"He pushed you down the stairs?"
Behind stunned disbelief there was redhot fury in Raphael's voice; building like molten rock under the surface of a volcano in the days before an eruption, and Mikey must have heard it as clearly as Yoshi did. He reached for Raphael with his free arm, eyes round and earnest.
"Not on purpose, Raphie. The Campbells looked totally worried after it happened- I don't think he realized how close we were to the staircase."
"Yeah, worried they're gonna have child services called on them," Raphael hissed, Mikey's hand on his wrist possibly the only thing keeping him in his chair. "I don't believe this. That evil son of a- "
"That is enough," Yoshi said sharply, and his green-eyed child fell silent; mutinously so, but it would have to do for the time being. Leonardo tapped Mikey's arm, a reminder for him to sit still, and moved the cold compress back over the mottled bruising on the smaller boy's wrist. Mikey settled back in his chair again, gaze dragging reluctantly over Leonardo's patient administrations, and Yoshi prompted, "Go on, Michael."
"Okay, uh... Well, one of them dropped something that broke really loud, and it woke me up." The child probably would have been fidgetting, had he had a free hand to twist in his usual display of nerves; as it was, he tapped a foot against the tile floor and pressed on. "When I came out to see what was going on, they were yelling in the office, and Mr. Campbell grabbed Mrs. Campbell's arm real hard. I- I really don't think he would've hurt her," Mikey added in a rush, round eyes flicking up to meet Yoshi's unflinchingly. "He's not a bad guy. He was just super mad- about work probably- and he'd been drinking, I think that's why they were fighting in the first place. But- he grabbed her, and she's gonna have a baby, and you gotta be careful, right? So I told him to let her go, and he didn't, so I got in between 'em. And it ticked him off, and he shoved me."
Oh, Michelangelo. Yoshi pressed a hand to his eyes, taking a much-needed moment to compartmentalize. In that time, Donatello leaned across the table, bearing his weight on his forearms and asking quickly, "And you're sure you're okay?"
And that was the million dollar question, wasn't it? Mikey was wound tight as a spring, and seconds ticked by before he managed to hitch up a smile. He shrugged one shoulder even as his fingers tightened on Raphael's arm and said, "Yeah. I mean, yeah. I'm okay. Just freaked me out, y'know?"
Donatello looked 'freaked out' enough for the both of them put together, staring at Mikey's swollen wrist. His boys had not been secretive about their dislike of Mikey's foster family, but Yoshi suspected they had never once thought the Campbells capable of actual physical harm- accidental or otherwise.
Yoshi hadn't, either.
If I had, he thought, with burning conviction, it would not have been allowed to come to this.
"Um," Mikey said suddenly, snapping the master's heavy thoughts back to point. He was practically shrinking in his chair, spine curling and shoulders hunching, but his eyes were lamplike and wide. "Do you think I did right?"
Wild horses could not have kept Yoshi from reaching out for him then; cupping the child's face in one hand, and carding the other through sleep-tousled curls. Marveling at the empathetic spirit that had flourished under the weight of lonely years, at the kindness where there should have been learned apathy.
"You did exactly right," he said firmly, taking one of the many steps necessary in reversing the cold lessons past homes had taught this precious boy. "You acted bravely. I'm very proud of you."
Something bright was dawning in Mikey's face, the beginnings of a more familiar smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You mean it?"
"Of course," Leonardo said, as reasonable as you please. "If Mr. Campbell had hurt his wife last night, he would regret it forever, don't you think?"
"Not to mention, it would have created trust issues between them that would have been a constant, daily stressor for Mrs. Campbell until they were resolved, and stress can have a harmful impact on women during pregnancy," added Donatello with absentminded certainty, pushing long bangs out of his face. He finally looked away from Mikey's wrist, meeting his eyes instead. "In some cases, it can cause an expecting mother to produce hormones that lead to premature labor or miscarriage. It's good you stepped in when you did, just in case."
