The Abyss Waves At You


You've never been good at meditation; everyone in the family knows that. But…you aren't really bad at it, either, you just have attentive with sensory problems, as your scientist brother likes to point out. You become too distracted by everything around you, it all rushes in so immediate and hard like a crashing wave, and you are carried away by all your senses on a roller coaster, until someone yells at you to stop fidgeting or humming. You learned early on that movement of any kind was actually your version of meditation, but you wanted so much to please your father, you wanted so much to be seen as good enough by your older brothers; so you did it their way and kept doing it their way, and it wasn't until you were fifteen that anybody realized that maaaybe there was a medical reason.

It was your scientist brother who figured it out and put it into terms, but it was your leader brother who took your hand and helped you work with it. It was fine that way; he was your hero anyway. You would follow him into fire.

But that was the other problem, wasn't it? You were too trusting, eager, innocent, naïve, pure. That's what they said. You loved shiny things: What does that button do? Hey, what's behind that big door? Hey, can I play with that? You were too curious and you easily became bored. Easily distracted, they said. Inattentiveness, they said. Hyperactivity, they said. Overactive imagination, they said. But you had used that to your advantage time after time in battle, and no one praised that. You were used to being the bait, the distraction, the wild one who led the enemy on a merry chase while your brothers worked to save the city or the world. Your imagination kept it fun; you could pretend you weren't facing blades that could bleed you out in minutes and twirling wood that could crush your bones in seconds. When your brothers were serious and upset you could toss them a bizarre joke and they would stare at you funny and wonder why the hell you would joke at such a time, but you could already see the tension in their shoulders lessen, you could already sense the mood lighten. That was your job. That was your role. That was your place.

You decided you absolutely could not be anything else, or the fabric of family and clan and team might rip. It wasn't really a fact, it was just something you knew deep down.

So when they yelled and insulted and slapped you on the head and argued about not wanting you around, you kept smiling, because they were your family and family teased each other all the time.

So now you are sitting casually on a long, thick sewer pipe over a wide hole in the ground that goes way, way down, so long and so deep that when you tossed a rock in, it took a very long time to hear it hit, and it was a faint splash. But did it strike ground before water? You could use your psychic senses to tell, but that might make you dizzy, and that wasn't really why you came here.

Leo and Raph were fighting again and Don shut himself in his lab, and Master Splinter went to his room to meditate for a few hours, and even the television plus comic books couldn't filter out that thick ugly feeling settling over the lair so you got up and mumbled something about getting away, and you jumped over the turnstiles even as you sensed Leo flicking his eyes toward you because no matter what Leo always tried to keep an eye on you.

You walked almost a mile before stubbing your toe on the pipe, and when you saw the depth of the gash in the ground, you suddenly became very, very calm, and smiled, and sat on the pipe, and kicked your feet, and that was your meditating. You weren't think about anything, really, you were just feeling your body from toes to head, feeling your breaths in and out, listening to your heartbeat which lately kept at a faster pace than your brother liked, but Donnie was the family doctor and made it his job to be concerned about everyone.

You begin to think about what would happen if you were gone. Not in a coma for three months, not like that –- really gone, like never coming back. Like, oh, dead. What would they think, would they keep calling you a screw-up, would they insult you and toss your name between them like a pointless toy? You doubt it; you remember what Raph said to you while you were in that coma, although it felt like a dream. It was possible that he was saying those things just so you would wake up and he could beat you down. But after you came back he was different, he was sometimes a little clingy, especially in the mornings when you made breakfast. Very especially during sparring matches when your left leg started bothering you.

It's a fascinating thought, though, and you turn it over and over in your head so you can see it from every angle. You remember dying, fighting the Alchemist; floating in darkness waiting for something. Or some place. You remember feeling impatient. But also peaceful. As if everything was finished, it was over, you could do something else, have a different life. You aren't sure if it's universal. You're not religious, but lots of people are, and you imagine that individual people will probably see whatever they really believe in. You are not afraid of death. But you don't know what it leads to, if anything at all.

