Chapter 12

Pain…

It was all he knew.

Pain defined the limits of his reality, far beyond the limits of his body. Pain pumped liquid fire through his veins, pain dragged air like razor blades into his lungs, pain touched on every surface of his skin and tied him, screaming, into the world.

The light faded around him. He barely noticed. What mind he had left was focused on the escalating pain, as his body became solid once more.

He fell to the ground, heavy and helpless, and gasped for air that didn't hurt to breathe.

It was useless.

Hard hands on him, then – it couldn't hurt more than it already did – and an excited babble of voices all around.

Occe'll be along any second now, to put me out of my misery, he decided muzzily. He hoped it would be soon.

Someone tugged the atmospheric converter out of his mouth, and he sighed. Suffocation on the inhospitable air of the Arena wasn't the death he'd hoped for, but he supposed it wouldn't take too long. He tried to take a deep breath, to hurry it along…

It took a long, grey time for him to realize that he could breathe without the converter.

It took even longer to realize that someone was moving him.

Things went grey and cold…

…

Hard surface under him.

Bright lights over him, instead of tearing him apart.

A tube down his throat, and he fought vaguely for consciousness. Something was wrong…something was very wrong…

Hard hands held him down.

The old nightmare, the one that was never far from the surface, the one that was ingrained in the subconscious of every member of his family, began to come to light.

Scientists…

He tried to struggle in earnest, bringing sluggish hands up to claw at the restraints. He had less strength than a newborn kitten.

The greyness rolled back over him.

…

Someone whispered words of comfort to him.

It was annoying.

He couldn't escape the voice. It was like the voice was actually in his head, where he couldn't even turn away.

Not that he had the strength to turn in the first place.

…

They were Doing Things to him. He couldn't tell what was being done…but it hurt! The greyness darkened. Solidified. Rolled over him, from his crushed feet all the way to his muddled head.

He fell into it gratefully. And died.

…

He was dead.

It would've made him laugh for joy, if he'd had any lungs or voice with which to do so.

He spared one last glance at the ruined form that he'd once inhabited, then turned away, already losing interest. Whatever had once kept him pinned in living flesh was gone, and he couldn't wait to get away from it.

He headed out into the great unknown, shedding bits of memory and identity as he went, until even the sense of he disappeared – what had souls to do with gender? – and the being was finally filled with a sense of peace. Out in the unknown, there was no pain, no fear, no lingering worry over incomplete work or unfulfilled obligations. There was only the sense of motion and joy.

It saw so much, as it retreated away from what had once seemed important! And it cared so little about what it saw.

It was dead, and it was pleased to be dead. It headed away from the ruins of its life without another backward glance. There was somewhere else it needed to be.

Drawn by an impulse it didn't question, the soul struck out into the void.

The soul forgot – didn't want to remember – all the details of the life it left behind. Even the grief of its loss was abandoned there.

There was no body. There was no memory of a body.

…so how could a being with no memory of arms or legs suddenly come up short, stopped by a hard grip around a non-existent wrist?

It struggled against the grip, confused. Who could stop it? How could it feel the tight grip of fingers? What could stop a soul in flight?

The grip tightened as the soul fought for freedom.

There was another being behind the grip.

The soul didn't want to know this being. Didn't want to feel the grasping hand. Didn't want to feel itself dragged, bit by bit, back in the direction it had come.

It couldn't remember how to fight back. It struggled, and writhed, and finally howled in blank, confused, pointless defiance.

The other being weakened. The tight fingers relaxed, fractionally.

The soul renewed its efforts to get free and resume its headlong flight into the void.

It almost succeeded.

Then another hand/being came to join the first, and another after that – the combined strength of the other three beings was too much. The soul howled again, in fear and fury, as it was pulled backward, picking up the discarded pieces of itself as it went, gaining speed as it – as he – gained memories and sensations. He remembered, too late, how to use a body, and moved into a defensive position a heartbeat too slowly…

…a heartbeat…

His heart…beat. Slow and faltering, and ready to fail again, but gradually gaining strength, the heart began to function again. He felt it from a distance, rushing helplessly back through whatever separated him from his body. A soft and hesitant rhythm that nevertheless welcomed him back, all unwilling, from wherever he had been…

He slammed back into his own body with a sound of fury and defiance that could almost have been an actual scream…

…

"It was just a dream, guys!" Mike said, again. "I just…it's just another nightmare, okay? Jeez, you'd think you guys've never heard me have a bad dream before!" He was beyond tired – the nightmares, which had been tapering off in recent weeks, had flared up with a vengeance that night. He yanked his blankets out of Leo's hands. "I just wanna get some sleep, okay? Go away, guys."

"Yeah, we'd like that, too," Raph grumbled.

"Mike, this was different," Leo frowned down at him. "We couldn't wake you up."

