Chapter 12: The Waiting Game
Two weeks had passed and Master Splinter still waited. He waited for Donatello, seeing him grow stronger and more lively each passing day. Watching him was like a living reminder that there still was good in the world. That if even he could pull through, any one could learn to live again. He waited for Raphael who since his last violent outburst, the hospital staff had kept heavily sedated. He drifted in and out of consciousness, always hazy, always calling out the name of his lost brother.
There were times when the old rat would sit at his bedside and listen to his broken son having conversations with ghosts. But no matter what he said, no matter how cloudy his mind was, he always spoke of a promise. Sometimes, in his sleep, he would mutter the word over and over. "Promise." And it broke his Sensei's heart.
Lastly, he waited for Michelangelo, who seemed to come and go like a passing storm. One day he would be there, supporting his brothers. The next moment, he was gone. As the days passed on, a stark coldness had edged deeper into his being. At times he had become silent, solemn, and distant. In times like these, the old rat could barely recognize him- the lines that set deep in his brow, the frown that tugged down the corners of his mouth, the cold sadness in his eyes that was so unlike the carefree boy he had once known.
Whenever he had tried to comfort him, tried to reach out and touch him, he would simply shake him off and leave to some unknown place. Sometimes he would be gone for days.
But the date of the funeral was near approaching and his son's absences were growing longer each passing day.
Master Splinter knew his son was haunted. He was trying to escape the inescapable that stalked him in his shadow. But the ghosts of his past were becoming harder to shake. He wouldn't be able to hide from them forever. The old rat knew that once his son realized this, he would return to them once again.
Mikey sat at the edge of the old wooden dock. He remembered the place well. It felt good to have something at least a little familiar, something that reminded him of the old days.
He had found himself coming there more often to try to clear his head. Most times it felt like he was collecting more things to hide from, more things to wander across his mind, more things to make him cry, to make him worry, to make him want to scream. The docks at least gave him a quiet place to think. He would sit there for hours, just watching his reflection ripple in the murky waters long after the twilight had stamped it out. Even after darkness fell, he still stared into the glassy sea, watching the dancing silver reflections of stars.
Master Splinter was worried about him, and he was ashamed to give his father yet another thing to think about, but he just couldn't bare being cooped up in that hospital any more. He knew Donny was getting stronger, but Raph just made him want to cry. Seeing him that way shook him to his very core. He was supposed to be the strong one, the hot head. But now, he was reduced to hazy nothingness, as weak and dependent as a child. When he came to visit him, Raph would barely recognized him. Most times he would call him Leo. When he called out to him, when he talked to his brother's ghost, he just couldn't take the pain. He was sick of crying. He was sick of feeling helpless.
It had been twelve hours since he had abandoned his sensei, leaping out of Donatello's window as they both slept. But he'd felt like he was suffocating in that stuffy room. When he went to open the window, he just couldn't resist the beckon of the docks.
Luckily, he'd found all the easiest and quickest routes from the docks straight to his brothers' bedroom windows. To get into Don's room was easy. After the last of his surgeries, he'd been moved down to a lower floor and there was a rooftop that came right up to meet his window sill. But to get into Raph's room was harder. He was on the fifth floor on the side of the building that was just sheer walls and windows. Usually he would have to climb up an old rain gutter if he wanted to slip in unnoticed by his sensei, or he would be forced to actually go in and enter in the normal way. For some reason he just hated that.
He sat there for just a little while longer until the gray sky made his reflection disappear into the mist. The clouds threatened more rain.
Mikey sighed deeply to himself. Well I guess I should go back anyway. Donny's probably waking up and wondering where I am.
He gathered up the bag that sat beside him and stood with the cracked wooden dock beneath his feet. He had been planning on going to see Donny later that day when Master Splinter spent the afternoon in Raph's room. He had a present for him, and he knew that Don would be ecstatic. Master Splinter, not so much. So he had to make sure he did it in secret.
Grasping the bag, he headed down an old cracked ally way and leaped onto the fire escape of a nearby building, hopping from rooftop to rooftop just like old times.
There was a soft tap at Donny's window that made him open his eyes and look up. Mikey was standing there on the other side of the pane. He waved to his brother with a warm grin and Mikey tried to feign a genuine-looking smile in return. He wrenched the window open and stepped inside.
"Hey Don, how you feelin' today, bud?"
"I'm good," said Donny softly. He still looked so weak, so much thinner than before.
Mikey looked over to the table at the side of his bed and saw his lunch still sitting there, untouched from hours before. "You sure you're feeling ok? You didn't eat your food."
"I know. It's just an upset stomach," he said, rubbing his heavily bandaged plastron. "I'm fine. It's nothing, really."
