Chapter 10
School wasn't cancelled the next day. Apparently this kinda thing happened often enough that as long as the students were mentally fine with the occasional monster tearing down walls, class went on as is. Raphael was waiting for Angel at the school gates to demand how this could even be possible. This was meant to be his normal, not human normal.
Then again, NYC. Weird was normal here, right? But still.
He'd been tempted, extremely tempted, to skip that day. But that social worker had called back at Casey's, asking how the teenager was doing, and even April had received a call. If he skipped school Casey and April was likely to get messed with by the cops or something (how was he meant to know how the law worked around miscreant human teenagers?), and that was something Raphael couldn't abide, especially at his expense. So he came to school. He suffered it, and prayed that somebody would hurry the shell up and find him a cure.
"Hey bonehead, you gonna get off or what?"
"Yeah, yeah," the teen grumbled, stepping onto the pavement and removing his helmet, "Thanks for the ride I guess."
"No probs, kiddo."
"Don't call me kiddo, Case."
"Oh, yeah…" the muscle-clad human sighed, elbowing his friend. "About April. Just uh, don't let her get to ya, bro. Just doesn't know the kind a'crud I used to get in at yer age."
The turtle snorted. "Sure."
"We should swap stories sometime."
"You ever gonna beat getting kidnapped by aliens at sixteen?"
"Eh, probs not, but I got some pretty dumb drunk stories."
"... You know what, sure. I'll hear 'em next time we hang."
"Cool." Casey revved the engine to his bike before saluting, his words muffled by the helmet. "Now don't do what I wouldn't do!"
"Hah."
After a quick salute back Raph turned towards the school, and blinked at the yellow tape and the awnings that bracketed the broken front doors of the main building. There were security guards conducting kids to go in through a different route, and workers in orange hats and vests hauling bricks and concrete. It hadn't occurred to him that he'd be barred from stepping through the blasted walls, since it looked kinda like a snapshot of his two previous homes after they got invaded by kill-happy robots. He and his family had picked through ruins way worse than this, but these humans… these kids… let other people deal with it.
They had to know how lucky they were, right?
Sighing he impatiently shifted his weight, glowering at the students who stared at him too long as he just, stood there. He was already losing track of how long he'd been to this bloody place. Two weeks? Three? I was probably way less than that, but the days bubbled into bigger oozing monstrosities with the simple want to go home, to be fighting and training and work on his bike, and headaches from studying and catching up on sleep. It felt like he hadn't seen his bros in days (and that was a creepy thought) even with that weird talk that he'd had with Leo last night.
Raph wasn't sure what got into him, speaking like that, like… like this was the end. There was no going back, that he was stuck… here. Without his family.
A raw shudder raced through his bones.
Raph shook it off, gritting his teeth. He was getting out. He was gonna go home. To do that he needed to find out about that girl that'd tussled with that orange dino and figure out the connection between her and Bishop. From there, probably infiltrate a lab, find the antidote, soak in a tub of it for hours or days and hey presto he was gonna be a turtle again. Perfect. And he knew exactly who to ask about the red-and-blue leotard-wearing superhero. Or at the very least, the only person he could trust with this-
Angel walked through the school gates. With Bugboy.
The beginnings of a grin died at the sight of the skinny human and turned into a snarl that could have rivaled a wargod's.
Raphael spun on his heel and headed down the street, away from school, away from her, pulling out his phone to call Casey. The school was literally giving him an excuse to skip; trauma, PTSD, whatever. He could say he changed his mind, he could go home, sleep and train, all of the stuff he actually needed to do to live, not this. He was gonna leave anyway, right? He didn't need any of this pile of crud.
His thumb hovered over the speed dial, but the image of Angel and Bugboy, this obtrusive feeling of being forced out…
The red bandanaed boy shoved his phone back into his pocket, one-eighty-ed the way he'd come, and started searching for someone that Splinter actively told him and his brothers to stay away from.
