a cure.
Almost a full day had passed since he had last seen Raph. The last time he saw Raph he took blood quickly, checked his ever rising fever, but was unable to stay in the room.
It was too bad.
And Raphael's steadily decreasing state was only a reiteration of Donnie's impending failure.
A failure that would eventually claim the life of his brother.
Putting aside sleep and eating, he had locked himself in his room and focused solely on finding a cure. Yet, as the days went on, and sleep became a distant memory, he began to run out of new ideas and the feeling of hopelessness began to seep into his soul.
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Leonardo opened his eyes. He had been attempting to meditate in the dojo, but his heart wasn't into it. Instead, his mind was poisoned with thoughts of guilt. Stretching his sore muscles, he pushed himself to his feet and padded quietly out into the living room.
It was dark and quiet in the Lair.
Leo looked around. Donatello's door was shut tight, just as it had been for the last 24 hours. Leo could see the small sliver of light escaping from under the door, making thin lines on the hallway floor.
Walking carefully yet silently, he made his way toward the bedrooms. He paused at Donnie's closed door and brought his ear near. He could hear Donnie mumbling as beaker glasses clinked melodically.
Straightening, he continued on his way.
The next door he hit was Michelangelo's. It was half-closed, open slightly to the hallway. It was dark inside. However, without even looking into the darkened room, Leo could hear Mikey's soft snoring emerging from deep within the shadows. Grabbing the doorknob lightly, he pulled the door closed more so that it was only open a crack.
He was glad that Mikey was finally taking some time to sleep.
This whole ordeal had taken a toll on him. A toll that the entire family should be burdening together. Yet, he was taking the brunt of it by himself.
Mikey was exhausted. And for good reason.
A new wave of guilt washed over Leo.
While thinking, Leo had been walking. Now, without even realizing it, Leo had moved over to Raphael's room. He was standing silently outside of the door, unmoving. The door stared him in the face, a defiant monster he wasn't sure he could conquer right now.
He could feel fear and guilt building once more.
Looking over his shoulder, he looked for an escape. Something that would allow him to leave and cause the guilt to dissipate.
His eyes fell on Mikey's closed door.
Shutting his eyes, he fought with his thoughts.
You're the leader. . .
I'm not strong enough . . .
You need to step up. . .
I'm not ready . . .
Mikey can't do it alone . . .
I'm scared . . .
So is everyone else . . .
What if I can't do anything . . . ?
Then, at least you know you tried . . .
Pushing his fears and guilt aside, he reached forward and grasped the doorknob. Fearful of any sound, he turned it painstakingly slow. When he heard the latch slide silently, he pushed the door open.
It was dark, yet warm in the room. Leo stepped in and shut the door as he allowed his eyes to adjust briefly in the steamy climate.
It smelled like sickness in the room.
Leo wasn't sure if the room was humid on purpose, or if a combination of Raphael's fever, the labored breathing, and the door constantly being closed was steaming the air.
As his eyes adjusted more, dark shapes began to form. Leo could see Splinter leaning awkwardly in his chair. His breathing was consistent, deep and slow as he slept with his head on his shoulder. The hand that normally held Raph's had dropped over the arm of the chair and now hung limply by his side.
Leo stooped and gently gripped his Sensei's hand. Bringing it up, he laid it carefully over Splinter's lap. He then grabbed the thin blanket that had fallen onto the floor and pulled it lovingly up to Splinter's shoulders.
Splinter moved slightly, but after snuggling a little deeper under the blanket, settled back into slumber.
Leo looked at Splinter for a second. Finally, he moved his eyes. They stopped on Raphael's still figure on the bed. Taking a deep breath, Leo moved expertly around the bed and pulled a chair closer to the side of the bed.
He sat, yet as soon as he did, the overwhelming feeling of guilt swarmed back into his heart. He watched as Raph's chest rose and fell, shallow and choppy. Grasping his hands, he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. All of the poisonous thoughts were invading his mind, stronger than ever. He bit back the tears as he stared in silence at the floor.
"Hey, Stranger."
Leonardo's head snapped up at the raspy whisper.
Sunken eyes met his in the dim light.
"Raph?" A thick lump had suddenly formed in Leo's throat.
"I haven't seen you in awhile." The soft words came out between shallow gasps.
Leo leaned forward and gripped Raph's hand. "I know . . . I'm sorry, buddy."
Raph shook his head faintly. He coughed once, and pulled a deep breath in through his nose before answering. "No worries."
Leo could feel hot tears of embarrassment forming behind his eyes. "No . . . no it's not alright. I need to apologize." His voice was thick.
Raph weakly squeezed his hand, causing the tears to form faster.
"I'm sorry for what happened in the dojo. I'm sorry that I didn't see any of the signs earlier. I'm sorry that I didn't listen to Donnie when he was observant enough to see that there was a problem. I'm sorry that I haven't been strong enough to stop worrying about myself for the last few days, when I should have been worrying about you."
The tears were falling freely down his cheeks now.
"I'm sorry that I haven't been the leader that I should have been. I'm sorry that I haven't been the brother that I should have been. I'm sorry that I've never told you that I love you. Because I do. I love you more than you realize."
"Please, Leo . . ." It was a strangled whisper, and Leo realized that Raphael had silent tears falling down his own face. "Don't."
Leo put his face down on top of Raph's hand. He could smell him, feel his cold skin against his cheek, and he couldn't stop the tears that fell from his eyes.
"It was meant to be this way . . ." Logic was mixed into Raph's labored breathing.
"But, I could have done something." Leo was pleading now. He was pleading with his brother not to accept his seemingly unyielding fate.
"There's nothing you could have done . . . Splinter's pet." Raph chuckled lightly at the old insult, yet it sounded unnatural and painful.
Leo looked up and sniffled. He swallowed as a crooked smile slowly crossed his features. "Ninja dropout."
Raph closed his eyes and smiled.
The brothers sat in silence for awhile, Leo still gripping Raphael's hand.
Finally, Raph spoke, breaking the silence with his whispered gasp: "I'm tired, Leo."
It was like a child asking for permission. New tears brimmed in Leo's eyes.
Leaning forward, Leo used his other hand to tenderly caress Raph's face. "Then sleep, little brother."
"Will you stay here, until I fall asleep?" Already, with his eyes still closed, it was evident that his voice was thick with sleep.
"I would dream of being anywhere else." Leo squeezed his hand. "Now, sleep."
As Raph's head fell gently to one side, Leo couldn't tell if it were Raph's sleep induced words or his own imagination. Yet, in the silence, Leo heard a whisper, clear as day:
"I love you, too."