Thank Our Unlucky Stars
Chapter 9:
It's Not Safe, Don't Follow Me

Raphael looked back on the fight with little energy left, other than sheer adrenaline. The second he'd watched - or worse - heard Botticelli crash into the ground, his eyes narrowed and he felt every ounce of blood in his body excite with rage. Botticelli may not be one of theirs. He may not be the most traditional Hamato, he may not be one at all, but part of his existence was bound to theirs; for it, Raph felt responsible for him.

He had gone for Shredder, but Don's bo caught his feet before he could get even a few feet ahead. Mikey had already moved into action, to collect the fallen turtle. It, like it often did for Raph, moved so fast that he couldn't recall the details. All he knew was that they had escaped, only just. Mikey had Botticelli slung over his back and was moving slower for being encumbered with his brother's dead weight. They weaved in and out of their subscribed enemy, with nothing more in mind than freedom.

Whether Botticelli would recognize them as siblings mattered little to Michelangelo. Mikey had already claimed him, eagerly.

The words, 'we have to get him back to the lair', were still ringing in Raph's ears - that tone, Don's voice, serious and concerned, worried him. Don had a variety of tones that he had in which Raph could usually use to denote what was going through the brainiac's mind. That one, that particularly tone, was fear and uncertainty. Raph knew why too, he'd seen the crack down Botticelli's plastron from which blood oozed. It as thick and red, darker than the color Raph identified with.

"I thought it was a dream..." Raph mumbled in Don's lab as he watched their tech savvy brother work under a bright halogen light. He hated feeling the way he did right then, helpless. He had the overwhelming urge to throw a fist into something as if that would solve something. "I don't even like him!" Raph's tone turned into something a little more dangerous and bitter, through gritted teeth.

The only acknowledgment that Don heard a word Raph said was the swift flick of his eyes from Botticelli's body to Raph's face and immediately back again. "I'm not a doctor," Don managed uttering as he fingered at the crack, which hadn't stopped bleeding.

"Do something!" Raph barked. "Anything. He saved Leo...we...we have to save him."

"Raphael." Splinter's hand came down lightly on the hothead's thick shoulder. The calmness of his father's voice seeped into Raph, but only helped mildly. The old rat didn't linger with his red clad son. Instead, he moved forward and looked down at Botticelli's unconscious body. He frowned and his ears flattened in sadness.

He reached into a bowl of water Donatello had brought and cleaned his hands and moved to cleanse the wound himself. As he did he asked Donatello to fetch the jar which held his tea, fresh water, clean bandages, tape, flour, honey, and a few other oddities.

The room was silent, but thick with tension as Splinter meticulously cleaned the wound. He was humming a soft Japanese tune as he worked. The sound struck Raph as something lonesome and melancholy. He couldn't convince himself to move forward and help his sensei.

"I was sure you'd forgotten your dreams," Splinter finally spoke. "Thank you." He added softly to Donatello who had arrived with the requested items. He carefully took to mixing a variety of the items in a bowl.

"It wasn't a dream." Raph's voice was low when he spoke. "I thought it was, but it wasn't. Thought it was Leo sometimes too." Raph shook his head.

"What are you talking about?" Don took a small step forward.

"Everyone was following me...we were going where sensei said we shouldn't. It was too dangerous to go alone, we were so little. He'd gone for food, told us to stay in that one spot. Dumb. I was dumb. I'm sure he was following me to make sure I was okay, Leo's always been bossy and has to know whats going on...and well Mikey didn't like to be alone. You stayed like you were supposed to.

"I fell in. The water was too fast, I remember it swirling around me and stuff. I was drowning. Mikey came after me, then Leo. There was a current. It's fuzzy - the memory. Long time ago and all that. He got Leo out and then Mike. I was alone, further up. Maybe we couldn't talk, but we could move. He got me on the edge but I couldn't get him too. I was tired. He was tired. Then he was gone and we were all shouting for him and...nothing. I..." Raph shook his head and frown pinching at the spot between his eyes, "thought it was a dream. I remember the feeling, but not what happened exactly. Least not like I remember stuff now. Sometimes I can still hear us screaming and the water rushing around." Raph looked up to Splinter. "S'him wasn't it?"

Splinter didn't look up to Raph. He merely reached forward and filled the crack down Botticelli's front with a funny light green paste that came from the variety of things he'd been mixing in the bowl. He then covered it with the flour as a final fill. "The tea will help stop the bleeding and heal the wound. The other parts will seal it." His eyes landed on Raph briefly, before bowing his head. "Yes, it was him. Now, we must wait."

Don look to Splinter after watching Raph with wide eyes. His arm was still in need of healing too. "I'll stay with him and let you know if his condition changes. Besides, I have work to do here." He didn't give Raph a chance to argue before ushering him out of the lab. Splinter too left without any argument.