"You wanted to protect her." Raphael twisted his arm until his palm was facing up and he could wrap his hand around Mikey's in turn, something fierce in every line and shadow of his face. "And wanting to protect people isn't wrong. Just... no stairs next time, deal?"
When Mikey laughed it was a shy and pleased-sounding thing, and he looked so much like Yoshi's beloved Sunday as he agreed, "Deal!" that it should have been painful.
Somehow, instead, it was wonderful, and Yoshi pet his hair once more before he drew his hand away; putting thoughts of the dearly departed on a shelf for the time being. "Before anything else, we need to call your social worker," he said. "You mentioned once that she also ran the household of your group home in New York?"
"Uh- yeah, she and her daughter have a really big townhouse, and the foster kids' rooms are up in this amazing loft. I guess it's a pretty rare thing, but she's like the best ever at her job." Mikey blinked at him, head canting to one side. "Why are we calling her?"
"You need to tell her what's going on," Raphael said, in a serious tone he seemed to reserve for moments like these. It made Mikey listen, anyway, and Yoshi allowed his middle- second oldest- son to take the reigns. "You ran away. She should hear why from you, not the Campbells."
"And ask if we're allowed to take you to the hospital," Leonardo tacked on, and Mikey frowned.
"I don't wanna go to the hospital. And I don't wanna tell on the Campbells. They can't get in trouble now, not when they're about to have a baby."
Raphael struggled visibly against a flood of words that Yoshi could tell would have tasted extremely satisfying, like a glass of iced tea after an afternoon spent in the sun; but the passionate child managed to settle for something mild instead. "You're not telling on them, Mikey, you're just telling what happened. It'll be okay as long as you tell the whole truth, right? You said she's the best, so she'll know what to do."
"I guess..."
"And a trip to the hospital is not up for discussion," Yoshi added sagely, with a wry curl of amusement when Mikey slunk into a pout. "Donatello, bring the phone over here, please. Michael has a call to make."
"You guys are bullies, you know that?" Mikey said with feeling, letting go of Raphael to take the cordless landline when Donatello handed it over. Leonardo ruffled Mikey's hair as he dialed, grinning crookedly, and something in that singular, casual moment- watching the four of them sit comfortably around the same table, as though they had never known a day apart- filled Yoshi with an incredible warmth.
He directed his smile at the cup of tea he raised to his lips as Leonardo said, "Only because we care."
"Mrs. O'Neil is definitely not gonna be happy about this," Mikey said glumly, while his arm was wrapped carefully in several layers of soft white cotton. Which seemed quite the understatement; no one in the room with him was very happy about it, either. "Do I need a cast?"
"Shut up, Mikey, your wrist is broken," Donatello said in a rush, watching the doctor's hands like a hawk.
"It's a distal radius fracture," Dr. Sloane replied kindly. He was young in his profession, but gifted; and his family had been good friends to the Hamatos for years. "One of the more common injuries we see around here, especially in young athletes. Since the bone is in a good place, surgery won't be necessary, but you'll have to live with a cast for about eight weeks. Think you can manage?"
The man was already moving away to drain the orange fiberglass bandages he'd left to soak in the sink, so Mikey's mutinous look went unheeded. Raphael leaned over and socked him hard in the shoulder.
"He'll manage just fine, or else."
Mikey stuck his tongue out, and Dr. Sloane laughed as he took his seat again, with damp fiberglass in hand. "Alright, tough guy, hold still."
The first layer went on quickly; there, Sloane stopped to pull the cotton underside up over the edges of the new cast, and then wrapped another orange coat on top of the first. Mikey watched the process curiously, for all that he'd decided to be markedly unimpressed by it.
"The resin in the fiberglass reacts to water," Sloane explained when he was finished, checking his work. "It's already sticky, and starts to harden in about four minutes, so it's fast doing."
