A/N: This chapter is going to be a little... different from the others. Apologies in advance if it's confusing. Just keep in mind that half- conscious people rarely understand what's going on either... that might help.
Cold. Very cold. And dark. Alone. He didn't like being alone. Wind hurt. Hurt his chest. Hard to breathe. Hurt to breathe. Ice in his chest. Ice on his cheek. Cold dirt. Hard dirt. Cold... dark... lonely... hurt.
Ice on his chest. In his chest. Sitting on him. Cold, hard ground sitting on his chest. It hurt. Where was everyone? Cold silence. Alone. Lonely. Ice on his chest. On his head. Couldn't move. So cold...
Someone groaned, and his chest hurt. Hurt like a knife. An ice knife on the inside. So cold. Chest cold. Blood cold. Cold blood. Cold blooded... Wind hurt like a knife. So cold... freezing...
Darkness.
The others were too busy practicing to see or hear Raphael sneaking out of his room. He'd show them. He wasn't sick. Sick of being stuck in his room all day, maybe, but not as weak as they thought.
He didn't know where he was going when he stepped out the front door, or what he would do when he got there, but that didn't matter.
Raph didn't care that out in the sewers, the air was so cold that it pricked his skin in tiny needles. He didn't care that drawing a breath stung his chest, or that coughing hurt him even more. He didn't care that his throat felt raw and dry like sandpaper. That didn't matter now. He just needed to get out of there.
He started to run.
Cold... so... cold... ice... dark... breathe... hurt... ice... pressure... dark...
Voices. Faint and far away. So quiet. Why so far away? They could make him warm. So cold...
Laughter. Cruel laughter. He felt cold. Something poked him. It hurt. Hurt like ice. Groaning burned. The laughter was cruel. Where was everyone? The laughter burned. Burned into his chest like sharp ice. Lonely... cold... hurt... couldn't move... so cold...
So cold...
Gold light swam into his vision. Warm gold light. He smiled. A short, familiar figure was emerging from it. Mikey sat up.
Brown fur, a walking stick and soft, comforting eyes slipped into focus. Michelangelo nearly cried with joy.
"Sensei?" he cried. Splinter nodded, kneeling and wrapping his son into a soft, warm embrace. Mikey all but sobbed into his furry arms as the older rat stroked his head.
"Hush, my son," he whispered. "All will be well. We will find you. Have faith, Michelangelo."
"What're you talking about?" Mikey asked, holding him tighter. "I'm right here."
But something was happening. The furry arms were fading, slipping through his fingers. The harder Michelangelo tried to hold onto them, the more they faded.
"Sensei?" he cried. "Sensei, where are you going?" Panic threatened to overtake him; with it came the cold darkness. "Come ba – " Ice gripped his chest. Sandpaper scratched him raw and the gold light was gone.
Darkness... cold darkness... so cold... icy dirt sat on his chest, pinning him down so hard he couldn't breathe.
Freezing... dark... lonely... so lonely... hurt... silence...
Help me, please...
Cold hurt. So cold... lonely... so... cold...
Darkness.
Every time Raph fell it was harder to get up than it had been the time before. The second time, the coughing fit that overtook him was so deep and so long that he felt sure his lungs would come up at any moment. The third time, his exhausted body was shaking – especially his knees – so violently he had to lean against the wall for almost five minutes before his legs would support him. He had to cough, his chest burned with the need for it, but couldn't produce anything more than a raspy gag.
He half ran – half stumbled up one tunnel and down another, no longer caring where he went. Thinking had long since left him; all he knew now was emotion. Anger. Anger at Master Splinter for keeping him inside. Anger at Leo for being so bossy, anger at Don for being such a know-it-all, anger at Mikey for making him feel the slightest bit guilty about all this...
They had called him weak. And he hated them for it.
It wasn't much longer than ten minutes before Raph collapsed again. Part of him started to worry that his falls were growing more and more frequent, but he pushed that part away. He closed his eyes and let the cold sewer water swirl around his hands and face (his feet had long since gone numb).
So cold...
Raph clambered heavily to his feet, shaking and stumbling and nearly falling again. He tried to breathe in, but the cold air hurt so much... He winced at its icy fierceness. He held onto the wall for support.
