Donatello slowly drifted back to consciousness. Before he could move, before he could even hear or see, the first thing that he was fully aware of was that the overpowering weight that he had gotten so used to was gone.
He could tell that he was lying on his back and that, for once, it wasn't his back that was hurting him the most. It was his front - his entire front was flaring in agony. For a moment he panicked, fearing that Bishop had found him and torn his children away. Then he remembered. He remembered that April had been there, and had insisted that they needed to do the surgery.
"Babies," he attempted to say. He wasn't sure if he was deaf, or if his voice wasn't working. "The babies," he tried again. He felt a tear run down his face and realized that he hadn't opened his eyes yet. He managed to open one halfway and turn his head a little.
He saw that April was nearby, and that she was cleaning something. He knew what it had to be. He attempted to get her attention, but he found that he could hardly move, and couldn't even make a sound. He knew that he could hear now because he heard the steady beep of the monitors that he must have been connected to. Horrifyingly, there was no noise coming from the small body that April was washing. It was frighteningly silent, and April's posture was slumped - defeated. Donatello squeezed his eyes shut again as more tears slipped out. Despite his apparent muteness, a ragged cry somehow escaped his lips.
Suddenly, April was over him, her warm hand gently caressing his cheek, her fingers rubbing a circle on his temple. "Hey, hey. It's okay, Donnie. It's okay," she soothed. "Everything is okay. They're all fine. You're fine." Donatello looked over to where April had been standing. It wasn't a baby she was silently cleaning. It was a series of clamps and scalpels.
Donatello looked at his friend pleadingly. Although he couldn't speak, he knew that she should be able to understand what he wanted. April pet his shoulder and crossed the room. She carefully picked up a bundle and held it close to him. "This is your second-born," she explained with a loving smile. "A boy."
Don took a deep swallow and nodded. He tried to move his arms to hold the baby. He had never wanted anything more in his life, but his body exploded in pain.
"Don't," April insisted in a quiet but firm voice. "Don't try to move at all. I had to cut you open more than expected. The babies were really stuck. You have at least a hundred stitches. You lost several pints of blood. You'll be okay but just stay there. Don't try to move at all, okay? Not even your arms. Promise me."
Don nodded. Even that hurt. He must have pulled all the muscles in his neck and shoulders as he repeatedly moved into position to push. April placed the baby on Donatello's chest, then she carefully moved Don's trembling arms so that he could hold his son as best he could. Don felt close to passing out, but he fought off the impending darkness and drank in every detail.
"Mikey and Casey cleaned them up and fed them while I was stitching you up," April explained. "I know that you wanted to do it, but there's no way that I'm letting you move so much. I'm sorry, Don, but it just had to be done."
Don briefly locked eyes with her and grinned a little before returning his attention to his son. Those details seemed so trivial now. He was just happy to be alive. He was so lucky that his babies had survived. "The other?" he mouthed.
April brought over another bundle, her face lit up with a smile. "Another girl."
In his current condition, Don couldn't hold them both at once. April placed the baby boy on the bed next to her friend, and then put the girl in the empty spot on Don's chest. The baby cooed a little in her sleep, instinctively grasping her father's finger as he brushed the blanket away from her face. He felt a few new tears rolling down his cheek. She was so perfect. Against all odds, they all were.
"They were born about an hour ago," April explained. "I turned off the anesthesia gas right after I finished stitching you up. You woke up right away, but now that you've had a chance to see them, you should really get some rest. You've been through a lot."
Donatello fought as hard as he could to stay awake, but he couldn't fend off the darkness forever. It had been pain that had awoken him, but now that he had had a chance to meet all of his babies, April had no misgivings about increasing his dosage of painkillers and sedatives. She didn't even ask permission. After administering the medicine into the IV bag, April took the babies back to their bassinets. Don didn't want to let them go, but his body was shaking uncontrollably, and he knew that they were safer in their beds than in his weakened arms.