What came next was the molding, first of the cast where it sat on the palm, and then of the part that covered the forearm. When it came to the wrist, he warned Mikey that the pressure might hurt, but he was careful and Mikey barely cringed.
"You're going to have to take it easy," Sloane started to tell him, then paused and turned to Yoshi instead. "He's going to have to take it easy. Absolutely no gymnastics." Mikey gave a little wail of "none?" and the doctor shook his head good-naturedly. "I don't want him working out, no sports, nothing that could put unnecessary strain on his wrist. He looks like the type to go stir-crazy and drive you nuts, but I really have to insist. Keep it elevated above heart level as often as you can, and come back in about three weeks. By then the swelling should have gone down, and his cast will have loosened, so we'll fix him right up with a new one."
Yoshi nodded his assent to the terms, all of which were nothing if not reasonable even if Mikey seemed to think the world was ending, and accepted the prescription Sloane handed him for a medium-strength pain reliever they could fill at the hospital pharmacy downstairs. After a chorus of thankyous from his children, Yoshi led them down the hall toward the elevators.
Mikey dragged his feet, and stared balefully at the cheerful orange of his short arm cast. "This sucks," he muttered with feeling, and though Raphael's eyes flashed like St. Elmo's fire, none of that heat made it to his voice.
"Heck yeah, it does," he replied, hauling Mikey against him by an arm around his shoulders. "But you're still gonna do all that stuff doc said back there. A few months of nothin' is better than making it worse and hurting yourself permanently."
"I know," the smaller blond conceded, albeit miserably. The older boys shared a quick look over his head, frustrated and despairing, and the elevator doors chose that moment to roll open with a soft chime. Their family stood to one side while a nurse maneuvered her medicine cart through the doors, and Mikey looked up in time to catch the tail end of Raphael's expression. The child blinked, and, after a moment, grinned. "But hey, no worries!" he added, with a large degree of his usual charm, and Yoshi was absolutely certain it was all for their sake. "It can't be that bad. I'll think of something to do to pass the time."
"Of that I have no doubt," Yoshi said fondly, and Mikey's chuckle was the most welcome sound in the world. "Now let's fill your prescription, and then pick up lunch on our way home. We'll also need to make sure the house is presentable for Mrs. O'Neil before she arrives this evening."
The plan was received enthusiastically, and when the boys clamored inside the elevator in their turn they were already deep in a critical deliberation of crusts and toppings, the atmosphere lighter by spades. But as Yoshi made to follow them, he heard his name called from the opposite end of the hallway, and turned to find the doctor they met almost two weeks ago making her way over at a trot.
"Go ahead, dad," Raphael said, arm slung out to keep the doors from closing with little regard for the handful of other passengers in the car. Just behind him, Leonardo was borrowing a marker from an amused nurse's aide so Donatello could draw an alligator samurai on Mikey's cast, because the latter had proclaimed it would be 'off the chain.'
Shaking his head at their manners, or lack thereof, Yoshi moved to meet the doctor halfway. She greeted him with a pleasant smile and began flipping through the thick stack of papers in her hands.
"I'm so glad I don't have to wait to call you! The results from your family's DNA test came back a few days early. Now, I know this isn't very professional of me, but I saw you as I was headed back to my office just now, and- well, I thought you would want to know right away."
He unfolded the letter she gave him with hands that didn't shake, though inwardly he was reeling. Almost two weeks ago, two weeks had seemed like a lifetime to wait, and his sons had waited a lifetime already. And yet suddenly, the waiting was over- abruptly, prematurely- and he was holding their answer in his hands.
Scanning the contents of the page haphazardly- even though every word should have been read with care- Yoshi's eyes finally lit upon a paragraph near the bottom, above a complicated chart.
Conclusion: The genetic data supports a biological sibling relationship involving Donatello Hamato, Leonardo Hamato, Raphael Hamato, and Michelangelo O'Neil with a probability of 99.99%.
"Congratulations," the doctor said warmly. "Sunshine's yours, after all."