You feel a little odd and you realize that you are rocking back and forth on the pipe. Donnie called it "self-stimulation or stimming" and it feels comfortable. But shouldn't you not be doing it on a metal pipe above a hole in the sewer when the bottom seems bottomless? Suddenly, you feel that you don't care. You can't care. Nothing matters except you, sitting on a pipe, rocking back and forth. You are starting to feel tired. Not sleepy tired. Fatigue. Like when you were recovering all those months, making poor Don have anxiety attacks. But you can't feel yourself care; that happened in the past. Your head is starting to throb. It might be a migraine. You can't bring yourself to care. You should get off the pipe and away from the hole. You don't care.

Someone is shouting from far away. Then you hear your name being shouted. And? Yes, your name is Mikey. Congratulations, voice. You rock a little harder, staring down at pitch blackness. You want to laugh. What does laughter sound like? You stop caring. But you are smiling. Those muscles are easy to move. You grip the pipe tighter, because it feels good against your skin. That's all that matters, the feelings and sensations that are making you feel good.

It might feel good to let go and tumble into that pitch and measure the length to the bottom. You can use telekinesis to measure, so your fall is not so immediate. Just let go and let yourself fall, and hold yourself just enough.

You lean forward.

Someone behind you is screaming, screaming your name; Stop, they are screaming, Get off the pipe Mikey, they cry. Nah. They don't matter. You don't matter. There is no Mikey. There is sensation, and calm, and the epic blackness below.

You feel your mouth open. Why is it doing that? You didn't tell it to open. Noise bursts forth. Wait, is that laughter? Are you laughing? Another sound follows it. Ohh, you know this sound. This is crying. Doesn't crying mean sadness? You aren't sad. You aren't anything.

The pipe feels good. The pitch black feels better. You slide forward, straighten your legs, and calmly let yourself fall off the pipe.

"MIKEY! NO!" The same voice from before is right there, and now a hand is grabbing your hand, and you don't remember allowing anyone to hold your hand. You close your eyes as blackness wraps you in a blanket.

"Mikey, look at me! Don't let go!" the voice shouts, and the hand tightens on yours. Excuse you, did I give you permission to squeeze my hand? You feel a giggling sigh escape you.

"Damn it! Raph, grab my ankles. He's not responding. I have to get closer."

You try to tune out that voice. It is very familiar. But right now, you don't want it in your world. There is only the darkness, and it soothes you and coos at you like a lullaby.

But then you feel your other arm being grabbed by the shoulder, your arm lifted against your will, and now that hand is being held and grasped and squeezed and wait, hey, you didn't ask for this, what are you doing, voice?

"I got him, I got him! Pull us up, Raph!" and the voice sounds desperate and terrified and panicked and in tears and also angry, and you hear another voice, after some grunting and growling, as you find yourself being pulled upwards.

"Damn, Leo, how come we're all so damn heavy! Okay, I'm gonna drag you past the pipe, hang on!" And that second voice growls and wordlessly yells, and your hands hurt because they are being squeezed so hard. But you don't have any more strength, the blackness pulled it out of you when it hugged you and sang to you. You can't even open your eyes. But somehow you are still smiling. Why?

You feel yourself pulled and dragged over the pipe, over the spot you sat, and then onto dirt and floor, and all you can do is lie there, you can't move, this is what fatigue is.

You feel yourself being turned onto your back and fingers are pressed against your neck. "His pulse is too slow," that first voice says.

"Think it's a seizure?" says the second voice.

"Could be," says the first voice again. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was actually meditating before the seizure came."

"Huh. I guess he really does have to move while meditating. But I'd rather he did that without giving me a fuckin' heart attack."

"I don't think he even realized." The first voice is very soft. "I know I can get very deep into trances, but maybe Mikey goes somewhere none of us can touch." A hand presses against your forehead. Suddenly you sense names. Leonardo. Raphael. Your brothers. Yes! You must have fallen off the pipe. Leo grabbed your hands, Raph grabbed his legs. You feel so foolish now. But it was so peaceful, so calm, so relaxing and effortless. You want to cry, but you just cannot move. At all. So you wait. And you think. And you feel.

Someone carefully picks you up and you are cradled in a pair of strong arms that feel like home, like protection, like ultimate endless love. Leo, you realize, and you would smile if you could. "I've got you, baby brother," he murmurs, close to your face, "I love you. You're all right, you're safe."

