Awakening
He didn't know where he was. He didn't know who he was. He drifted in and out of consciousness, and his world was various shades of black and red.
"He's burning..."
Who was burning?
"He's moved! I've seen him!"
The voice was too loud. He wanted to tell it to be quiet. He had a feeling it wasn't the first time.
"It's the fever, Mikey."
"April, could you bring me a cloth and a basin of cold water, please?"
Familiar names, nagging at him. A lost battle.
Blackness engulfed him once more.
Another time, another voice. A feminine voice. He shifted, trying to turn towards it to better understand what it said.
"… he's becoming dehydrated, do you think we should… Donnie? Oh my gosh, Donnie, are you awake?"
He opened his mouth and closed it. Donnie. Was he Donnie?
It was a nice name, and said with much tenderness. He rather hoped he was Donnie.
"Let me help you. Here, can you drink?"
Warmth on his skin. He was helped forwards, tried to please the voice. It wanted him to drink. It seemed important. He should have thought it was important too, but he couldn't remember why.
"Take it easy, Donnie."
The cold liquid in his throat reminded him of something else. Pain. Danger.
He moaned.
"Hush, Donatello. It is alright."
Love. Comfort. Strength.
Darkness.
Everything ached. He wished to fall asleep again, to forget the pain and the aches in his muscles, but this time he was well awake.
Donatello opened his eyes tentatively. The light was too bright, and he quickly closed them again.
"Switch the lights off," he croaked.
Someone next to him gasped before yelling.
"Guys!"
Footsteps hurried to the room. The sounds were too sharp, and Donatello moaned.
"Shhhhhh," he mumbled, trying to express his feelings on the matter.
"Guys, he talked! He just talked! I think he's waking up!"
"Donnie?"
"Donatello!"
He felt strong and furry arms embrace him, and hid his face in his father's robe. Other arms coiled around his frame. Ten arms, to be precise.
"Too bright. Too loud," he expressed, his voice muffled by the familiar fabric.
"Of course, my son. Raphael, would you please switch off the bed lamp?"
"Sure thing, Sensei."
The light dimmed, and Donatello sighed in relief.
"How are you feeling, Donnie?"
Donatello considered this question. His body was yelling his pain and abuse at him. "Bad."
The atmosphere tensed considerably.
"Hurts," he added for good measure. "Head hurts. Arms hurt. Legs hurt. Shell doesn't hurt, because can't, but would if could. Toes hurt too."
He felt perplexity mix with the concern around him.
"Sensei, is he delirious?"
Donatello felt fingers caress his forehead.
"Hmm. The fever isn't entirely gone."
"Hurting is bad," he mumbled. "Don't want to hurt."
"Go back to sleep, my son. We'll watch over you."
"But can't sleep!" he moaned.
"Do you think we could give him pain medicine?"
"Yesssss," Donatello answered before anybody else could. "Gimmeeeee!"
Somebody chuckled. Soon he was handed a glass of bubbling water that tasted like dirt. He somehow managed to drink it without leaving the protection of Splinter's robe.
He felt shifting around him, and the mattress sank.
A voice trumpeted way too close to his ear. "Mikey, your feet are in the way, move..."
"Mmmm," Donatello grumbled.
The voice's owner lowered it considerably, until it was a mere whisper. A nonetheless very threatening whisper. "Move them before I do it for you."
Donatello smiled and drifted slowly to sleep.
Next time Donatello woke up, he felt much better. Which didn't mean he was feeling good - but enough cell brains in his head had decided to cooperate, so a coherent thought process was possible again.
He was lying in a comfy bed, a bed that wasn't his own. He frowned, trying to remember the recent events. He had been in the lair… preparing something…
Then reality caught up with him. He had been preparing himself for removing a bomb from Raphael. Another bomb had exploded, and they had no lair anymore.
Donatello jerked upwards, and felt his head protest against the harsh treatment. He winced and laid back.
"Wow, Donnie, take it easy!"
Someone was watching him with big baby-blue eyes.
"Hello, Mikey," he mumbled. "Where are we?"
Michelangelo engulfed him in a sprawling hug.
"Donnie!"
Donatello patted his brother's shell, wincing.
"Ouch."
"Sorry." Michelangelo released him with a sheepish smile. "I'm so happy you're awake, dude! We really thought you were last time, but no! You kept sleeping and sleeping! And…"
"Mikey, where are we?" Donatello massaged his temples.
"At April's. We're her guests, or more precisely, her dad's guest. He says we can stay as long as we want to, but I can tell that he already has enough of us. I mean, I understand. It's a small apartment, and…"
"We're at April's?" Donatello watched his brother, appalled. "But what if Irma finds us? We're putting her in danger!"
