Disclaimer: How many times do I have to say it... I don't own the teenage mutant ninja turtles. This story is for non-profit. I have no money!

The Greatest Gifts

Chapter 7: Relentless

Michaelangelo felt like a fifth wheel. He was as useful as a squeaking... wobbling... and cracked fifth wheel. He was just as annoying, too. He felt as though he was getting in everyone's way, and he could tell that his incessant chat was a vexing distraction, yet he was helpless to stop himself. It was a frustrating predicament. He probably needed a good slap to knock him out of his babbling stupor, but everyone was far too busy to provide him with the sobering smack he required. Michaelangelo wasn't even sure what he was rambling on about, nor how long he had been standing there awkwardly while the rest of his family was productive. All he could manage was to sputter the occasional random sentence, while he watched everyone with awe-filled eyes, and his heart quickly beat its terrified rhythm.

Donatello was finished sewing-up and bandaging Raphael's wounds, and was currently foraging for medical supplies and medicines that might prove useful. He had performed spectacularly tonight, and Mikey wondered if Donnie realised what a talented surgeon he had become. His self-taught genius was nothing short than miraculous.

Master Splinter was cleaning and dressing Leonardo's bleeding wounds, now that Raphael's more pressing injuries had been dealt with properly. Mikey embraced the sight of father. The mere sight of the sensei's flickering whiskers as he concentrated filled Mikey's heart with a fullness that he so desperately sought this evening. It easily combated the relentless feelings of hopelessness and helplessness. Mikey couldn't imagine his life without Splinter... He didn't want to imagine. He refused to. Expelling such thoughts from his mind, he let his gaze drift away from his father's hunched-over figure.

Leonardo only had eyes for their unconscious brother, as he whispered words that could be heard by no one, with the possible exception of Raphael... Even though his sensei was working on his arm, Leonardo was oblivious to the rodent's efforts, as he absorbed himself in patting Raphael's clammy brow with a cloth. He always became so protective of Raph when he was injured...

Everyone's movements were so filled with purpose, and their usefulness almost made Michaelangelo feel almost envious. Michaelangelo wished Donatello still needed his help, and that he hadn't stopped delegating orders for everyone to follow. He had been fine when someone else had dictated his actions, feeling like he was making a valuable contribution. It had given tremendous relief from the foreboding prognostic that was haunting his mind.

Now that Donnie was no longer telling him what to do, Mikey didn't know what to do with himself. Every time he heard that cursed heart monitor bleep irregularly, so disturbing to the ears like a tap dancer without any sense of rhythm, Mikey blurted out random sentences in an effort to overpower it. Finally, a fed-up Donatello twirled around quickly in his spot, his body movements etched with irritation. He managed to hide his annoyance well from his facial expression, staring at Mikey as he would a mystery or phenomenon. Judging from Donnie's face, the enigma that was Michaelangelo was insolvable.

Before Donatello even opened his mouth, Mikey knew what his brother was going to say. He was getting kicked out of the medical lab. "Mikey," Donatello said in an exhausted tone, while a strange wrinkle appeared on his brow, almost as if he was concerned, "you need to go sit down in the kitchen, and put ice on your swollen ankle. You need do that right now."

Mikey wasn't offended that Donatello was booting him out of the room. In fact, he was rather relieved. Sure, Donatello wasn't blatantly kicking him out, he was only strongly suggesting that Michaelangelo visit the kitchen... but Mikey wasn't stupid. He knew he had been officially kicked out of the medical lab.

Without a second though, Michaelangelo silently stole out of the room and wandered into their cheerfully-painted kitchen. Away from that cruel heart monitor which seemed to delight in broadcasting Raphael's frail condition. He never did like that heart monitor much, anyway, it always seemed quite arrogant and inconsiderate of other people's feelings...

Mikey's thoughts remained with his wounded brother. He opened the freezer to grab some ice for himself... and reached for the banana-fudge ice cream instead. Then he opened the fridge, and removed the leftover pizza. And the strawberry cheesecake. And the chocolate milk. And a jar of pickles. In times like these, most people lost their appetites, allowing stress to bore into them with scorching nausea. Not Mikey. No, times like these left him feeling famished, giving him irresistible urges to pillage the fridge, freezer and cupboards. Some said Mikey was obsessed with food... but he was just a normal teenager with a normal healthy appetite.

Okay, perhaps Mikey was obsessed with food. It was his good friend, always helping him take his mind off his worries.