Yes, you think. You believe it, with everything you are. You believe in him.

There is a long silence. You sense movement. Your brothers are walking, breathing, but not talking. That is all right. Sometimes you don't need to talk.

The silence stretches on, and the fatigue presses against you like a fog. You are at the very edge of sleep, but something keeps you steady. You feel everything around you, but it is dulled. It is all right. You are calm.

"What the hell, guys?" That voice, that's Donatello. Oh, he sounds scared. "One minute I peek out my door to tell you to stop yelling and the next you run out of the lair like bats out of hell and why is our baby brother unconscious, Leo?"

"It seems," Leo says in a firm voice, "that he went off to meditate and he had a seizure and almost fell down a huge hole in one of the tunnels."

You are gently placed on a bed, and hands are touching you, and you know that touch too well, you can recall his touch in your sleep, and then Donnie mutters "His pulse is far too weak, and he's sweating profusely. I know you said seizure, but I'm also thinking syncope. I'm starting him on an IV of saline and norepinephrine."

Sometimes you have no idea what Donnie is talking about, but ever since you became psionic you've been reading medical books and sometimes Donnie lets you read his mind. So you know what that all means, and you feel fascination because shouldn't your heart rate be too high? But then again, you were meditating and you probably fell into a trance, so that would do it. But why would meditating cause a seizure? You assume that the part of your brain that holds back seizures probably let go because you were in too deep. Hmmm. You'll have to talk to Sensei and maybe Leo. Maybe your meditations with the group will have to be different. You still can't sit seiza, anyway.

And you still can't move or wake up. Doesn't this bother you? Nope. You still feel very peaceful. Maybe you made it happen.

You feel a needle slide under the skin inside your elbow. You hear Don say, "Okay, starting saline drip. Injecting norepinephrine…there. We'll wait a minute to see what responses there are."

Suddenly your body floods with…energy? Awakeness? You can't find the right words. But you feel your muscles spasm and your entire body almost surges up, before coming back down. You can feel movement now. Your hands twitch and clench. Someone takes your right hand. "Mikey? It's Donnie. Can you squeeze my hand?"

You feel the connections between your brain and your body light up, and you squeeze as hard as you can, which is weak, and you want to kick yourself. You feel helpless. But at least you made Donnie happy, because you sense him nod and smile. "Good," he says. "Do you think you can open your eyes?"

Ooh. That might be hard. Hm. Your eyelids feel weighed down. You move your eyeballs beneath them and you sense another nod from your brother. You hear Raphael mutter, "Come on, Mikey, you can do it," and that encourages you. But where is Leo?

A hand slips into your left hand. "We're all here, Mikey," Leo says. Come up and say hi."

And you can feel your eyelids, and there is less weight, and you very slowly open them, and three smiling faces fill your view. Somehow, the muscles around your mouth form a smile.

"Hey, you," Leo says, like he's about to cry from happiness – crying isn't just about sadness! you abruptly remember – and you manage to make a humming noise that you hope comes across as a greeting.

Donnie shines a small light into your eyes and tells you that you're okay, that you must be dizzy and exhausted. Somehow, you make the muscles in your neck move so you can nod your head. That's tiring. But your hero big brother is smiling at you and his sapphire eyes are wet and shining, and you just want to tell him that you love him, you need to tell him that he's always there for you and you can't thank him enough, and you didn't mean to fall off the pipe, all you were doing was thinking and then thinking turned into feeling and then nothing mattered and…

Leo is squeezing your hand so tight and he leans in like he understands. "We'll do supervised meditation from now on, okay, Mikey?" and his voice is raw and rough, and he nuzzles you and you just manage to weakly nuzzle him back. And finally you can open your mouth and you find your voice, and all you can say is "…love you, Leo…" and that is good enough, because that is all you need to say.


(Author's Note: Based on an actual epileptic experience. I was sitting up in bed and then I was lying down and not moving and feeling rather peaceful and very fascinated and slightly trippy. Sometimes I refer to these as euphoric seizures, as dopamine and serotonin are automatically dumped all over my brain. That abyss did feel pretty comfy, too.)