… … … … … …
"Hey," Raphael bit his tongue, nearly calling her 'reporter'. "Davida."
She glowered at him.
"Look," he glowered back, "Sorry about yesterday, aight? I wasn't trying to slash your face open, I just wanted to know who'd put that thing in my locker. Thought the first person to ask was you, what with you bein' president and reporter'n all, that's it."
"You seriously need to work on your communication skills, Raphael."
"This ain't the first or last time I hear that," was his dry response, earning an eyeroll from her. But still it was better than outright rejection of conversation, so Raphael ploughed ahead. "Anyway never mind about that, I'll deal with the lightbulb and whoever's messin' with me kay? Bound to be smallfry, anyway. And I said I was sorry. And I am. Sorry. Are we good?"
She sighed. And nodded. Which was good enough for Raph.
"So uh, the hell was that orange dino or whatever anyway? At least you gotta know about that much, right?"
Davida snorted. "What, and you don't?"
"Yeah, hah, no," Raph drawled out, condescension dripping from his tone. "It ain't exactly normal, right."
"I envy the neighbourhood you came from," she grumbled, shuddering. "Why do you care?"
He couldn't exactly say 'that monster came right at me' without sounding paranoid, so he smirked. "What, I come to a school that handles a mutant lizard like a bad storm and I ain't allowed to be curious?"
Davida snorted again, nodding, running a hand through her short-cropped hair. "Yeah, fair point. That was the Dragon King, or something. It's, what, the third time that thing's attacked us? I saw it happen the first time, and no big deal, it was mostly the storage shed that got hit. The second time was on the grounds, I think. I thought Spider-girl caught it, but it must have escaped or something. Who knows where they keep giant walking talking lizards anyway?"
"...Who?"
"Who, what?"
"Spider-girl. Who the hell's that?"
Davida blinked her dark eyes at him and flashed brilliant white teeth as she smirked. "...Have you been living under a rock?"
… … … … …
He invited his son to his room, and bid him sit in seiza as he considered the proposition. The mad, absurdist cartoonish plan.
One that might work.
"My son," he started, and found himself unable to continue.
A span of silence made the boy raise his head. "Uh… sensei?"
The rat really looked upon this humanoid creature, and no matter the difference, no matter the change this last month had wrought upon the young man, he was Splinter's son. One of many sons. All those years ago he never would have thought this possible, dreamed of four boys brimming with potential, imagined a life in which a family surrounded him with love and comfort and joy. Yes, there was much pain, also. The hunger, the worry, the injuries and illnesses, the undercurrent of fear that had always dogged them.
They could be free of that?.
"Forgive me Raphael, I am…" he pressed his palms to his knees, took a long, bracing breath. Let his emotions flow through his lungs, and out, out, till he was far less likely to fall apart. "Forgive me. I did not wish to alarm you."
He nodded, and his shoulders hunched with unease, and Splinter could only smile. "So, uh… is this about the dino?"
"No, Raphael. There is a matter far more pressing than the incident at school that I wish to discuss."
"Al… right?"
"Specifically, your health."
"Oh. Right."
"It seems you are still in danger. Your DNA, as far as I understand… is unstable." Splinter considered an analogy, a tower of bamboo that could be blown away in a stiff wind, or a fire guttering in a storm, but then, this was Raphael. The rat sighed. "I will be blunt. You are still dying, and the Utroms have allowed it to be so, in the hopes of returning you to your original body."
"...What?"
"I do not understand the science, though it has been described to me as…"Splinter saw it there, as usual, and the analogy formed, one that Raphael would take seriously. The ninja master proffered the object, a simple clay thing, one of his oldest possessions. All of his sons would have recognized it. "Ah. Here is you, the teapot. This is what has been done to you, through the secondary mutation."
Splinter dropped it, allowing it to shatter. Raphael flinched.