Michelangelo shook his head reassuringly. "Relax, Donnie. That's one of the first questions Leo asked Mr O'Neil. He rented the apartment under another name. He's paying in cash and the landlord didn't ask too many questions. Irma won't find us there."
"Oh." Donatello couldn't blame April's father for being paranoid. In fact, it was more realism than paranoia, considering the hectic last months. "Well, at least it buys us some time. Um… how long have I been out?"
"Three days."
Donatello winced.
"That long?"
"Yes. You've been in and out, but yesterday Splinter said you were out of danger. He's sleeping on the couch now, by the way. So you can rest better. He also says he's fine, but I think he hasn't recovered from the explosion. But he'll be thrilled to see you awake! In fact, everybody will be thrilled to see you! Which makes me think…"
Michelangelo yelled. "Guys! He's awake for real!"
Donatello smiled as the rest of his extended family hurried inside and hugged him. He made sure to shift a little so April had a good grasp on his shell.
"Sorry, guys. I didn't mean to sleep for so long."
"Nothing to worry about, Donnie," his brothers and Casey chorused as his father patted his arm and April hugged him tighter.
Donatello took a deep breath, and ended up in a coughing fit.
"Donnie, are you okay?" April asked with a concerned look.
"Yes… yes, of course. I'm just thirsty, that's all."
Donatello noticed a glass full of water on the night table, and took it, ignoring the suspicious looks of his brothers. His gaze wandered on Raphael's bandage. It looked as good as new, probably because it had been replaced recently. He pointed at it.
"Did it reopen? I did what I could with the stitches, but I wasn't at my best."
Raphael grinned sheepishly. "You were amazing, Donnie. Don't worry."
"It reopened," Michelangelo whispered. "Because he kept punching things."
"Mikey, shut up or I won't punch only things."
Donatello gave Raphael a look. "You're supposed to be careful, you know."
"Don't worry so much about me," Raphael grumbled. "I'm not the one who spent three days in bed, blabbering nonsense half the time."
Donatello blushed. "Sorry about that," he repeated.
"No problem, Donnie." Leonardo smiled at him before taking a step back to sit down more comfortably on the bed. "We were rather glad to hear you talk."
Michelangelo nodded emphatically. "And it's not like you kept saying how beautiful April was or something. No need to feel embarrassed, really."
Donatello blinked while Raphael nudged Michelangelo with a grimace, and he quickly decided to forget what he had just heard and not to look at April's face. Definitely not.
"So," Leonardo said hurriedly. "You might want to know that we haven't heard of Irma at all."
"Maybe she thinks we're dead," Michelangelo suggested hopefully.
Donatello hummed, grateful for the change of topic. "I wouldn't count on it, Mikey. At the very least she'll keep vigil. I can probably find her with my Kraang Tech Detector, if the satellite dish wasn't damaged. Leo, you did protect it, right?"
"Yes, Donnie. With the aluminum foil, exactly like you said."
Donatello nodded, satisfied. "Good. We can go check it, and then I…"
Splinter frowned. "You're going nowhere as long as you haven't fully recovered, my son," he cut him off.
Donatello made a face. "But Sensei!"
Splinter shook his head. "No. You need rest. Your body has been pushed to its limits and beyond. You're in no shape to be running on rooftops."
Donatello gave his brothers a pleading look. They looked away, indicating that he was on his own. The traitors. He would probably be on house arrest for years, and they wouldn't lift a finger to help him.
"Maybe we could check it for you?" Leonardo offered, watching something on the wall behind Donnie.
"Yes," Michelangelo agreed. "It'll be our pleasure!"
Raphael nodded. "Sounds like a plan. I've been confined here for too long - not that it's your fault or anything, Donnie," he quickly amended when he saw Donatello's guilty expression.
Donatello sighed. "Right. And I'll stay there and rest," he said, disgusted.
"Excellent idea!"
"You do that."
"See you, Dee!"
"I'm coming with you," Casey shouted.
"I'll stay with you, Donnie," April offered, and Donatello's mood brightened considerably.
Splinter smiled. "I won't be far. Call me if you need anything, my son."
"Yes, Father."
Splinter patted his shell and stood up, leaving his son in good hands.
"What you've done is truly incredible, Donnie."
Donatello shrugged, embarrassed. He had just related April most of the things that had happened, neatly leaving behind every consideration about his health, past and future. Don't think about that.
"I had no other choice."
"Still." April sighed and put a hand on his arm. "By the way, I'm sorry about the lair."
Donatello looked away. Along with his childhood home, almost all his equipment had been lost. An equipment that he had gathered with the greatest difficulties. It was painful to remember. "Yes."
"Do you think you'll be able to salvage some of your things?"
Donatello shrugged. From what he remembered, there wasn't a lot left of the lair.
"It's unlikely."
April was looking at him with such sadness that he felt the urge to cheer her up.