So... cold...
But he wouldn't go back. Not now. They'd just yell at him again, and he was old enough not to need their baby's treatment anymore. He was ten. He didn't need them.
Raphael didn't go twenty feet before he fell again.
So... cold... freezing... hurts...
He fought to his feet and kept on.
Ten feet later, he fell again.
This time, he did not get up.
A woman's voice... he knew it... Not April, but he knew it. A hand on his shell. On his face. A warm hand. He wanted warm. So cold...
She was saying his name. He tried to respond, but he couldn't move. The ice wouldn't let him. So cold... hard to breathe. Hurt.
The hand left. Mikey would've cried if he could have. So cold... and lonely...
Come back.
The ice was squeezing him now. Dirt was squeezing his chest like a vice. Hurt to breathe. So sore... so sore and so cold...
Something warm on his shoulders. Warm. Mikey embraced the warmth.
"Hang in there, kiddo... hang in there... out of here... trap..." Voice far away. Yelling. It hurt. Hand on his head again. Warm. He wanted warm. So cold...
"You'll get out of here," the voice whispered in his ear. "That's a promise. I'm going to get you out of here. Just hold on."
The hand was gone. The voice was gone. Silence... darkness... the warm thing was on his shoulders... Where did she go? Alone. Hurt.
More voices. Not her. Familiar. Soft.
"Mikey..."
He clung to them. He knew those sounds. He wanted to smile. To cry. But the icy ground was too strong. Fingers on his face. Warm fingers.
"Leo... Raph... freezing..."
"Mikey..."
Strong arms grasped his shoulders and feet, lifting him into the air. The warm thing... where did the warm thing go? Cold air. Cold wind. Hurt. Chest in air. On icy air. Hurt. Cold...
Turning. Dizzy. Turning... darkness... air so cold... hurt... falling... Ground gone. Wind on chest. Hurt. Cold. No more dirt. Wind like ice on his chest. In his face. Neck hurt. Icy ground on his shell, on his head. Hard to...
Breathe. In. Out. In... out... The air didn't sit so hard on his chest. The warm thing was back. It felt good.
Somewhere miles away, Mikey felt his face twitch. Heard himself groan. Lots of air. Cold air. It sliced up his lungs, but the dirt was on his shell. The warm thing felt good.
The voices were quiet again. Far away... He wanted to call them. He wanted them back. So lonely... Wanted it desperatelly... But it hurt so much... lonely...
More voices. The cold, cruel ones. Mikey hurt. Silence. Lonely, dark silence. All he had was the warm thing.
My legs... so cold... where are my legs?
Sore... knives... burn... breathe... in...
Clang.
A sharp noise. It hurt. The sound hurt him, the ground buzzed and it hurt more. He felt it in his shell, in his head. His face moved. His voice made a noise and it seared him like fire.
Lonely... hurt... dark... he hated being alone.
Another clang. Farther away, but it hurt. Hurt his chest. He wanted to cough... but it hurt... and he was so cold... so tired...
Yelling... far away... voices... noise... where did his brothers go? Silence... more yelling... so loud... so far... it hurt... the darkness was fuzzy again. The warm thing sliding off his chest. He tried to move, to pull it back where it could warm him, but he couldn't. Too tired... too cold... so very cold... so very tired...
Where was everybody?
Lots of voices now. Shouting. Clashing. Clashes by his head, over him. His face twitched again. They left. It hurt. Lonely... cold... so very cold...
A yell, a crash by his head. It hurt. Noise hurt his head. Hurt his chest. He wanted to cough. But it hurt. So sore...
A voice. Mikey smiled. He knew that voice.
"Hey," it said, "hands off my brother."
Mikey's face twitched. He clung to that voice, he needed it. The darkness was so fuzzy, so cold... he wanted to sleep... but he wanted that voice more. He was scared of sleeping. The voice could help him get warm. So cold...
He could hear movement. Slow, gentle movement. Fingers brushed his forehead, put the warm thing back on. A steady, three-fingered hand touched his chest lightly. It didn't hurt.
Mikey groaned. It burned like sandpaper. He wrenched his eyes open.
