Raphael opened his eyes. "Why are you upside down?" was the first thing he thought to ask. "Oh...wait, am I upside down?" He could feel a rope around his ankles.

"Yes." Shredder was unbuckling one of his shoulder guards. "If you want to keep somebody conscious while you're t-... Uh, I mean while they're bleeding heavily, you hang them upside down."

Raphael tried to think. "Yeah, blood to the brain and all that, I get it. Where am I?"

"Outside the Technodrome. I put a hole in the wall, lowered you by a rope, and then climbed down."

"You climbed down? But I thought-"

Shredder cut him off. "I didn't say I climbed down easily or I climbed down joyously..." Raphael skill looked politely skeptical, so Shredder got defensive. "Look, I don't go to pieces every time. What happened earlier was because I was taken by surprise and I was in danger and I even looked down. But it's usually not so bad - I can be in high places if I need to be. I climb things all the time."

That was true. At the idea that Shredder had voluntarily rappelled down the side of the Technodrome despite a serious fear of heights, Raphael felt a warming tendril of hero-worship returning.

"I'm going to cut you down now. Cover your head." Shredder threw his shoulder guard to sever the rope. Raphael pulled his head inside his shell as he crashed to the ground. He heard Shredder ordering him to stand up, and ignored it. It was comfortable enough. He could sleep here.

Shredder kicked at the turtle softly and determined that he was definitely out again. Well, in that case, there was nothing to do but carry him. He had to struggle a bit to get Raphael across his shoulders with only one hand, but he managed.

Raphael was surprisingly light, and Shredder tried hard to avoid gruesome thoughts about why that might be the case. He was also ice-cold, but Shredder reminded himself that turtles were supposed to be cold. He set off the way they had come.

It was dark and cold and a long way, because Leonardo had insisted that they take a winding route to keep Shredder from finding the lair easily again later. Luckily, tracking turtles had always been a favorite pastime of Shredder's, and he was able to correctly identify which scuff marks on the dirty walls were made by shells. Sometimes it was dark, and he had to go by smell: the lingering odor of blood and pizza in some places, and in others the simple fact that this particular place smelled so bad that there was no way he could have passed this way before and not remembered it.

The whole time, there was not a sign of life from Raphael. Just as he was beginning to consider the possibility that the turtle's infinite luck had finally run out, though, he passed some graffiti that was definitely familiar. He was almost there.

When he reached the door to the lair, he immediately began to shout and bang his head against it. He didn't have a free hand to knock, and didn't really trust himself to stand on one foot to kick. The door was opened within seconds, and Shredder dumped Raphael into the first pair of arms he came across. Please, not Michelangelo, he thought.

"Dude!" It was Michelangelo, and he dropped Raphael into a heap onto the floor. The other turtles swarmed around him and Donatello reached for his neck to look for a pulse.

Shredder found himself furiously angry that they did not work some immediate magic that would bring Raphael to his feet. "Well?" he demanded. "Do something. Is he alive?"

Donatello didn't want to waste time. "Where's he hurt?"

"Everywhere. Cuts, he got knocked out a few times, a sai through the shoulder..."

"None of the weapons were poisoned? What you see is what you get?"

"Right."

The turtles were so worried about their brother that nobody bothered to tell Shredder he wasn't looking so good himself. And they didn't really care when he passed out, too.

Leonardo stared down at the bathtub. "Is he going to be all right? He's been in a hibernation coma before..."

Donatello hesitated. "Ordinarily I'd say sure he'll pull through - he's Raph. But this time I honestly don't know. It's been two hours and he's not waking up at all."

"What can we do for him?" Leonardo has his voice under tight control.

"Nothing. Splinter and I closed all the cuts, and the transfusion from Michelangelo should help. He's in a warm bath. There's not much else we can do but wait."

"Dude, I hate to bring this up - and I am not offering another blood donation," Michelangelo added quickly, "...but don't you think you should take a look at Shredder? He's still snoozing in the doorway."

Leonardo suggested that, as Shredder was still breathing and bleeding, they should push him outside into the sewer so he wouldn't die in the house.

Splinter did not look happy with the suggestion. He ordered Leonardo to stay with Raphael, and went with Donatello to see what was going on.

Donatello hated to distract Splinter while he was sewing, but he had to point out: "Sensei, those cuts...those were his own blades."

Splinter had noticed already. What was odd was that Shredder had slashed up himself and his partner deliberately - these did not at all resemble accidental little scratches you might inflict on yourself in the heat of battle. And Raphael had had a sai through his shoulder...his own sai? "There is no point in guessing what happened until one of them wakes up," Splinter answered without taking his eyes from his work.

"Not to be pessimistic, but my money's on Shredder," Donatello said.

Right on cue, Shredder's eyes flew open. "Bad timing, dude," laughed Michelangelo, watching the needle.

"Yeah, there's a lot more stitches to go," Donatello agreed. "Can we give him anything?"

"Our tranquilizers came from a pet store, dude, so that's probably, like, not okay. But check this out! I can go topside, there's a dentist right around the corner and I can pick up some nitrous oxide. Laughing gas, dude! But more important, he's been walking around in a sewer and it's not exactly strerile down here. Lucky I have some penicillin, a full course of it actually. That's a human antibiotic." Even Splinter looked up, eyebrows raised. Michelangelo continued, "And if we're worried about fever - duh - all we have is Tylenol, but it's the radical kind the hospital gives out. So even if that happens I think we're okay."

Donatello's jaw dropped. "Mikey?"

"What?" asked Michelangelo, "You think we should give him the Tylenol now?"

As soon as Shredder was up and about and had time to rehearse his story, he told the turtles what had happened. His narrative was liberally sprinkled with phrases like "And because you all left us...fought these things alone...outnumbered...no plan in case of emergency...by ourselves..."

No one argued with his version of events. Yes, he had failed to explain why exactly he'd cut his partner badly enough to kill him, but on the other hand, he had brought Raphael home and was now showing at least as much concern for him as for himself.

His only question about his own condition was, "Will this heal eventually?" ("You might lose a little range of motion-" Donatello said cautiously, and Michelangelo added: "But you'll have wicked scars, dude!") And after that he insisted on planting himself in the bathroom next to the tub to wait for Raphael wake up.

After hours of sitting in silence, Splinter decided to clear the room. "It's late. I will stay here by Raphael, and the rest of you need to get some rest."

The turtles stood up obediently but Shredder refused. "You sleep," he argued. "I want to stay."

Splinter considered. "We will take turns," he said finally. "You can go first if you wish. Wake me up in one hour."

Shredder, of course, had no intention of sharing the watch with anyone, but at three AM he finally admitted to himself that he needed a nap. He knelt down on the cold floor, crossed his arms on the rim of the tub, and fell asleep with his bandages as a pillow.

TBC. Last chapter (I think) coming up soon.