Hanami – Chapter 5
Michelangelo had never seen anything so heartbreaking in his entire life. He lifted the body from the box. The limbs did not or could not relax. He sat the child in the bathtub and tried to make it sit up. The turtle's fetal pose resisted his efforts, but Raphael helped him to prop one of the little one's elbows on the side of the tub, while Splinter held it in place. Splinter assumed a far-off look as he mentally probed their patient. Mike took a washcloth and ran water over the top of its head and down its neck toward its shell, following some light green stripe markings that flowed down and disappeared under its shell near the shoulder blades. He discovered an impressive wound right along the seam of its shell just below the shoulder joint. It was only about 3" long but from the way the skin had swollen around it all the way down the turtle's side, it must be either very deep or had been infected well before the humans crammed the little one into the box.
At first Mike had been scared, horrified at the thought of touching the living-dead body in the box. Nightmares. He was gonna have nightmares about this. Hell, he was wide-awake right now and it was all too easy to imagine one of his brother's faces on that horribly emaciated body. "Michelangelo?"
"Mike?" Raphael and Splinter were staring at him. He cleared his throat.
"I'm fine."
He shook it off, determined not to be weak. His fears ebbed with each rinse of the washcloth, but now fury had sprung up in fear's place. No one should be allowed to do this to anyone, let alone a kid! He scrubbed at the shell gently, checking for cracks in the carapace. The body rocked slightly with his efforts. He grabbed a shoulder to support it, and was startled when Splinter murmured, "Michelangelo, look!" The child's sunken eyes were open, the skin around them tight with pain and fear.
Michelangelo panicked, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry -- god, so sorry! You're safe now! Please it's ok, really! You're among friends! No humans!" The lack of response was eerie and only served to increase the verbal flow from Michelangelo's beak. "Please, I'm Mike and that's Raph and that's Master Splinter, and we'd never hurt you…" Splinter laid a hand on Michelangelo's shoulder.
"Hush my son." The muscles weren't relaxing. It was then that Michelangelo realized that the poor kid couldn't relax, five days holding one position had cramped the knotted joints into place. Splinter calmly took the washcloth from Michelangelo's hands, rinsed it clean and gently finished bathing their patient. "Michelangelo, get a large towel, Raphael and I will pass the child to you."
"Take him downstairs and give him small amounts of water. Have towels handy, his stomach will rebel if given too much too soon. Lay him on a mattress. Start the fire and speak quietly. Soothe him. See if you can massage some flexibility back into his limbs."
"Right sensei." With new purpose and infinite care, Michelangelo carried his precious bundle downstairs.
The lights flickered, but came back. Splinter, seated on a small stool by the tub, listened to the creaking and snapping of the trees as the wind raged over them. There would be broken limbs in the morning.