Fuzzy... darkness... blurry darkness. Shapes and colors shifted and swam in front of his eyes. A patch of green... darkness... figures behind him... so many... moving... so fuzzy... a strip of purple... two strips of purple, dancing this way and that. Mikey clung to them.
The figure stroked Mikey's cold forehead. He wanted to cry again. The fingers were warm, comforting...
Donnie...
"Hang in there, Mikey," his brother whispered. "We'll get you out of here, okay? We have to get you warm."
Warm. Yes. Warm was good. So cold... Mikey groaned. He tried to cough, but couldn't. So tired...
"Hold on, Mikey," said Donatello. His face with it's gentle, comforting expression was beginning to slide into focus. It hurt so much. "Save your strength. Don't breathe too deeply, okay? Just breathe normally. Not too deep, not too shallow. As if you were going to sleep." Mikey would have nodded if he could have. But moving hurt so much...
"I wish I had a blanket or something for you," Don whispered. Clashes and yells behind him threatened to drown out his voice. He rubbed Mikey's arms, trying to put warmth back in them. It helped. A little. Mikey closed his eyes.
"Hey, hey," whispered Don a little louder, "Stay with me, Mikey. You have to hold on just a little longer. Stay with me. Come on, Mikey. Don't go to sleep on me yet."
Mikey groaned. So tired... so cold and so very tired...
"I know it hurts. You must be exhausted. But you need to stay with me. Just a little bit longer, and we'll have you out of here, okay? Mikey?"
Another movement. Another voice. Another presence.
"Is he..." April. Mikey shifted. It hurt. He wanted to sleep.
"He's awake, but barely."
"Don... they need you... I'll stay..."
"don't let... sleep... Mikey..."
"...careful... try..."
"...him awake..."
"Mikey," whispered April. Donnie was gone. Her hand was softer, warmer, more frail. "Mikey. Michelangelo." Mikey tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn't. So very tired...
Someone took his hand.
"I know it's hard," she whispered. "You must be freezing. Here," another warm thing. It felt good. "Hang on, Mikey. Be strong. I'm right here. Stay with me, okay? Just hang on."
Mikey tried, he really tried. But he was so very tired. And the fuzzy darkness was back. It still hurt... sandpaper scouring him like fire... icy fire... so cold... so tired...
"Mikey? Michelangelo!"
So... very... tired... so... cold... darkness...
Darkness... voices... clangs... shouts... fighting... far away... cold... hurt... darkness...
Movement... fire... ice... hurt... strong arms... moving... warm things gone... bitter cold... so cold... so tired... hurt... freezing...
"I gotcha, Mikey," said a voice he could barely hear. "Hang in there, I gotcha..."
Moving... flying... scared... hurt... strong arms... dark... hurt... so cold... air... freezing... dark...
Down. Stop moving. Hurt. Soft. Someone groaned... it hurt... fire... so cold...
Warmth. Blankets... thick, warm blankets... he wanted to cry... warm... so very nice and warm... voices... hands...
"There ya go, Mikey," said the same voice. Raph. Mikey almost smiled. "You're okay now. We gotcha outa there."
"Michelanglo, my son," said another voice as a furry hand brushed his forehead.
"Mikey... good..."
"Okay... Mikey..."
"Mikey..."
So many voices... it hurt... tired...
"Hush," said Splinter's voice. "Do not crowd him... Dr Cartagan... room..."
Another warm hand. Mikey wrenched his eyes open again. Four faces, no, two faces, no... many faces... so fuzzy... danced and swam in front of him. Some were pale; they stroked his forehead... many hands... warm...
"Do you remember me?" they whispered. They had a funny echo, like they couldn't speak all at once... it hurt. Mikey tried to groan, but couldn't. Hurt so much... so hard to breathe... so tired...
"Michelangelo," whispered the other faces. They were brown. "You are safe, now, my son... going... all right... relax... Doctor ..." the voice was growing fuzzier and fuzzier. He tried to hold onto it, but it was hard. So hard. Tired... so very tired... so hard to breathe...
His eyes closed. Stone held them down... tried to open... tried to speak... move... couldn't... so tired...
Movement. They were all moving. Somewhere miles away, a rumble. Mikey fought to stay awake.