"Weren't trying hard enough," Mike muttered. He threw himself down into his sheets and burrowed in.

"That was the worst one – " Raph began.

"It's never been that bad before," Leo said at the same moment. "Mikey, you kept fighting, even when we were trying to wake you up." He rubbed at his forehead. "These are just getting worse, not better."

"Sorry I'm not getting over it," Mike snapped. He sat up again and fixed the two of them with a baleful look. He was too restless to try to sleep. He desperately wanted some sleep. "Sorry I'm still a little bit freaked out that we lost a brother and we don't even know why!"

"That's not fair, Mike," Leo scowled at him. "You aren't – "

"Hush!" another voice intruded on something that threatened to turn ugly.

Mike swiveled in his bed and craned his head to look past his brothers.

Splinter stood in the doorway.

Leo sucked in a breath and swallowed whatever it was that he was about to say. It looked like it tasted bad, Mike thought, and was dismayed to find that he was a little bit pleased about that.

Splinter's gaze was sharp, and Mike flinched, suddenly guilty for the angry thoughts that still drifted through his mind. More to the point, the Master's eyes stayed fixed on Michaelangelo. "Sensei?" he said uncertainly.

The Rat came into the room, his whole being suddenly radiating intensity. Leo and Raph backed up, out of his way. Mike swallowed, as Splinter sat on the edge of his bed and put one gnarled hand under Mike's jaw to look carefully into his eyes. "…Master?"

Splinter's expression grew more intense. "I have been a fool," he breathed. "A fool – so certain that I knew!"

Raph and Leo exchanged a confused look, but held their silence.

The Master tilted Mike's head a little, peering into his wide eyes. Then he let go ad sat back. He nodded grimly. "A fool," he pronounced. "I should have seen it. But I have been so blind – blinded by my own grief, and certain that I understood the limits of your abilities. You've refused to learn much of the mental disciplines…but apparently you know more than I ever saw."

Mike shook his head slowly. "Master," he began again, warily, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Splinter's gaze became even sharper. "My son…these dreams are more than I realized. I've been so blind – ! I didn't realize that you were able to hear your brother."

Mike gaped at him, and couldn't collect his thoughts well enough to actually speak. He blinked, and found himself backing up to the head of his bed. "No…no…it's just…"

"Master, how can you be so sure?" It was Leo's voice, but to Mike it sounded like it was coming from a great distance. "Didn't you say…?"

"It's just dreams," Mike whispered harshly. "You said – you told me they were just dreams!" He couldn't get enough air, suddenly. He slid out of the bed and backed away from Splinter's hand, away from Leo, when they reached for him. "No…no, you told me…"

He glanced across the room and saw doubt in Raphael's face.

"It's just dreams!" he pleaded.

Raph nodded slowly. "Mike's always had bad dreams, Sensei."

"This is more than I – "

"No!" Mike clutched at his ears. "No, it's just – you can't do that, you can't tell me I've been hearing Donnie all this – no, no, it's not right!" He looked around the room, frightened and furious. "How can you tell me I've been hearing him all this time, when you said he was dead months ago!" He sobbed, and held up a warding hand in Leo's direction. "No! No, I won't – I can't believe it. It 's not right, that you'd tell me this now…now that he's really dead." He gasped and slapped a hand over his own mouth, frightened of what he'd just said as much as he was frightened of the realization that it was true.

Silence in the room.

It was too much. Mike lowered his hands with an effort, and drew a breath that was so choked with new grief that it hurt. "I can't stay here – I gotta go."

He spun and ran, heading for the front door with all the speed years of training could give.

They didn't follow him.

He ran through the tunnels, sick and heartbroken, trusting instinct to keep him safe. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't know what to do, with himself or this new, terrible knowledge.

He didn't know how long it lasted. It felt like it took years to get through the storm in his mind.

When he finally calmed enough to think, he found himself in the narrow, hidden stairway leading up to April's kitchen. He laid his hand on the knob, then bit his lip in doubt. What time was it? Was it too late – or too early – to be creeping into the humans' home?

Mike thought about going back to his own home, and shuddered.

He turned the knob, silently.

…

"Yeah, he's here, Raph," Casey shrugged as he looked at April, the phone tucked between his jaw and shoulder. "He's okay – sleepin' it off, whatever it was. You guys need him right now?"

April's mouth tightened, but she made no move to intervene. Casey was grateful for that – she'd been at wit's end, to find the Turtle grieving on the couch when she woke up in the morning. Mike hadn't spoken to her at all, beyond a few garbled assurances that the rest of the family was okay. It took hours to calm him down and unwind him to the point that he'd drink the chamomile tea April brewed, but after that he was out like a light. He barely made it to the guest bedroom before dropping into a deep sleep.