"Imagine these pieces, glued together by wet clay, forming a different shape. Perhaps a cup, though it does not matter exactly. That is you now. Handled badly, it will shatter again, beyond the point of no return."
His son let out a long, long breath. "Hell."
"Yes."
The silence roared.
"Master Splinter?" Leonardo's voice drifted through the paper doors, "I heard something break, is everything alright?"
Splinter stood to answer, allowing Raphael the time to internalize his words, the implications. Sliding the door open wide enough to allow the bluebanded turtle to see his brother, but not the pot, the rat nodded. "Yes, Leonardo. There is something I must discuss with your brother, in private. If you could keep your brothers and yourself out of earshot, it would be greatly appreciated."
"Yes, sensei," he said, despite his uneasy expression, and Splinter was grateful.
He returned to his place, Raphael before him, the broken pot between them.
"How…" Raphael cleared his throat, trying again. "How much longer I got?"
"We do not know. But there are… options. The first is, of course, to try to return you to your original form. This has, unfortunately, many risks. They are considering reattaching your shell once more, but it may be a fancy than a fact, in which case you would need to grow one anew. I hear it will take months, if not years. Most of your time will be spent in stasis, and physical therapy. It may kill you regardless, and they cannot guarantee you will return as whole as before."
His humanoid son paled. "When you say physical therapy. You mean like those war movies with vets or those shows with, with people comin' outta accidents, learnin' how to walk again?"
"Yes."
The word was a guillotine. Splinter never wished to see that expression on Raphael ever again.
"As for the other option, Raphael, I must ask of you: are you aware of the art of kintsugi?"
Raphael's gaze remained downcast as he shook his head. Splinter reached forward, found the base of the pot, set it aside. Found another piece, and slotted it together to complete the circle.
"It is an ancient Japanese technique of repairing pottery with gold. Perhaps in previous iterations, it was only an act of hubris; to show a rival samurai that the owner has the means to painstakingly reattach all shattered pieces, with what is considered to be the most precious of metals. But now, it is an artform that celebrates brokenness by highlighting the cracks, and I believe, an example of opportunity brought forth by tragedy, accepting and working with the patterns of fate. Potters who make these bowls, cups, vases, entrust kintsugi craftsmen to deliberately break their creations, and remake them.
"My tea pot, as you see, is broken. Perhaps it can be mended and returned to its original form, use all forms of adhesives and varnish to render it as close to its former shape as possible. Or, like kintsugi, I can accept that it was broken, see the accident as opportunity, and embellish upon it.
"Do you see where I am going with this, Raphael?"
His son looked barely able to breathe.
"I will say this first, Raphael. You are not a teapot that I have the right or ability to drop and shatter on a whim. Nor do I wish to; this is your life we discuss now. Thus I wish you will weigh this matter with the utmost gravity."
"Sensei…"
"Whichever option you choose, Raphael, I will support it. And your brothers also, I am certain. But please, consider this potential opportunity that I have enquired after, the opportunity that the utroms assure me is possible.
"I propose, in short, that you transition to this form permanently."
Raphael felt the world tip off its axle and crash into a cargo truck.
"...What?"
"I have meditated on this," Splinter continued, even as the turtle's gut went into inertial freediving, "Long and hard. Whether this may be a way forward. Whether to suggest this at all.
"Perhaps fate has given us an opportunity. Perhaps I am an old rat scrambling to find a silver lining in this… development. But I cannot help but think, hope, dream, that this could be a legitimate way forward for you. The paperwork the utroms have provided, ones they used for their own purposes during their entrapment here, have proved reliable. Mortu swears upon his honour that once you are stabilized, you will be provided for. Leatherhead agrees that there is promise to this method; you may regain your strength, and you will certainly be in no danger of dying."
Raphael's freediving gut splatted all over a brick wall. "You're serious."
"I am."
It was Raphael's turn to breathe out. He swore, but Splinter made no move to admonish him.
That in itself nearly made him swear again. Master Splinter was serious.
