Chapter 8: To Dream and Forget

Authors Note: as the title insinuates this next chapter starts out as a dream. You may recognize this scene from a previous chapter :p

Enjoy


The height always startled me not in fear gripping sense but a slight tingle in my gut like a reminder of a long conquered fear. I sat high up in the rafters of an old empty warehouse, the scene below spread out like tapestry. Baxter shuffled around far below, working on a project of some-sort with a panel of electricity and a gun..? My brother was sitting in front of his computer, hunched forward and he typed away his brow creased in concentration as he mumbled to himself about 'energy currents' and 'stabilized supply'. The office chair skidded across the concrete floor as Bax propelled backward away from his computer to adjust some switches and controls on the panel charged tool...gun?.

Suddenly a hand appeared in my field of vision. A three fingered, green hand covered in scales and scares. The hand held an oval device that seemed to resemble a turtle shell, in the middle was a screen that lit to life as the shell shaped phone began to ring.

I started at the device, at the top of the screen was a name: Dontello, it was written above a picture of a figure from the space heroes show, standing in place of an ID picture. The phone blinked a few times as the call went to voicemail. A chipper voice responded back to inform the caller that he was not available and to leave a message after the beep. The voice sounded familiar like an old tune that resonated deep in my soul. My three finger hand silenced the phone and I couldn't dismiss the sting of slight irritation and disappointment that unintentionally passed through me, but underneath also sat determination and the desire not to worry, the figure at the other end of the call Donetello. My vision started to blue as attention was brought back to the figure below. A fog spread across my vision, creeping into the factors and making the world around me dark and unfocused, my senses seeming to numb at the intrusion. Like lightning a pain ripped through my being, resonating from a concentrated spot along my spine and spreading along my nervous system. The fog seemed to accompany this sudden pain as did the numb.

As my vision began to blur the fire around me seemed to grow, dancing around in evil delight, devouring the fading world around me in an attempt to destroy and consume. New pain seemed to assault my system as the fire reached out toward me, but the darkness seemed to win as the fog and numb encompassed me and the world around me blurred and disappeared into oblivion.


I woke up suddenly, drenched in sweat, my sapphire eyes wide as I fought to steady my breathing, my heart pounding violently in my chest. I ran a shaky hand over my face, pushing away the tendrils of dark hair that was clinging to my sweaty face and neck. That was the second time I've had that dream this week. I closed my eyes, controlling my breathing and centering my energy before soundlessly swinging my legs over the bed. I have full mobility now. I'd had the cast off for a week and I've never felt more free as I am no longer confined by casts and bandages. Though out of habit, I tend to wear longer sleeves to cover up the burns on my arms. I never know how to respond when people ask, and most of the time they won't. Instead people will just stare; shock and pity written over their faces. I'm tired of answering questions about a tragedy that I only remember from snippets of nightmares and the scares that I still bear. I'm tired of the pitying looks and soft voices. I'm tired of people thinking I'm weak! I don't want to be weak. So I cover up the burns. Not around Bax, Mrs. Tribiony or Marcus, but others, others who don't understand. It's late fall right now anyway so no one questions if I wear long sleeve shirts or jackets all the time, it may grow difficult to hide in the spring and summer.