As an afterthought, Michaelangelo finally grabbed a small bag of ice from the freezer. Only after depositing his precious snacks onto the kitchen table, of course. He limped to the nearest chair, and flopped down with a weary sigh. He sluggishly brought his hurt foot onto an adjacent stool, then carelessly dropped the ice pack onto his ankle... Big mistake. The impact jolted his pain, which soared up his leg with such fiery fervor that the shocked turtle nearly fell out of his chair. He let out a high-pitched girlish squeal. He would have been embarrassed, if his mind hadn't been far too occupied. Or if his ankle hadn't been throbbing in startling agony. Or if Mikey hadn't already screamed like a girl so many times, that his brothers were tired of mocking him.

Slowly the pain dissipated, leaving Michaelangelo with his stupidity. Feeling very much like an idiot, he started to help himself to the icy tub of banana-fudge ecstasy sitting in front of him. The sultry chocolate and smooth fruit flavour almost offered him a blissful escape from the stresses of the present. Almost.

Mikey didn't hear the soft patter of his sensei's feet and walking stick until Splinter was practically breathing down his neck. Looking up with a generous spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, he gave his father his largest puppy-eyed and innocent expression, letting the utensil hang immobile from his mouth. Splinter sighed, muttered something about "kids", then turned to the cupboard that held his abundant supply of herbs and teas.

"Michaelangelo..." he began patiently, then paused as he turned around to face the eating turtle with a kind face. "My son," he continued gently, "please aid me with the preparation of these herbs..."

The gorging turtle glanced down at his injured foot, then looked up incredulously at his sensei, his expressive eyes hurt that his father would make him do anything with a gimp leg. The wise rodent nearly smiled in amusement, then raised his hands to bring attention to the items he held. A marbled stone mortar and pestle sat regally in one of Splinter's furry hands, beautifully toned in swirling black and radiant pearl. Splinter's other hand held a bag of exotic seeds, quite ugly and odd in comparison. In fact, it took a moment for the young turtle to realise that they were in fact seed. The rusty-coloured seeds were irregular in shape, completely unsymmetrical with jutting angles that lacked any form or pattern. Michaelangelo had done a double take; for a moment, he had thought he was looking at a bag of badly-formed and horribly stained teeth.

Michaelangelo grudgingly pushed his mountainous collection of snacks aside and cleared a bit of room on the table. Naturally, he kept the food well within his grasp. The turtle voiced no complaint; despite his body language, he was actually eager to help out, especially if Splinter's herbal remedies would aid in Raph's recovery.

Mikey worked hard to crush those weird seeds, whose name he was unable to retain. As soon as Splinter had uttered the word kampo, the turtle's ears had immediately initiated defensive protocols, enabling him to ignore serious and educational lectures. Kampo was some sort of Japanese herbal remedy... thingy... Mikey wasn't sure, nor did he care. As much as he respected his sensei, he simply didn't understand any of these herbal lessons. They only herbs he cared about were the ones that flavoured his food.

And so Mikey worked hard with the mortar and pestle, nodding occasionally as he pretended to listen to Splinter. He worked hard and adopted the pose of an attentive son... until he watched in horror as pepperoni smudged with solidified cheese slipped off his cold pizza, and landed onto the crushed seeds. Mikey's throat released a strangled cry, and his eyes slowly raised themselves to look up at his sensei, who's lecture had stopped abruptly. Although Mikey felt incredibly guilty, and he was internally cringing with dread, his body was outwardly betraying him, as it often did. He was the only one of his brothers who couldn't keep a smile off his face when he was accused of lying, even if he was innocently telling the truth. He couldn't help it, for some reason, his body would deal with the stress of getting in trouble... by smiling.

Michaelangelo did his best to wipe that horrible grin off his face, as the corners of his mouth twitched uncontrollably with involuntary reflex. Mind over matter! Mind over matter! he repeated desperately in his thoughts, and he bit the insides of his cheeks until his teeth came close to breaking skin. It was all to no avail. A goofy grin sneaked onto his facial features, though his bashful eyes were wide with guilt. He opened his mouth and tried to apologise, but the stern aura radiating from his sensei burned away his words before they could spill from his mouth. His jaw hung open, no sound escaping, his lips unmoving. He felt himself grow smaller under his father's silent disappointment, which plunged itself into his guilt-ridden mind more effectively then any lecture or punishment. After an incredibly awkward moment, Michaelangelo finally found the willpower to move his tongue and lips. He started to form the words of an eloquent apology, one of many that he had rehearsed in front of his mirror, a powerful arsenal that he saved for times like these... Yet, no sooner had his lips formed the first word of his recital, did Splinter's piercing eyes grind into him with fierce intensity. Instead of regurgitating his carefully composed words, Mikey uttered in a very sheepish voice, "... Oops."