"Good news is, I have copies of my blueprints and all the experiment reports I did over the year. It's in the cloud, encrypted."
April's face lit up. "Oh. Then I guess all you need is a computer and an Internet connection. Do you want to borrow my laptop?"
Donatello grinned. "Now that would be nice. If you don't mind."
April grinned back. "Of course not."
She was quickly back with the instrument of Donatello's salvation, and he took it eagerly.
There. All his files were here. Every detail he needed to build a new lab - or even a new lair - from scratch. He sighed in relief, stroking the keyboard.
"Thank you, April."
"You're welcome." April's eyes were brimming with tears. "I'm glad I can help. It's not like I was particularly useful these last few days."
Donatello shook his head. "Oh, no! You've been very helpful, I'm sure! Your mere presence is helping me, I…" He realized what he was saying and shut up, embarrassed.
April was grinning. "You're welcome, Donnie."
When his brothers and Casey came back, reporting that the satellite dish didn't seem damaged and that they had taken away its aluminum protection, Donatello didn't have the heart to pretend to pout. He decided that he would check the signal later from April's laptop, and listened with interest as they told him about the city's state, careful not to show how drained he felt. He had worried his family enough as it was.
Apparently, the street lights weren't repaired everywhere, and they had stopped quite a few times to stop a robbery. Donatello kept a vigilant eye on Raphael, but the bandage on his brother's shoulder seemed clean. Maybe he had been careful.
It wasn't until a few hours later that he was left alone to sleep. Of course, he had no intention to do just that - too many thoughts he had to avoid, peace and quiet were the last things he wanted to face right now - and he stealthily grabbed April's laptop.
His hands were shaking so much that he couldn't type.
Donatello watched his fingers, clenching and unclenching them in the hope of breaking the pattern. To no avail.
Of course, there was another way…
No, that's a bad idea. Donatello tried to dismiss the thought, but it was persistent.
After all, if he took a small drop of Irma's vial, it couldn't hurt, right? Not when he hadn't drunk any of it in three days.
Unless, of course, it could hurt.
Donatello bit his lip. As the trembling in his fingers intensified, he took his decision. Reaching for his belt, put on a chair within reach from the bed, he searched for the vial.
It wasn't there.
"Donatello, what are you doing?"
Donatello straightened up guiltily. In the door's frame, Splinter was watching him with his arms crossed.
"You're supposed to be resting, my son."
Donatello wanted to tell his father that he was going to, but different words left his lips.
"Where is it?"
"Where is what, Donatello?"
"The vial!" Donatello felt ashamed of the urge that was bypassing his will. Still, he needed to see it, needed to drink from it.
"Ah. I was wondering when you would ask." Splinter sat on the edge of the bed. "We gave it to Doctor Rockwell. We thought he might help to heal you. He hasn't found anything yet, but…"
"I need it!"
Splinter raised an eyebrow.
"You don't have the proper equipment, and you're not…"
"I need it!" Donatello repeated, his lower lip quivering.
"What for, my son?" Splinter asked softly.
Donatello averted his eyes and lifted his hands. "They're shaking too much," he muttered. "I can't type."
Splinter gave him a look, probably pondering whether or not he should remind his son that he wasn't supposed to type, he was supposed to sleep.
"You do not know if using the vial would help."
Donatello proceeded to tie the blanket in nice little knots.
"Donatello?"
"Mmblmmblmmbl."
"I didn't hear you, my son." Splinter's tone was soft, but it held a warning that Donatello couldn't ignore.
He hung his head in shame.
"I know it would… I tried it. Right before I operated on Raph."
He heard a shocked gasp behind the door, and panic rose inside his chest.
"Who's there?" Splinter called, frowning.
There was no answer. When Splinter stood up and opened the door, nobody was there. Donatello could hear the TV in the living room nearby, and he had no doubt that his brothers were watching it - as he had no doubt that they hadn't been five seconds before.
Which meant that Raphael had heard what he wasn't supposed to hear, ever. Donatello wanted to retreat in his shell and hide in shame. As if he could feel it, Splinter shifted closer to him and embraced him.
"I'm sorry," Donatello whispered.
"You have nothing to be sorry about, my son," his father whispered in his ear. "Nothing is your fault. On the contrary, you did wonders under extremely difficult circumstances. I'm proud of you, Donatello."
Donatello nodded, trying his best not to break down. He wished he could be proud of himself, too - but all he could feel was worry and shame.
Because even if he had only begun to drink from Irma's vial to save Raphael, he had apparently gotten used to it to the point that its absence was physically painful. Because if it had been within his reach right now, he would have taken a drop or even more of it without the slightest hesitation.
And because - and he only allowed himself to shape this thought because Splinter was holding him so tight it was almost safe - he didn't know if his body would ever recover from it.
