He gave staying awake his best effort, but his eyelids were getting increasingly heavier by the second. He tried counting the tiles on the ceiling, but his vision blurred their corners the more he squinted. He tried monitoring his breathing, but he was disturbed by the way it rattled weakly past his ribs. He even tried pinching himself, but that only added unnecessary discomfort to the pain he was already swimming in.

Unrelenting waves of shock continued to pulse just beneath his shell, reminding him that it was damaged—as though he would forget. And his arm had long since begun to feel heavy with numbness. He'd been making sure to curl and uncurl his fingers every so often for the past few days just to make sure it still worked. And though it did, that didn't necessarily make the lack of feeling in his fingertips any less frightening.

He did it now, lying on his side to keep any pressure from his shell. He held his hand in front of his face and bent his thumb down at the joint. He curled his hand into a fist, and then gave himself a thumb's up.

"Phenomenal," he whispered, letting a smile grace his cheek.

He wished Donnie hadn't left him. It was scary being separated from him now. What if Donnie ran into the Shredder in the hallway and they stuffed him back into that musty morgue? What if they found Xever and figured out Donnie hadn't done what they'd demanded? What if they killed him?

Before it really registered, Mikey found himself rolling over as though ready to push himself off the bed and run after his brother.

He curled his fists around the bloodstained sheets beneath him and shook his head. "No, Mikey. Donnie said stay here."

He glanced up at the door and the sensation of a thousand bugs wiggled around in his stomach.

He couldn't leave. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't get up to find or help his family.

He twisted his face and stuffed it into the pillow. It smelled like death.

A single high-pitched yip echoed its way into the room and he lifted his head to stare back at the door. His heart crawled up to his ears and he could feel the stale air reaching into his eyes, making them dry.

There was a crash, like someone had kicked in a door, and it sounded as though it had come from just a few rooms down.

Mikey's breath hitched. He waited.

There was a pause, and shortly after, another door was broken in.

Mikey's body tried to jerk itself up, but it only caused a gasp as pain shot all the way up from the bottom of his spine to the top of his skull. He bit his tongue against a groan and squeezed his eyes shut on the stars that swirled around his vision.

Another crash.

He pressed his lips together, but that only allowed his quickened breathing to shoot loudly out of his nose. His eyes darted around the room, searching for a weapon, an escape route, a place to hide, anything … What kind of hospital room didn't have a bathroom or a window?

For one delirious moment he started to reach toward his belt for his nunchucks, then cursed under his breath when his good hand found a naked plastron.

A hiss of air pushed its way through his teeth. His chest tightened, blocking a groan that threatened to come out as he rocked himself on his shell to scan the room behind him. His eyes landed on the suture scissors that Donnie had used, lying on the corner of a little table just out of his reach.

Another crash came, this time uncomfortably close. He could just barely hear the swift movements of what he guessed was a Footbot searching one of the adjacent rooms. He began to hyperventilate.

He stretched his arm out as far as he could, gaze zeroed in on the point of the scissors. He watched his fingers shake with strain and fatigue, and tried to push himself to the very edge of the bed. It groaned beneath him, but his pulse was far too frantic to remind him to be quiet. As far as he knew, it wouldn't matter anyway.

His tongue poked its way out of his mouth through his teeth. The scissors were only a couple of inches out of his reach.

He dared to shift his body a tiny bit closer and could feel half of his hip wobbling over the edge of the bed. A bead of sweat dripped down his temple.

"Come on," he groaned, as though the scissors might magically jump into his hand because he asked.

The moment the door directly next to his room folded in with a loud crash, his body tipped off of the bed and he gave a yelp. His hand brushed the corner of the table. His plastron hit the floor and his chin followed. His body was enveloped with a blinding flash of pain and his lungs sucked in air as though he hadn't breathed in days. He choked, blinking away the spots of white popping up around the room.

The Footbot knocked something over in the neighboring room, and Mikey found just enough adrenaline to raise himself off of his chest and reach back up toward the table.

He squinted against the blur in his eyes, he wasn't sure if from pain or fear, but he cursed under his breath as he realized he was trying to use his senseless hand to find an object he couldn't see.

He frantically began to brush his hand across the table, hoping that he'd simply swipe the scissors off, as the sound of footsteps moved across the room on the other side of the wall. His back teeth came together when he heard a heel step over the fallen door.

He flinched as a flash of silver dropped to the floor and then snatched the scissors in his fist. They were rusty, dull, and far too flimsy to do any real damage, he knew that already, but he tried to remind himself of Splinter's "Anything Could Be a Weapon" lesson. He really wished he'd taken that one more seriously now.

He managed to push himself to his knees and cling to the edge of the bed, the scissors trembling in his fist right in front of his nose.