Hurt to breathe... hard...
"hang in there..."
So... very... tired...
Darkness.
Cold. Very cold. And dark. Alone. He didn't like being alone. Wind hurt. Hurt his chest. Hard to breathe. Hurt to breathe. Ice in his chest. Ice on his cheek. Cold dirt. Hard dirt. Cold... dark... lonely... hurt.
Ice on his chest. In his chest. Sitting on him. Cold, hard ground sitting on his chest. It hurt. Where was everyone? Cold silence. Alone. Lonely. Ice on his chest. On his head. Couldn't move. So cold...
Someone groaned, and his chest hurt. Hurt like a knife. An ice knife on the inside. So cold. Chest cold. Blood cold. Cold blood. Cold blooded... Wind hurt like a knife. So cold... freezing...
Darkness.
The others were too busy practicing to see or hear Raphael sneaking out of his room. He'd show them. He wasn't sick. Sick of being stuck in his room all day, maybe, but not as weak as they thought.
He didn't know where he was going when he stepped out the front door, or what he would do when he got there, but that didn't matter.
Raph didn't care that out in the sewers, the air was so cold that it pricked his skin in tiny needles. He didn't care that drawing a breath stung his chest, or that coughing hurt him even more. He didn't care that his throat felt raw and dry like sandpaper. That didn't matter now. He just needed to get out of there.
He started to run.
Cold... so... cold... ice... dark... breathe... hurt... ice... pressure... dark...
Voices. Faint and far away. So quiet. Why so far away? They could make him warm. So cold...
Laughter. Cruel laughter. He felt cold. Something poked him. It hurt. Hurt like ice. Groaning burned. The laughter was cruel. Where was everyone? The laughter burned. Burned into his chest like sharp ice. Lonely... cold... hurt... couldn't move... so cold...
So cold...
Gold light swam into his vision. Warm gold light. He smiled. A short, familiar figure was emerging from it. Mikey sat up.
Brown fur, a walking stick and soft, comforting eyes slipped into focus. Michelangelo nearly cried with joy.
"Sensei?" he cried. Splinter nodded, kneeling and wrapping his son into a soft, warm embrace. Mikey all but sobbed into his furry arms as the older rat stroked his head.
"Hush, my son," he whispered. "All will be well. We will find you. Have faith, Michelangelo."
"What're you talking about?" Mikey asked, holding him tighter. "I'm right here."
But something was happening. The furry arms were fading, slipping through his fingers. The harder Michelangelo tried to hold onto them, the more they faded.
"Sensei?" he cried. "Sensei, where are you going?" Panic threatened to overtake him; with it came the cold darkness. "Come ba – " Ice gripped his chest. Sandpaper scratched him raw and the gold light was gone.
Darkness... cold darkness... so cold... icy dirt sat on his chest, pinning him down so hard he couldn't breathe.
Freezing... dark... lonely... so lonely... hurt... silence...
Help me, please...
Cold hurt. So cold... lonely... so... cold...
Darkness.
Every time Raph fell it was harder to get up than it had been the time before. The second time, the coughing fit that overtook him was so deep and so long that he felt sure his lungs would come up at any moment. The third time, his exhausted body was shaking – especially his knees – so violently he had to lean against the wall for almost five minutes before his legs would support him. He had to cough, his chest burned with the need for it, but couldn't produce anything more than a raspy gag.
He half ran – half stumbled up one tunnel and down another, no longer caring where he went. Thinking had long since left him; all he knew now was emotion. Anger. Anger at Master Splinter for keeping him inside. Anger at Leo for being so bossy, anger at Don for being such a know-it-all, anger at Mikey for making him feel the slightest bit guilty about all this...
They had called him weak. And he hated them for it.
It wasn't much longer than ten minutes before Raph collapsed again. Part of him started to worry that his falls were growing more and more frequent, but he pushed that part away. He closed his eyes and let the cold sewer water swirl around his hands and face (his feet had long since gone numb).
So cold...
Raph clambered heavily to his feet, shaking and stumbling and nearly falling again. He tried to breathe in, but the cold air hurt so much... He winced at its icy fierceness. He held onto the wall for support.
So... cold...