My feet are soundless as I make my way out of the bedroom and toward the small kitchen. It's as though I have years of practice with moving gracefully and silently through the shadows. Even when I was in a cast I always seemed to have the ability to move quickly and soundlessly when I wanted to. I put the kettle on the stove and pull out my favorite cut and a bag of jasmine tea. Tea always seems to calm my nerves especially after a nightmare. As I wait for my tea I settle on the ground, my legs crossed over each other in a posture that just feels familiar and right. I close my eyes and center my Ki, breathing steadily and letting my apprehension wash away. I had been browsing the library for cooking recipes when I came over a book on meditation. It felt more like refreshing myself to forgotten knowledge rather than learning a skill for the first time. After that I started meditating daily. Bax didn't mind, though he often called me weird and would sometimes throw stuff at me when I was deep in a trace to test my reflexes. Which led to the reveal of my deeply ingrained natural reflexes that surprised at least me. Really?! Baxter just stared back at me with that smug grin that stated that he knew something that I didn't. Served him right when the next day he went to throw an orange at my head while meditating and I caught it with my eyes closed and threw it right back, knocking that smug look and his glasses right off his face. A smirk covers my face at the memory and I work to push this and other thoughts from my mind so I could get to the true heart of the exercise: my dream. This was not the first time these snippets of memory had plagued my sleep. On the contrary, they'd been occurring since the first week out of the hospital. At first it was just the all encapsulated numbing feeling and the fog. But as time went on and the dreams continued I started remembering the fire. The details about the hand and the phone were recently new. But the details had just started to clear about the person on the other end of the phone. This was the first time anyone else besides my brother and I had been present in my dream. Donatello. The name was as familiar as breathing yet at the same time as distant as the stars above. The voice had been so heartbreakingly familiar, and the emotions had felt real and sincere. In the dream I had sincerely wanted and hoped Donetello would answer the call and was disappointed that he didn't. But I'd also felt apprehension and protection as though I feared worrying the other with excessive calls and didn't want to bring him into danger by calling him to the warehouse. My brow furrowed in thought. It was a possibility that this unknown person: Donetello, was a person from my past. A tie to the life I once walked. A deep sense of longing flowed over me. And I fought against the overwhelming wave of emotions. I had a new life now. My brother and I had turned over a new leaf and led a new life. The thought of my unknown past may unsettle me at times, and I can not ignore the ever present longing and feeling that something is missing. But the logical, practical this is to move on. I am alive. My brother is alive. I have my family. I have a new life. I need to focus on what I have not on what I lost. I repeated these words over a few times in my mind concentrating on my breathing until the sound of the whistling kettle pulled me out of my meditation.

Stretching I made my way over to the stove, careful not to burn myself or upset the temperamental oven as I poured the tea. I settled on the worn couch pulling my legs to my chest and resting my cup on my knees letting the soothing smell of the familiar tea soothe my nerves. My eyes drifted down to my hands holding the deep blue cup. My human five fingered hands. I let out a breath. In the dream, I hadn't given much thought to the three fingered green hand that held the shell shaped phone. I had just accepted the hand as my own. In the dream, I had just known I was a turtle. A mutant turtle. And had been fine with that.

….

I didn't know what to think of that. If this dream really was memory, then was I once a mutant? Or was that part symbolic somehow?

Baxter had admitted to spending part of his time as a mutant fly. Mutated by the shredder, maybe I had shared the same fate? That could have been what Baxter was working on in my dream. Retromutagen….

Ugg! It's all so confusing!

I stare down at the liquid in my hands, my thoughts and emotions running rampant within. In my heart of hearts are a few things I hold true. Baxter would argue that I had no proof and non scientific explanation, and maybe that's why I hadn't told my brother about my dreams. I didn't want to explain these things to Bax just to have him disvalue them. I didn't want my scientific protective older brother to ruin this from me. I can't explain it but there are just a few things I just know. One, that my dreams are in fact parts of memory. Albeit scattered memory and definitely not the whole memory, but memory nonetheless. Two: that the hand in the dream was mine. Mutant or not, the green three fingered hand was mine. And the fact that this indicated that I was at some point of all things a mutant turtle did not shock me in the least, was quite revealing. Last but certainly not least was that I knew Donetello. I don't know how I knew him. But I did. The smart upbeat voice at the other end of the phone was someone I cared about and wanted to protect. He was a figure from my past I was close to and trusted. And that knowledge both hurt and comforted me. It was nice to know that I had had friends. No matter what trials I had faced in my past life, Donetello's existence proved that I hadn't done so alone. The emotions I had felt in my dream made me think of Baxter and the brotherly love and devotion I felt for him. I couldn't help but wonder how close I was with Donetello and if I had somehow come to consider this mysterious friend as family as well. These thoughts just as they comforted my soul also caused a great pain and loss. Just as the fire had stolen my memories and past from me, it had also taken away those I could not remember. I had lost them and they had lost me. There was a great possibility that they thought me dead. That thought above all, troubled me to my core.


Peter is extremely vulnerable and lost right now, if it weren't for his brother Baxter he'd probably be in a tailspin. Just to be clear, this dream is taken from a small scene in chapter one. And, yes this is the first memory Peter has had since the fire, and no Baxter does not know.

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