He realized then that there had been a significant pause in the Footbot's searching. It hadn't tried to kick in his door yet, and it was eerily silent now. But he didn't trust that silence. He tried to make his heart go back down into his chest with a swallow but it refused.

He knew it hadn't left. There was something on the other side of the door and it was going to get in. He thought about threatening it, but he doubted very much that a robot would take a threat seriously. He wasn't even sure they had ears. It didn't matter much anyway. He was disabled, cornered, and only had a dull pair of scissors to protect himself.

He bit the inside of his cheek and quickly wiped a fist across his eyes. "You can do it," he whispered. "It's just a Footbot. It's just a Footbot."

But what if it wasn't? What if it was something or someone else?

The edges of his vision faded and became clouded with smears of red and black. His muscles twitched with shocks of fear and anticipation, waiting for pain, waiting for suffocation, waiting for the coppery stench of blood. He was blinded by a vision of Baxter Stockman's giant collage of eyes reflecting his own screaming face. His heart gave a stuttering palpitation and he tried to blink away the image only to see Tigerclaw stepping threateningly out from a wall of black. He could suddenly feel himself drowning. He could feel fresh lashes cutting across his skin. He could feel his throat burning, every blow that had ever hit him funneling into fists that refused to let him fight back, blindness, fatigue, hunger, burning, suffocation … His body shook.

A deafening blow split the door in half and ripped it off its hinges.

He couldn't even scream. His body only hiccupped and every muscle seized.

But no Footbots or villains darted into the room. Instead, he choked when his lungs shuddered and began trying to inhale and exhale at the same time as his eyes recognized his father standing in the doorway with his hands raised at the ready, as though he'd expected to find a threat. Mikey didn't notice the decapitated Footbot behind Splinter's feet.

There was a tense moment of hesitation in which nothing could be heard but Mikey's chaotic wheezing. He and his father just stared at each other across the room, neither able to let down their guard until the realization slowly lifted a weight from the space between them.

Splinter's knees must have lost their nerve for a second, because he nearly fell against the doorframe when he finally dropped his stance.

Every bit of fear that had built up in Mikey's chest since the day Donnie had been taken popped behind his ribs like a water balloon and he somehow managed to make his body stumble across the room and into his father's arms, bringing them both to their knees.

Splinter was warm, and familiar, and sturdy, and smelled very much the opposite of the stale, musty, sickly air he'd been breathing in for much too long. And his arms were strong. They held Mikey so tightly it hurt, but this time the pain was welcomed.

They sat in the middle of the floor, holding one another, and Michelangelo's body seized with trembling that refused to cease no matter how far he pressed his face into his father's chest or how tightly his fists gripped Splinter's robe. But he figured it was okay for now, because there was finally no one in the room with him that would belittle him for showing weakness, which of course gave him the freedom to cry without consequence.

Splinter said nothing at first. He simply rocked his youngest son in his arms and pressed his warm, furry cheek against the crown of Mikey's head. Mikey wasn't sure how long this lasted nor did he really care. Eventually, though, his father took a breath that sounded oddly uneven for him, but all he could manage to say was, "Michelangelo ..."

Another loaded heartbeat passed and then Splinter pulled himself back. His amber eyes searched Mikey's body. A deep crease formed on his brow and a shudder of emotion Mikey had never seen before crossed Splinter's eyes and stiffened his body. It was angry, and it was heartbroken, and it was red. And Mikey was frightened by it, though, when Splinter's hands took his shoulders they were gentle.

"Where is your brother?" he said. His voice sounded severely fragile and yet somehow fierce at the same time, as though if he spoke any louder something might break.

Mikey wiped his face, but this didn't stop the tears that continued to leak from his eyes. "He went to find you guys."

"Is he alright?"

Mikey nodded, rubbing his fists tenderly against his cheeks.

Splinter reached up and used the corner of his sleeve to dry Mikey's face. "I am sorry, my son."

Mikey blinked, staring past Splinter's sleeve as the fabric brushed across his chin. "Sensei?"

Splinter's amber eyes glanced over Mikey's injuries and he shook his head. "I should never have allowed this to happen."

Mikey hesitated with a response, but eventually whispered, "It's not your fault," as his eyes glanced off to the side. He forced himself to swallow and cracked half a smile before meeting his father's gaze again. "Are there any cookies left?"

Splinter grimaced and rested a hand on his son's forehead, and for a while this was all he did before stretching a tiny smile. "I'm afraid I have no idea. Let us leave here and see."

Mikey nodded, though it made the room sway. Splinter gripped his elbow and started helping him to his feet.

"Can you walk?"