Perhaps it was the conditioned fear of getting whacked by Splinter's walking stick that inspired such dread in Michaelangelo, that he forgot the urgent overtones of tonight's disastor. Had he really expected Splinter to strike him down with vengeance, while his brother lay dying in the medical lab? Yes. Michaelangelo really had been expecting such a reaction. Yet, Splinter was his father, and no matter how strict he was with his disciplinary actions, he always chose the most appropriate course of action. That is why the elderly rat merely sighed in frustration, muttering something about "kids", then followed by a phrase that suspiciously sounded like "I'm getting too old for this."

"Michaelangelo..." his voice sounded so fatigued, that the guilty turtle suddenly felt even worse. "My dear son," Splinter addressed tenderly, with words wove with patience and understanding that immediately alleviated Michaelangelo's guilt. "It would be wise to check with Donatello; your wounds need to be dressed."

Mikey managed to mercifully tear away from his father's entrapping gaze. He looked down at the swollen ankle blanketed with melting ice, and saw small rivulets of blood entwining with the wooden grain of the kitchen stool. Oops, Mikey thought with embarrassment. A small part of him was offended that he had defiled the very sanctity of his beloved kitchen. He nodded quickly, not daring to look back up at Splinter, for fear that he was captured again by his acute stare. The ninjitsu master had much power over his sons, his body pulsated with an intimidating presence, and his eyes were a daunting foe to reckon with. They looked right through you, past any pretenses or lies, delving deep into your soul. Nothing could ever be hidden from those omnipotent eyes.

Hence why Michaelangelo scurried quickly from the kitchen without risking another look at his father. He carelessly left the bag of ice dripping condensation, and his small feast lay neglected on the table. He cared not for his wounded ankle as he jogged and hopped out of the room until he was safely out of sight. It all happened so fast, that it took a moment before it struck Mikey that he had just been politely "exiled" from the kitchen by a very diplomatic Splinter.

His father was good. Very good.

He reflected upon his father's awesome and admirable powers, which he revered like a super hero, until he reached the closed door of the medical lab. He froze and stared at the door, unable to move. He wanted nothing else than to step inside and eagerly discover what awaited for him, yet at the same time he wanted to turn on his heels and desperately run away. He struggled with his inner-conflict, until he finally came to a comforting conclusion. The part of him that was afraid of what he would find was greatly overpowered by his faith in Donatello.

Mikey hoped that his brothers wouldn't mind him returning back to the medical lab. It wasn't his fault he babbled and rambled when he was nervous. He hadn't had any food at the time to keep his mouth from spilling an endless cascade of nonsensical sentences. He was doing much better now, though. They had to forgive him. He was too cute and lovable.

Michaelangelo confidently peaked his head into the medical lab, letting his beak push the unlatched door enough to peek inside. Through the crack of the door, he could see Raph's pale and battered body. He was softly covered in a mellow blanket that was pulled up to his chest, with his arms draped limply on top. His bandages were fresh, and Mikey could see bits of crimson asserting themselves as blood trickled through his stitches. Fresh bruises flushed his face and arms, deep reds with bluish hues contrasting against a shade of grassy green that was significantly lighter than usual. His non-bandaged shoulder looked oddly swollen, and was already blackening with splashes of purples and navy blemishes. Michaelangelo couldn't withstand to look at his brother any longer, and found himself clenching his eyes tightly.

A few calming breaths later, he found the nerve to reopen his eyes, but he avoided shifting his gaze to Raph's pathetic form.

Michaelangelo bit his lip as he nudged his head further through the door. Donatello was pacing around in the room, keeping himself busy with continuous activities. Raphael was still hooked up to a small heart monitor, and it's repetitive beeps assured them all that he was still alive. The rhythm of his stubborn heart was already sounding better, he was relieved to hear. Mikey winced when he recalled the sound of Raph's weak heartbeats when Donatello had first hooked it up... Michaelangelo shook the thought out his head, and watched Donatello occupy himself with mobility. He looked underneath Raph's eyelids, then frowned as he notated his discovery onto a nearby clipboard. Donatello then marched over to a shelf decorated with various bottles of pills and liquids. He hesitantly poked around, as if struggling to choose the right drug. Unable to make a decision, Donatello hung his head in frustration, and pinched his sinuses as he tried to subdue a migraine. Michaelangelo felt really bad for his brother. Their physiology was alien and exotic, still a scientific mystery. If Donatello wanted to use a strong drug or powerful medicine, he wouldn't know if their bodies would react negatively until it was too late. They hardly ever used painkillers and anesthetics for that reason.