But Mikey didn't believe him. His brother looked much paler than he had the days before. He hoped he wasn't getting sick. Don always had been the one to sicken the easiest during hard winters. He would catch a cold almost every time it rained. Even when they were kids he was the first to catch whatever was going around and the last one to shake it.
"Dr. Touresh said I won't be home in time for the funeral," Don said sadly, trying to change the subject. "He said it would be at least a few more weeks before I can even get out of bed."
"Sorry Donny, but maybe this'll cheer you up." He handed his brother the paper bag. He opened it slowly with feeble hands, and when he saw what was inside, his face lit up like a child's at Christmas.
"My laptop! Oh thanks Mikey! I've been bored out of my skull just lying here for two weeks. Now I can finally do the research I've been thinking about."
"Just don't let Master Splinter know you have it. You know he'd probably take it away from you."
"Yeah. Thanks Mikey."
Don then froze and wrapped his arm around his stomach.
"You ok?"
"Yeah," he nodded, swallowing hard. "I'm fine."
There was a soft knock at the door and Don said to come in.
"Hi Donatello!" A pretty blonde nurse beamed from his doorway. "I'm supposed to change your bandages if you don't mind."
"Hey Joy. Yeah, I don't mind."
The young nurse beamed as she walked in carrying a bag full of bandages.
"You've met my brother Michelangelo, right?"
The nurse shook her head as she helped Donny sit up. He winced and groaned loudly, holding tight onto the bed rail. "Don't worry, Donny, I'll give you your meds once we're done. I think I've only met him once before, but that was only for a moment." She smiled at Mikey "Hi there."
"Hi," Mike replied. But he was too entranced in watching the nurse unroll his brother's bandages to give her a proper greeting. Every new strip of gauze lifted away to reveal the heavy, dark scars that twisted through his brother's shell and plastron. His eyes traced their ragged lines until he couldn't look at them any longer. A twinge of grief set itself alight in his chest when his eyes met the polished floor. His poor brother looked like a China plate haphazardly glued together.
It took the nurse a good ten minutes to rebandage his shell. When Mikey finally got the courage to look up again, Don's entire torso was covered, hiding the scars that dwelled beneath.
"You seem a little hot, Don," said Joy eyeing his untouched food. "How is that stomachache?"
"It's ok. Maybe I'll have something at dinner."
"It's almost dinner now," said the nurse in a concerned tone. "You can't take your medicine until you get some food in you. It would rip your stomach lining to shreds."
Don's stomach twisted at all the mention of food. He wished everyone would just stop talking and let him use his laptop. He'd weathered the fawning and attention just fine these last two weeks, because it was necessary. This just wasn't necessary, especially not with Mikey around. Making too much ado about a little stomachache would only give him more reason to worry.
"I'd better take your temperature. You don't look so good" said the nurse, reaching into her coat pocket and withdrawing a thermometer. She snapped a sterile plastic top on it and put it in Don's mouth before he could protest. Instantly she got a reading and frowned as she examined it. "94.8. That's not good Don. You're supposed to be at 92.4."
"I know," said Don quietly, looking away slowly. His eyes met Mikey's before he got a chance to turn away. He wanted so badly to wipe that worried look off his brother's face. "I'm fine, really. Just a little queasy since yesterday night."
"I'm not sure, Don," Joy said thoughtfully. "Someone in your condition shouldn't have a fever like that. I'll go call Dr. Touresh to have a look at you," Joy said firmly hurrying out of the room and disappearing down the hallway.
"I knew you were sick!" Mike exclaimed, watching the nurse leave. "Why didn't you say something?"
But Don didn't answer. Paling three shades lighter, he'd wrapped his arms around his stomach, swallowing thickly. "Ohhh, I don't feel so great," he admitted, closing his eyes.
"You okay, bro?"
Don still had his eyes closed, hugging himself tigheter despite the pain shooting through his sides. "Ugh, I need the garbage can..."
Mikey looked confused. "What for?"
"Just give it to me" He groaned, holding out his hand for the can.
Mikey picked it up from the floor and gave it to his brother who immediately curled himself around it, ducked his head down and puked. "Oh man," Mike gasped, getting to his feet. He walked over to his brother's bed and put a hand on his retching brother's shell. "It's ok, bro," he murmured, rubbing Don's back as he heaved. Don stopped, turning his head to meet his brother's eyes for only a moment. He blinked lazily, beads of sweat trailing down his brow before he ducked back and retched again.
When Master Splinter walked into Donatello's room he smelled the sent of vomit. Wrinkling his nose, he sat down in the chair beside Michelangelo. Dr. Touresh was saying something about a virus… and the immune system. He tried to pick up the pieces of the conversation.