Mikey's knees shook under his weight and he blinked as a dizzying blur blinded him for a second. Splinter hooked a firm arm around him and tried walking a few inches forward. Every time Mikey put pressure on his foot, pain hammered against the back of his head. He felt he might vomit, and he expressed this very blatantly.

Splinter nodded, his eyes darting back toward the bed Mikey had tumbled from. The young turtle found himself snatching his father's sleeve and yanking on him urgently while his heart pumped double-time.

"Don't leave me in here."

Splinter, after staring down at him with wider-than-normal eyes, shook his head. "I will not, my son."

He then took a knee, and Mikey climbed onto his back.

After carefully adjusting his brace under Mikey's knees, Splinter did much the same thing Donnie had in poking his head out of the doorway and checking both ends of the hall before sprinting to the right on silent feet. Though he moved quickly, it was with fluid motions intended to keep Mikey from jostling around on his back. Impressed, but too exhausted to express so, Mikey looped his arms around his father's neck and rested his cheek on Splinter's shoulder. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to imagine that they were flying away to safety and that there was now nothing in existence to prevent them from doing so. This wasn't true of course, any number of things could have stopped them on their way out of the hospital. Mikey was just glad that what did wasn't any part of the Foot clan.

They were in the midst of rounding a corner when Splinter jerked to a halt and a collection of gasps and a tiny scream nearly ran into them.

Mikey peeked over Splinter's shoulder as his father, April, Casey, and Donnie all breathed out a sigh. April even placed a hand over her chest as though to reassure her heart it had no reason to jump out of her chest.

Mikey noticed Donnie's contorted expression first as his round brown eyes met Splinter's, but his only thought about it was that he was happy Donnie had his mask back. It covered up the depletion and emptiness that Mikey knew was still there because he had seen it in his brother's face before they'd parted ways. Donnie didn't move though, and neither did Splinter, they simply stared at one another over the heads of April O'Neil and Casey Jones as the two human teenagers noticed what Splinter was carrying.

"Mikey!" they chorused, both instinctively reaching out for him.

Splinter lowered Michelangelo to the floor, and April and Casey kept him supported as they surrounded him with tender embraces. April even kissed his cheek, tears building up in her eyes - Mikey was sure - not for the first time. She didn't let him go, even after Casey had.

"You are unharmed?" Splinter asked, his eyes searching Donatello the way they had done for Mikey.

Donnie's chest expanded as though he was unsure whether to nod or shake his head. He decided to respond with, "I'm alive."

Splinter nodded once, and it wasn't until then that he opened his arms and Donatello accepted the invitation. He walked over to his father slowly and even the way he wrapped his arms around Splinter's waist was cautious and deliberate. But Mikey noticed Donnie's fists curl around Splinter's robe the same way his had. There was desperation to it and Mikey understood completely. He had no idea how long they'd spent under the Shredder's thumb, but every second had felt like a lifetime being drawn out by the sickening weight of loss. And he'd only been with the Foot half as long as Donnie had, which meant there was no doubt in his mind that Donatello had convinced himself, at one point or another, that he would never see his father, his brothers, his friends, or sunlight again. And now, being held by Splinter himself, Donnie just wanted it to be real.

Mikey let his chin rest on April's shoulder and encouraged his arms to hold her tighter. The pain was convincing. They could probably relax now, but he knew neither he nor Donnie would do such a thing … maybe not for a long time.

"Where's Leo and Raph?" Donnie asked as soon as Splinter released him.

"And Karai?" Mikey added.

"Holding off the Foot," April said, glancing up as though one of the three of them would jump down from the ceiling.

"Casey and I will collect them," Splinter said. "April, take Michelangelo and Donatello to the Shellraiser. We will meet you there."

"No." Donnie shook his head. "I'm coming too."

"My son, I cannot ask you to—"

"I'm coming."

"Donnie."

Donatello met the crease on April's brow with a firm gaze. She pressed her lips together and said nothing more. Splinter stared down at Donnie with his own concerns though he hid them well. The only reason Mikey knew he was struggling on the inside was because that glimmer of foreign emotion he'd seen in Splinter's eyes moments ago returned. And then he inhaled through his nose, whiskers shivering, and nodded.

"Very well." He looked to April. "If it takes more than an hour, bring Michelangelo home."

April stiffened against Mikey's body, her eyes again peering at Donnie with trepidation, but she nodded and whispered an, "Okay."

Mikey didn't protest when they turned to leave. As much as his trained, warrior spirit would have loved to splat a certain horsefly, and kick a certain cat in the balls, and dismember a few hundred Footbots, he knew he'd be of no use to his family right now. He curled his numbed fingers and didn't feel a thing.

He let April support his left side as she and Donnie shared a glance before he walked off after Splinter and Casey. Then Mikey and April were alone in the hallway.