Mikey sadly turned his eyes away from his stressed-out brother, and looked at Leonardo, who still sat vigilantly at Raphael's side. His hand was idly stroking their brother's upper arm, while a distant and melancholic expression cloaked his face. His slumped shoulders and depleted energy levels depicted a profound depression, one that Leonardo always fell into when Raph got injured. No doubt he was blaming himself for Raphael's condition, and regretting every harsh word him and Raph had spoken earlier today. That turtle had more self-criticism, guilt-trips and worry bottled-up inside him than the rest of them combined.

It looked like Mikey had come back just in time, because all three of his brothers were in a sorry shape.

As he opened the door further and stepped into the room, Donatello whirled on his feet to see who approached. Mikey was relieved when he wasn't demanded to leave again, but his brother looked so high-strung that he expected him to explode at any moment. Donatello opened his mouth as if to greet him, but instead settled on a short nod of his head.

Leonardo looked up and gave Michaelangelo a hopeful look, his posture straightening with a fleeting burst of optimism, as if the orange-clad turtle brought the solution to his problems. The moment quickly passed, and with a quiet sigh, Leonardo deflated into his despondent slump. He once again phased out of reality, returning to his detached staring.

Mikey stood for a moment, at a complete loss with what to do with himself. He had forgotten why Splinter had sent him here in the first place, and racked his mind in a arduous effort to recall... Even as he started to stand on one leg to take the strain off his injured ankle, he still couldn't remember.

Donatello instantly grabbed two small stools that were tucked away in the corner, and deposited them in front of Mikey. "Sit," he said quickly in a restless tone. Mikey complied immediately, and even though he was pretty sure Donnie's tone of voice wasn't directed at himself, the words still struck him hard. He wasn't usually so easily hurt, but today everyone was sensitive and emotional. Heck, Leo looked like he could start crying at any moment, except he was so drained that he lacked the energy.

Donatello sunk to the ground so quickly, that Mikey was surprised his knees didn't hit the concrete floor with a hard smack. He carefully lifted Mikey's hurt leg, and lowered it onto the second stool so delicately that Michaelangelo couldn't feel it's metallic surface through his pain. Donatello looked the ankle over quickly without making contact, then shook his head disappointingly. It was as if Mikey's ankle had been disobeying Donatello's direct orders, and the orange-clad turtle nearly apologised on behalf of his swollen appendage. Doctor Donatello then jumped back to his feet, his movements jerky and quick from the anxiety fueling his body. He grabbed a handful of supplies, including bandages and disinfectant.

As Donatello liberally applied peroxide onto gauze, he searched Michaelangelo's face. After a heavy moment passed between them both, where the weight of their unspoken words fidgeted uncomfortably in the air, Donnie finally spoke. "You look better, Mikey," he said softly. The anxiety that had previously strained Donatello's voice had been replaced with his usual delicate quality. "I was getting worried for a while, you were becoming very pale... I think you were falling into psychological shock, but you seem to be doing much better."

Shock? Was that why Donnie had asked him to leave? Because he was falling victim to shock? Boy, Mikey felt stupid... unless, of course, Donnie was just saying these things to make him feel better.

Michaelangelo didn't have time to reflect on the matter much further, for Donatello had suddenly started applying the peroxide onto the numerous cuts and scratches that criss-crossed around the violet swells of his ankle. He squealed and tried to protectively yank his leg away, but Donatello's free hand reflexively clamped down on his leg to keep it immobile. Just as Donnie had done so when he saved Mikey's life earlier, underwater... The orange-clad turtle pursed his lips together stubbornly, and tried to tough out the pain. He did owe Donnie his life, after all... He made a mental note to be nicer to Donatello.

Donatello continued talking as if nothing had happened, as he expertly continued to distract Mikey from the pain of his ankle. "Hey, Mikey, do you think there's room in the fridge for a few pints of blood?"

Okay, maybe he wasn't exactly expertly distracting Mikey by choosing a topic about blood... but he did make Mikey forget about his pain. "Huh?..." Mikey responded as his voice trailed off into confusion. He blinked a few times, ensured himself that he had heard Donatello correctly, then continued, "Blood? In the fridge? Dude, I'm pretty sure most social circles still consider that taboo..."

Donatello's eyes flickered up to glance at Mikey, looking mildly offended by the implication that what he had just said was odd. He looked back down at Mikey's ankle as he cleaned the scrapes, then continued his train of thought. "No, I mean for medical emergencies." Donnie's voice was again adopting an anxious tone. "The mutagen was too unstable, and combined with our individual physiology..."