The scientific minded Hamato was looking at the broken weapon that had been salvaged by Mikey. The other undamaged harness was removed with all of Botticelli's other articles. Don picked up the broken blade and compared it to the still whole weapon. It only took him a moment to figure out the trigger that set the blades to action. It was a instigated by the tightening of the muscle around the thick of the wearer's forearm, which put pressure on the straps and initiated the spring that ejected the blade. The same technology was used to retract the weapon. It was remarkable for its age, Don mused.

What struck his attention, however, was how different it was from its mate. The blades didn't match, though the construction did. The decorative steel bracer that covered the front of the forearm was identical; it was only the blades that differed. The one that had not broken was aged a great deal, dull gray in color - oddly, the one that broke appeared to be newer, shinier.

Don wanted to fix the weapon while his estranged sibling rested, perhaps as condolence for his valiant effort.

"Donnie."

The purple wearing turtle jumped in his spot at the sound of his name. It was once he brought his heart rate down that he recognized Mikey voice.

"Whatchadoin'?" Mikey's voice was tentative and his whole demeanor dropped as he walked by Botticelli. He paused and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Common bro, ya gotta make good on this livin' thing." He carefully placed a new ,white cloth mask over Botticelli's eyes. "There ya go, Bo. We'll put it on right when ya wake up." A sad smile passed Mikey's face as he plopped down next to Don.

"Whoa, they're different. Couldn't tell when there was fighting happening." Mikey said and looked curiously over to Don. "Leo's up and around. Guess Bo does know - at least what breaks down his own poisons."

Don gave Mikey a passing glance and a dismissive 'hmmm' simply for the fact that his mind was full and his arm hurt off and on. He knew the dangers of these very weapons as it had been one that wounded him.

"Sooooo..." Mikey spoke slowly and with direction to his words, not at all put off by the way Don had not expressed interest in him right then. "What's this say?" He asked suddenly, his words all blurring together, as he hopped up and placed a small piece of paper in front of Don; overtop of the daggers.

Don looked a the tiny square of yellowed parchment paper. His head tipped over to Mikey who was looking on expectantly but with his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his feet.

"Mikey...where did you get this?" Don questioned slowly, pointedly.

"Oh...ya know, places." Mikey smiled. "But never from that omamori that Bo had tied to his belt. Not from there."

"MIKEY!" Don scolded.

"Whaaaaaat? You told me to take all his stuff off. So I...did. Cleaned the robe-thingy, check. Put the cutlass to be sharpened with Leo's katana, double check! Folded up the dart-jobers - maybe he should consider shuriken - with the arrows and bow, yep! The omamori fell off his belt. I didn't want to damage the paper inside when I cleaned the blood off the silk. Then I realized it was in some language I couldn't read - not French, not that I can read French but I recognize French. Soooooo...what's it say?"

"Some...z'ing...about...ze..." the third voice that entered was heavier, tired, and thicker with the French accent than either had heard since Botticelli came into their lives. Botticelli choked and his eyes fluttered shut as he tried to focus. The labor of speaking made him trail off in what he was trying to tell them. Instead he tried for another direction. "Iz not bad. I...must go..."

It was when he tried to move that Don and Mikey were instantly on either side of him. "Hang on there, you're not going anywhere."

"Yeah, Bo, chill."

The turtle had managed sitting up a little but was panting from the exertion, though he gave no indication that he was going to give up. He placed a hand over his chest and furrowed his brow ridge, grunting a little as he tried to neutralize and control the pain. The mask had slipped off its resting place in his movement, tumbling down his bandaged plastron only to rest against his thighs. "I...z'hey are waiting...for me. I...ze conzequencez are worse z'hen any damage I may cause myself." Despite his words, he leaned back a little. "S'ank you; for your assistaunts."

"Lay back, Bo." Don had easily picked up on Mikey's nickname for the Frenchman. "I was trying to repair your weapons first." It was a slick attempt that Don hoped would settle the wounded man. A way to get him to at least not move for a few hours. "They're remarkable."

"Yez...one, I call eet incassable. Eet meanz, ooohhh, unbreakable."

"Why?" Mikey asked.

"You saw what happoned when ze guard try to destroy eet...eet breaks oz'thar weapons. Eet cannot be broken."

"How is that possible? You mean in theory...right? All metals have a weakness." Don questioned.

"No, I mean in absolute. Eet...cannot be broken. I have long pondered why and how. I believe I have ze anz'ers. Though eet iz...complicated. I will do my bezt to explain. In a moment." Botticelli leaned back and closed his eyes for longer this time, taking in several ragged breaths as he gathered his strength. "Perhapz, first you could...tell me how he was so strong."

Mikey and Don merely exchanged glances. Mikey shrugged and Don nodded. A silent conversation passed between them in those few seconds. The brief unspoken words all passed in a few seconds. You want to tell him? No, you. Keep him awake and give him a break.

"Well...once upon a time," Mikey started, "in a galaxy far, far away an evil man by the name of Shredder lived..."