"You're saying I need to stay sorta human? That I'm stuck this way?"
"No. Never. There is always a choice, Raphael," Splinter replied, his tail whiplashing. "The choices are to reject or accept. Reject this body, return to being a turtle ninja, no matter the risks or the time it may take. Or to accept this body, heal it the way it is, and see where this path may lead you."
"That ain't a choice!"
"Why? If there are two or more courses of action, is it not a choice? To act or not to act. One over the other course of action."
"Not if I can't fight!"
"Fight? Oh, there will be fighting aplenty, Raphael." Splinter warned, "Perhaps not the kind that involves as many fists, but whichever path you choose, there will be as many obstacles and adversaries to overcome as there are now, if not more."
This ain't right. This ain't right. The phrase spiralled in his lungs, revving to get out, with other words like that ain't what I mean by fight, but then an image of a zombie, all skin and bones dripped in his mind like an oil spill and its skin was green, a shell-less boney version of what he once was and the shudder that rocked his body shuttered his jaw together. Physical therapy. It was either that or be this, which already felt like the bottom of the barrel. It couldn't get worse than this.
Except he knew it could because turtle luck.
"Raphael, please do not…" his master sighed, shaking his head. "This is not an easy decision, and I do not expect you to make it this very moment. I only… I only hope to prepare you, offer other paths to take. And if either is unbearable, then, there is one other thing you can do."
Raphael laughed like an engine running on fumes. "Yeah?"
"Nothing. You can choose to do… nothing."
He waited for more, but enough time passed that… "For real? Just, literally do nothing? That's, that's what you're saying?"
"Yes. You could even choose to do that."
He stared at his father, the rat that had held his hand, had held him and his brothers through the worst of their lives and told them never to give up. Never give up.
"You're… telling me to give up?"
"No. I am telling you to choose."
"What's the difference!?"
"Strength of will!" Splinter snapped, smacking his staff against the floor. "To give up is to turn away from the future and be swallowed. To choose, no matter what that choice may be, is to look forward, face it, and attempt to rise above. The results may be the same, Raphael, but what it takes to choose, as opposed to giving up, is strength beyond what even I… even I am capable of."
Raphael would have retorted with enough sarcasm to drown the island of Manhattan, but the sight of a single tear sliding down greying fur dried up his attitude in an instant.
Master Splinter was… crying?
"Raphael. You are my son. You and your brothers are the most precious, dearest family this world could have ever given me; a mere rat, one that should have perished years ago, am here living a life of such absurd joys, despite the violence and hardships that surrounds us. I do not…" the rat swallowed, and suddenly looked really old. "I do not wish to see you die. But if you choose to do nothing… that is exactly what will transpire.
"But it is not my choice to make. It is yours! It is your body, your life, your choice. What right have I to tell you to live, if you do not wish to? What right have I to order you to enter a vessel of unknown science and return to the visage that I have loved for so long, or, stay as you are in the hope you will live out your days under the sun? Enough of this has been out of your control; I will not rob you of what few choices you have left.
"All I can do as your father… is to present to you these choices. First, whether to act, or to let be. If you choose to act, then it is whether to attempt to return to this life as a turtle, or start anew in the guise of a human. All I can do, now, is await your answer."
Raphael watched his father bow to him from the hole where his guts used to be, and he maybe felt himself nod. Would he take part in training, or would he sleep over his decision? He was probably exhausted from the school? Yeah, he was, and yeah, he probably didn't have his mind in the right place, which would be his head instead of his gut, and… yeah. Raphael drifted out of the room, and into his own, and sat on the floor and stared at the wall where his mirror used to be, where sometimes a human jumped out at him with eyes full of hatred.
He wouldn't be able to sleep. He knew it. So he left, not caring who saw him, not caring what they thought. He almost wished they'd stop him, but… he wondered if he mightn't have fought back like his life depended on it.
They didn't stop him. He bled into the dark, and didn't look back.