While April continued cleaning up the operative equipment, she explained how difficult the surgery had been, how much she had to cut, and how much blood she had to give him. As sluggish as Donatello's mind was at the moment, he knew that he had somehow received more blood than he had in stock. He briefly wondered where the rest had come from, but then he surrendered to a blissful unconsciousness.
The next time Donatello woke up was half an hour later. Michelangelo was sitting next to him holding the boy. Another baby was asleep nearby in one of the bassinets, and Don could hear the third crying in the living room. As if reading Don's mind, Michelangelo immediately handed him the baby. "This little guy got a name?" Mikey asked.
Don smiled and nodded. His eyes were watery with a potent mix of emotion, pain, love, and utter exhaustion. "Brunelleschi," Don whispered hoarsely.
Don would have liked to explain the meaning - how much thought he had put into this. This was the only boy. Don wanted to honor his father, but actually naming him Splinter felt wrong. There was only one Splinter, and he was irreplaceable. Don almost named the boy Yoshi, but Splinter himself had chosen not to name his sons after his former Master. There were many people that Splinter loved and respected, not Hamato Yoshi alone.
Splinter named his sons after renaissance artists, and, so too, would Don. What better way to honor his father than to continue the tradition he had started? Filippo Brunelleschi was one of the founding fathers of the renaissance. He was a sculptor, like Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Donatello. Furthermore, he was an engineer and an inventor, both subjects so near and dear to Don's own heart. Not only that, but Brunelleschi had a sort of cute, easily modernized nickname…
"Hey Bruno," Michelangelo cooed as he waved at the baby happily snuggled in Don's arms. Bruno made a pleased noise in response. Don's heart leaped into his chest at the sound of it.
April came into the room, carrying the oldest baby, who had stopped crying and nodded off. Don looked up at April and winked. "Still can't speak?" she asked.
Don shrugged. "A little," he croaked.
"Why don't you go get Donnie some broth?" April suggested to Michelangelo. April put the baby she was holding down on the bed next to Don. She then began switching Don's IV bag. "So, the boy is Bruno?" she asked.
"Brunelleschi," Don rasped.
April smiled and looked down at Don. "That's a good choice."
Don looked meaningfully at the sleeping baby girl next to him, then up at his best friend. "She's Mei," he whispered. "For you."
It was the first name Don had thought of and by far the easiest. He used the Asian spelling as a nod to his adopted heritage, but he knew the name had to be Mei, for the month after April.
April put a hand over her heart, then leaned over and kissed the top of Don's bald head. "Oh, Donnie. Thank you. I love you, kiddo."
"Love you too," Don replied in a broken voice. There was so much more he wanted to say. April had saved his life and the lives of his babies. She was there for him when no one else was and had given up so much of her time and energy to get him through this ordeal. It must have been so hard on her to have to cut him open. Thank you wasn't enough. Naming a baby after her wasn't enough.
April wiped a tear from her eye and squeezed Don's shoulder. "We're going to have to clean you up soon," she warned. "We can't risk an infection."
The thought was daunting. Don could hardly hold his head up, never mind move. Due to the angles the babies had been stuck at, April had been forced to cut his plastron open like a flap. There were eight-inch long slices running down each of his fleshy sides. His plastron had been cut from end to end beneath his abdominal plates. His tail and bottom half had also been shredded when Mei had come out. He knew he couldn't lie here in his blood and sweat, and the babies' amniotic fluids, but he didn't know how he would move.
"I'll watch the babies and change the bedding while Michelangelo and Casey help you into the shower," April suggested when she saw his worried expression. "We put a stool in there for you to sit on. One of them will hold you up as the other helps you wash."
"Sounds like fun," Mikey said as he returned with the soup. He proceeded to spoon-feed Don. The painkillers had kicked in, and the new Dad was as happy as a clam, holding Bruno while Mei was snuggled beside him.
"You should know." Michelangelo hesitated as he waited for Don to swallow the latest spoonful. "Raphael is here."