But he wouldn't go back. Not now. They'd just yell at him again, and he was old enough not to need their baby's treatment anymore. He was ten. He didn't need them.
Raphael didn't go twenty feet before he fell again.
So... cold... freezing... hurts...
He fought to his feet and kept on.
Ten feet later, he fell again.
This time, he did not get up.
A woman's voice... he knew it... Not April, but he knew it. A hand on his shell. On his face. A warm hand. He wanted warm. So cold...
She was saying his name. He tried to respond, but he couldn't move. The ice wouldn't let him. So cold... hard to breathe. Hurt.
The hand left. Mikey would've cried if he could have. So cold... and lonely...
Come back.
The ice was squeezing him now. Dirt was squeezing his chest like a vice. Hurt to breathe. So sore... so sore and so cold...
Something warm on his shoulders. Warm. Mikey embraced the warmth.
"Hang in there, kiddo... hang in there... out of here... trap..." Voice far away. Yelling. It hurt. Hand on his head again. Warm. He wanted warm. So cold...
"You'll get out of here," the voice whispered in his ear. "That's a promise. I'm going to get you out of here. Just hold on."
The hand was gone. The voice was gone. Silence... darkness... the warm thing was on his shoulders... Where did she go? Alone. Hurt.
More voices. Not her. Familiar. Soft.
"Mikey..."
He clung to them. He knew those sounds. He wanted to smile. To cry. But the icy ground was too strong. Fingers on his face. Warm fingers.
"Leo... Raph... freezing..."
"Mikey..."
Strong arms grasped his shoulders and feet, lifting him into the air. The warm thing... where did the warm thing go? Cold air. Cold wind. Hurt. Chest in air. On icy air. Hurt. Cold...
Turning. Dizzy. Turning... darkness... air so cold... hurt... falling... Ground gone. Wind on chest. Hurt. Cold. No more dirt. Wind like ice on his chest. In his face. Neck hurt. Icy ground on his shell, on his head. Hard to...
Breathe. In. Out. In... out... The air didn't sit so hard on his chest. The warm thing was back. It felt good.
Somewhere miles away, Mikey felt his face twitch. Heard himself groan. Lots of air. Cold air. It sliced up his lungs, but the dirt was on his shell. The warm thing felt good.
The voices were quiet again. Far away... He wanted to call them. He wanted them back. So lonely... Wanted it desperatelly... But it hurt so much... lonely...
More voices. The cold, cruel ones. Mikey hurt. Silence. Lonely, dark silence. All he had was the warm thing.
My legs... so cold... where are my legs?
Sore... knives... burn... breathe... in...
Clang.
A sharp noise. It hurt. The sound hurt him, the ground buzzed and it hurt more. He felt it in his shell, in his head. His face moved. His voice made a noise and it seared him like fire.
Lonely... hurt... dark... he hated being alone.
Another clang. Farther away, but it hurt. Hurt his chest. He wanted to cough... but it hurt... and he was so cold... so tired...
Yelling... far away... voices... noise... where did his brothers go? Silence... more yelling... so loud... so far... it hurt... the darkness was fuzzy again. The warm thing sliding off his chest. He tried to move, to pull it back where it could warm him, but he couldn't. Too tired... too cold... so very cold... so very tired...
Where was everybody?
Lots of voices now. Shouting. Clashing. Clashes by his head, over him. His face twitched again. They left. It hurt. Lonely... cold... so very cold...
A yell, a crash by his head. It hurt. Noise hurt his head. Hurt his chest. He wanted to cough. But it hurt. So sore...
A voice. Mikey smiled. He knew that voice.
"Hey," it said, "hands off my brother."
Mikey's face twitched. He clung to that voice, he needed it. The darkness was so fuzzy, so cold... he wanted to sleep... but he wanted that voice more. He was scared of sleeping. The voice could help him get warm. So cold...
He could hear movement. Slow, gentle movement. Fingers brushed his forehead, put the warm thing back on. A steady, three-fingered hand touched his chest lightly. It didn't hurt.
Mikey groaned. It burned like sandpaper. He wrenched his eyes open.