Donatello half-listened with his eyes closed, trying to calm his raging stomach. The firey pain of his tortured bones and muscles rolled up his sides and across his back and chest as the pain meds wore off. If his stomach wouldn't calm down, he couldn't eat without throwing up. If he didn't eat, he couldn't get his pain meds. Pretty soon the pain would overpower the nausea and he would have to eat, but he just hadn't reached that point yet.
"In a weakened state such as Donatello's, the immune system becomes more concerned with repairing the body, leaving him vulnerable to illness," the doctor continued. "Either it is a bad reaction to the pain medication, or he has picked up a virus. Since he's overdue for his medication, chances are that he caught a nosacomial virus. We'll have to keep a close eye on him. Even though it's not a serious illness, it could become more serious in someone who has been through so much."
"Then what do we do for treatment?" asked Splinter.
"I can give him something to help settle his stomach, but that's really all that can be done for now."
Donny groaned, making all three of them look up. His face was drawn into a grimace, but he remained unmoving save for his hands, drawn into white-knuckled fists.
Dr. Touresh checked his watch and made for the door. "Once he eats he can have his meds. I'll send in a nurse in fifteen minutes with something for him."
The door clicked closed and Mikey got up and rested a hand on Donny's shoulder. His skin was burning hot and panting like a dog. "Donny? You ok?"
Donatello grit his teeth and swallowed hard. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow and he kept his eyes shut tight.
"It... h-hurts," he groaned, squeezing his eyes tighter, "hurts s-so bad."
The searing pain was crushing down on him from all sides. It was hot, stifiling, he couldn't catch his breath- trapped... trapped in the dark, the pop of bone, scent of blood. A weight crushing him in, crushing him down, making it dark... He let out a throaty scream and grabbed a hold of his brother's hand, holding it hard, crushing it until he winced.
Mikey looked up at his father with worry knotted in his brow. "I don't think he can wait fifteen minutes," Mikey yelped when Don latched onto his hand. Wrenching free of his brother's death grip, he ran to the door and poked his head out into the hallway. "Can we get a nurse in here?"
Several minutes passed, filled by Don's weak cries and labored breathing. He'd latched onto Mikey's hand again, digging his nails into his brother's flesh. Five minutes had passed by the time Joy finally bounced in carrying a tray. She looked over to the bed and her happy expression immediately changed. "Oh Don, I'm so sorry. We didn't know it would wear off so soon!"
As Mikey and Splinter gently raised him to sit, Don's screams tore through the room. He grabbed onto the bed rails and howled, trying to brace himself. "M-make it stop!" He yelped. Fire was erupting in his chest, spreading through his ribcage, up his spine, through his arms and shoulders. He couldn't open his eyes, even when he felt his father's arms wrapped around his shoulders.
"My son, please," he begged, trying to stave away the pain. He wished he could take his son's afflictions into his own body. He was an old rat who had lived many years of good life. His son, nineteen, was too young to endure so much suffereing. He had so much living left to do, so much more to learn and see. At this moment, Splinter wished the world would function so. He brought his snout close to his son's ear and whispered "Calm yourself, Donatello. Panic will only highten the pain. Breathe, slowly."
Don struggled to slow his breath, peel his mind away from bad memories, from pain and fire and stone. His breath hitched in his throat, but gritting his teeth, he managed to open his eyes. Joy placed the tray on his lap, like a challenge. Every inch of him was telling him no. No, he couldn't do it. He shook his head and moaned, finding Mike's hand again.
"Come on, bro. It'll make you feel better."
He turned his eyes to the tray again, feeling them fill up with tears. With shaking hands, he picked up the milkshake and took three long gulps. A tear slowly rolling down his cheek as he swallowed. Then he took the pills, swallowing them dry before collapsing back into the pillows.
The nurse looked over to Splinter apologetically. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. We can't give him the meds without food or it'll give him an ulcer."
"It is alright," said Splinter, stroking his sobbing son's forehead. "Thank you, Miss Joy."
Three days later, Raphael was drifting in and out of reality again. He knew that as soon as things started to clear, they'd fill another syringe full of yellow liquid and shoot it into his arm. Then the lights would dim for a little while longer.
He hated that stuff. It made him feel heavy, like he was made of concrete stuck under water. It made the faces blur, colors bleed together. And sometimes, he would even see Leo standing there in the fog. He'd talk to him about random things he couldn't remember, just stupid stuff like they always used to. But sometimes, he would catch him thinking about the promise.