Casey glanced through the heavy curtains. It was almost fully dark outside. "Yeah, sure, come on over if ya want. But Raph – ya don't have to take Mike home or anything, okay? He can stay with us for a while. S'no big deal." He couldn't tell, over the phone, what Raph intended. Casey needed to lay eyes on his friend before he could read his mood.

"What's going on?" April's voice was tight with worry.

Casey dropped the phone onto the kitchen table. "Dunno. Raph's comin' over. I figure maybe we'll have a beer or two and talk, y'know?" He looked at her apologetically. "Guy stuff, an' all."

She smiled, and the whole room suddenly seemed lighter to match her mood. "Okay. I know when I'm not wanted," she dimpled. She was relieved, Casey could tell – relieved that she didn't have to be the only person to deal with the problems facing the rest of their family. He knew how she felt. It was good, better than he even hoped it would be, to have someone to watch his back. Not just when he was out in the dark alleys at night, but even for the more mundane stuff, the day-to-day, "real life" stuff that still took him by surprise sometimes.

"Thanks, babe," Casey wished suddenly that they weren't expecting company.

"Don't call me 'babe'," she warned, and twitched out of the room with a smile.

Casey sighed happily. This whole 'living together' thing was working out better and better every day.

When Raph finally showed up, he was tense and unhappy. But to Casey's eye, he wasn't on the verge of anything physical. The Turtle was still a few aggravations away from needing the challenge of "bustin' skulls". He nodded, satisfied, and handed his friend an open beer. "What's goin' on, Raph?"

It took a long time to pull the story out of the reluctant Turtle. When he had the whole story, at least to the point where Mike bolted from his home in the middle of the night, Casey let out a low whistle of dismay. "Oh, crap…so now Splinter thinks these dreams are really important an' all?"

"Yeah. But it's not like we can do anything with 'em, y'know?" Raph glanced in the direction of the closed bedroom doors again. "Even if Mikey…well, even if he'd been totally open to it, Splinter don't know how to use that to find Don. And even if he did…man, Mikey thinks Don's dead, now."

"Mike already thought that, though," Casey frowned at the level in his beer bottle, and decided against a refill.

"I dunno…" Raph sighed and pushed himself back, driving his shell deeper into the couch cushions. He fixed his eyes on the action movie that played out almost soundlessly on the TV.

Casey did the same. It was "a guy thing", he'd told April. They needed the mindless and improbable violence of their favorite movies to distract them, so they could talk. Otherwise, it'd just get too real. Embarrassing. She'd nodded, clearly amused, and said nothing else.

He wondered if she was listening.

He wondered if Mike was awake.

Something occurred to him in the near-silence. He rolled it over in his mind, testing it for serious flaws. It was the sort of thing that could spark Raph's ever-ready temper, if it was handled wrong, and Casey really needed his friend to listen to him.

"I wonder if, maybe…maybe Splinter's really just hurtin' too bad to be thinkin' right. Know what I mean?"

That earned him Raph's sharp focus, for a minute at least. Then the Turtle looked away without saying anything.

It was an encouraging sign. Sort of. Casey went on while he had the chance. "What if Splinter was right the first time, and he's wrong now?" Casey pointed out. "I mean, I only got the one kid, and she's pretty tiny, but if she disappeared one day, I think I might go out of my mind just a little bit at a time, myself. What if he's been sitting down there in the tunnels, brooding on it, and just kinda…makin' himself crazy with it? He wouldn't be the first, y'know," he added hastily. It seemed like near-blasphemy, to even hint that Splinter wasn't perfectly rational all the time. "And then this thing with Mike…maybe Splinter's just grabbing at straws, y'know?"

Raph grunted, which didn't really tell Casey anything. He still didn't look up from his thoughtful focus on the car chase scene.

Casey let it rest for a minute before coming back to something that felt important to him. "This whole thing, it's gotta be harder on Splinter than anyone," Casey raked his hair back out of his eyes and pretended he wasn't keeping an eye on Raph's reactions. "I mean, you guys are close and all but…Donnie's his kid. Havin' him disappear like that, that's pretty close to hell for a parent. Look, I've only had Shadow around for a couple years, but if something happened to her….man, it'd destroy me." Reminded, he went to check on the baby.

Raph had transferred his thoughtful stare to his empty beer bottle by the time Casey came back. The tension around his mouth had deepened over the last hour…but it hadn't spread to his neck and shoulders. Casey was relieved. As long as Raph wasn't tensing up, he was still listening.

"You guys don't like to think Splinter might not be right, every now and then," Casey observed. "That's a helluva lot of pressure to put on a guy. I mean, he can't just take his time and figure stuff out, y'know? He can't even change his mind, 'cause it means he was wrong before." He shook his head, and repeated, "Helluva lot of pressure."

"Yeah," Raph said thoughtfully, drawing the single syllable out. He sighed and set the bottle down.

They watched the rest of the movie in silence.