Fuzzy... darkness... blurry darkness. Shapes and colors shifted and swam in front of his eyes. A patch of green... darkness... figures behind him... so many... moving... so fuzzy... a strip of purple... two strips of purple, dancing this way and that. Mikey clung to them.
The figure stroked Mikey's cold forehead. He wanted to cry again. The fingers were warm, comforting...
Donnie...
"Hang in there, Mikey," his brother whispered. "We'll get you out of here, okay? We have to get you warm."
Warm. Yes. Warm was good. So cold... Mikey groaned. He tried to cough, but couldn't. So tired...
"Hold on, Mikey," said Donatello. His face with it's gentle, comforting expression was beginning to slide into focus. It hurt so much. "Save your strength. Don't breathe too deeply, okay? Just breathe normally. Not too deep, not too shallow. As if you were going to sleep." Mikey would have nodded if he could have. But moving hurt so much...
"I wish I had a blanket or something for you," Don whispered. Clashes and yells behind him threatened to drown out his voice. He rubbed Mikey's arms, trying to put warmth back in them. It helped. A little. Mikey closed his eyes.
"Hey, hey," whispered Don a little louder, "Stay with me, Mikey. You have to hold on just a little longer. Stay with me. Come on, Mikey. Don't go to sleep on me yet."
Mikey groaned. So tired... so cold and so very tired...
"I know it hurts. You must be exhausted. But you need to stay with me. Just a little bit longer, and we'll have you out of here, okay? Mikey?"
Another movement. Another voice. Another presence.
"Is he..." April. Mikey shifted. It hurt. He wanted to sleep.
"He's awake, but barely."
"Don... they need you... I'll stay..."
"don't let... sleep... Mikey..."
"...careful... try..."
"...him awake..."
"Mikey," whispered April. Donnie was gone. Her hand was softer, warmer, more frail. "Mikey. Michelangelo." Mikey tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn't. So very tired...
Someone took his hand.
"I know it's hard," she whispered. "You must be freezing. Here," another warm thing. It felt good. "Hang on, Mikey. Be strong. I'm right here. Stay with me, okay? Just hang on."
Mikey tried, he really tried. But he was so very tired. And the fuzzy darkness was back. It still hurt... sandpaper scouring him like fire... icy fire... so cold... so tired...
"Mikey? Michelangelo!"
So... very... tired... so... cold... darkness...
Darkness... voices... clangs... shouts... fighting... far away... cold... hurt... darkness...
Movement... fire... ice... hurt... strong arms... moving... warm things gone... bitter cold... so cold... so tired... hurt... freezing...
"I gotcha, Mikey," said a voice he could barely hear. "Hang in there, I gotcha..."
Moving... flying... scared... hurt... strong arms... dark... hurt... so cold... air... freezing... dark...
Down. Stop moving. Hurt. Soft. Someone groaned... it hurt... fire... so cold...
Warmth. Blankets... thick, warm blankets... he wanted to cry... warm... so very nice and warm... voices... hands...
"There ya go, Mikey," said the same voice. Raph. Mikey almost smiled. "You're okay now. We gotcha outa there."
"Michelanglo, my son," said another voice as a furry hand brushed his forehead.
"Mikey... good..."
"Okay... Mikey..."
"Mikey..."
So many voices... it hurt... tired...
"Hush," said Splinter's voice. "Do not crowd him... Dr Cartagan... room..."
Another warm hand. Mikey wrenched his eyes open again. Four faces, no, two faces, no... many faces... so fuzzy... danced and swam in front of him. Some were pale; they stroked his forehead... many hands... warm...
"Do you remember me?" they whispered. They had a funny echo, like they couldn't speak all at once... it hurt. Mikey tried to groan, but couldn't. Hurt so much... so hard to breathe... so tired...
"Michelangelo," whispered the other faces. They were brown. "You are safe, now, my son... going... all right... relax... Doctor ..." the voice was growing fuzzier and fuzzier. He tried to hold onto it, but it was hard. So hard. Tired... so very tired... so hard to breathe...
His eyes closed. Stone held them down... tried to open... tried to speak... move... couldn't... so tired...
Movement. They were all moving. Somewhere miles away, a rumble. Mikey fought to stay awake.
Hurt to breathe... hard...
"hang in there..."
So... very... tired...
Darkness.