"I know I promised you, Leo, but I just don't think I can keep it. There's something wrong with me. It's like I'm not right in the head. I feel angry all the time, and not like normal either. Now they got me drugged up so bad I can't even move, so I don't hurt nobody else."
But Leo never said much. He would just nod and disappear. That always pissed him off. Always. Sometimes, his rage would run so white-hot, it'd feel like his blood was boiling in his brain, like he could tear someone apart limb from limb.
That morning they must have forgotten to give him his injection, because he slowly found the edges getting clearer, the weight getting lighter. He tried to play it cool, keep his eyes closed and his mouth shut so nobody would notice.
Someone had left the tv on. He could hear it, but his eyes were too blurry to see. It was on some news station and the reporter happened to have a particularly irritating voice.
No, he thought, I gotta try ta control myself. He swallowed back the urge to smash the tv to bits, and listened. It was Bishop's voice this time.
"…these medal of honor to our war heroes, the protectors of this planet against the evil of Emperor Xerxes, also known as the Shredder. Because of these four young heroes, our lives and the lives of our allies will be able to continue in peace. I award General Hamato Michelangelo and Private Cody Jones the medal of excellence for their outstanding achievement, their quick thinking, and their unending bravery on the battle field. Michelangelo will also be accepting medals for his three brothers fallen in the line of battle. To General Hamato Raphael and General Hamato Donatello, I present both the medal of excellence and the time-honored Purple Heart. As for those who have fallen, to General Hamato Leonardo, I present an award tailored to honor the life of this accomplished soldier. Here, I present the medal of crossed swords to honor a life lived by the edge of the blade. It is a small token compared to the sacrifice this young man made for his world, but I hope it will serve as a humble representation of his sacrifice."
The room was fading again. Raph could see Mikey and Cody on the tv. Mikey's teeth were fixed. He had no idea how long it had been since they'd put him to sleep.
When everything came into focus again, he blinked heavily at the flickering screen. He could hear Cody's voice pouring out of the television, and he ground his teeth together. He was the traitor. He was the reason for all of this. He did this. It was all his fault. Raph narrowed his eyes and glared at the tv, growling softly under his breath. He was trying to hold back, but it was getting harder to control.
Cody was making some flowery, gut-wrenching speech about Leo and everything that had happened to him. Like he was there. Ha. All he did was bulldoze through the crowd for us in his stupid little battle suit. An' that was Leo's idea. He's nothin' but a coward. He's no hero. He's a fucking poser.
Raph clenched his fist and it hurt, a lot. He decided that he must have broken it, but he couldn't remember when. He wanted to wring that kid's scrawny neck. He wanted to feel it snap in his hands... his hand. As far as he was concerned, Cody was just as bad as the Shredder. He was just as responsible for everything that happened. He wanted to see him suffer for what he did. He wanted to see the lights go out of his eyes. He wanted him to cough up blood like Leo did. He wanted him to pay.
Oh, He'll pay. Blood for blood, he will pay.
The reporter was talking again. "The funeral of General Leonardo will be held at the Veteran's Cemetery June 24th and will be televised on this station courtesy of O'Neil Tech Industries. So please join us again in two days to honor this fallen soldier."
Raph found himself shaking with rage and confusion. Leo ain't dead… I just saw him. I talked to him just a minute ago…
A noise at the left side of the room made him jump. He turned to face it and glared. A nurse had just come in with more of that yellow stuff in a syringe.
"Get outta here," he growled groggily, blinking his eyes clear.
The nurse looked stunned. She froze, holding the needle in her hand. But despite his warning, she still approached. Unsheathing the needle, she tried to put it into the catheter embeded in the back of his hand, but Raph grabbed her wrist and held it tight.
"Stay away from me with that shit. I don't want your goddam drugs."
But the nurse just stared at him, standing there like some stupid animal caught in the headlights, the needle still clutched in her hands. Raph pushed her backwards and she went reeling against the wall.
"Stay the fuck away from me!" he bellowed, sitting up fast in his bed. Right after he had done it, he knew he would regret it. And sure enough, he could feel the vertigo setting in. He leaped out of bed in spite of it.
"GET OUT!" he roared. He had no idea how long they had been keeping him asleep, but he definitely felt stronger than he'd before. He felt that he could stave off the dizziness for just a while longer, just to get his point across. "I don't want any of that fucking shit again. Just leave me alone!"
He picked up the tv and ripped its cord from the wall, killing the image that played on its screen. Lifting it high above him, he hurled it at the stupefied nurse who ran out of the room just in time. The screen smashed to pieces on the door frame just as she slammed it behind her.
Exhausted, Raph could feel himself going limp again, the weight of the world pressing down on him. Slowly, he crawled back into bed and surrendered to the darkness once again.