Oh no, here we go... Mikey thought unpleasantly to himself. He tuned out Donnie's voice, which unfortunately left him with nothing to distract him from the pain in his ankle. After a minute of wincing, twitching and biting his lip, he found that he was dreading that cursed gauze far too much. He was far too tense, and was actually starting to imagine nasty ways of shredding that malicious piece of cloth until it was hardly recognisable... thoughts in which he derived morbid pleasure. Before he could break out in maniacal laughter, he decided to get a grip on his sanity. His choice was simple: focus on the pain in his ankle (and that disinfectant really burned, after trekking through the polluted sewers with open wounds), or deal with the mental pain of having to bear through one of Donnie's tangents... After carefully weighing the pros and cons of both options, Michaelangelo finally opted for paying attention to Donatello, even if it usually led to a headache and depressing feelings of intellectual inadequacy.

"...so you can see the complications that would arise from the merger of various strains of mutated blood!" Donnie exclaimed while glancing back up at Michaelangelo for acknowledgment. His eyes were filled with that same fire that was prominent every time he explained his own scientific discovers or endeavours.

Mikey struggled to find a response that would signify that he was actually paying attention, which he hadn't been. He wanted to encourage Donnie, especially since he had pulled Mikey out of a tight spot earlier... "Oh yeah, of course," he responded gravely, then sighed silently in relief when Donatello nodded in response, obviously content that he had gotten his point across. He had mercifully ceased disinfecting the cuts, and was now applying antibiotic ointment.

A small moment of silence passed between them, as Michaelangelo waited expectantly for Donatello to continue with his explanation. When Donatello didn't continue speaking, Mikey was almost overjoyed. His brainiac brother was finished spurting his scientific jargon, and Mikey didn't need to further pretend that he was paying attention. It was a small victory!

Or so he had thought. Unfortunately, Mikey was unnerved by the lack of talking and interaction. He could hear every jarring beep from that annoying heart monitor, the subtle ticks of the clock which seemed to retard even slower, the soft sad sighs that occasionally leaked through Leonardo's listless lips, the cracked rasping of Raphael's laboured breathing... It was too much to bear.

Against his better judgement, Michaelangelo broke the silence. "Err, Donnie? What does that have to do with blood in the fridge?..." he inquired hesitantly. He was pretty sure that Donatello wasn't planning on drinking the blood, so he wasn't too afraid of his answer.

Donatello looked up at Mikey in annoyance as he recapped the ointment. He seemed exasperated that Michaelangelo hadn't understood the first time. "So we can give ourselves blood transfusions with our own blood, of course!" Mikey was about ask why they couldn't just give each other blood as the need arose, instead of having to store it in their precious fridge... but he stopped himself just in time, fearing that Donatello had already explained that while Mikey had been pretending to pay attention.

Donatello sighed as he gently covered the lacerations on Mikey's skin by wrapping the ankle a few times with fresh gauze. "It's impossible to test without the risk of sending our bodies into severe immune reactions..." This time Mikey couldn't hide the blank expression from his face when Donatello glanced up. His brother searched his mind for a few seconds, trying to find a simpler way of expressing his thoughts. "Our blood types aren't compatible." He eventually concluded.

How hard could it have been to say that in the first place? Michaelangelo thought in amazement. He wondered about scientists' striking inability to communicate with normal people, deciding that they spoke a different language.

Donatello finished his work on Mikey's ankle by wrapping it firmly with a tensor bandage, while instructing him to stay off the foot for at least a day, and to treat it like a sprain.

When Leonardo spoke up, it surprised them both. He was being so silent, one could almost forget he was there.

"Donnie, you did everything you could for Raphael," Leo's words were slow and measured, as though he was contemplating the sentence as he spoke it.

"No, I didn't!" Donatello erupted, his words lashing out at an invisible enemy. His eyes narrowed as he turned abruptly to stare at Leonardo, but it was obvious that he carried no malice for his brother. The explosion Mikey had been expecting had finally broken free from Donatello. "I should have been better prepared... I could have made Raph donate blood a month ago, then we could have given him a transfusion..."

"Oh, Donnie..." Leonardo stood up from his seat sluggishly, as though he were ill and decrepit and it took much exertion to accomplish a simple task. "You saved Raphael's life..." he continued as he took small steps toward Donatello. If his purple-banded brother hadn't been too occupied berating himself, he would have noticed the honoured gesture that Leo bestowed upon him by relinquishing his vigil at Raphael's side.

"No, you don't know that!" Donatello continued as he paced angrily. "He's far from out of the clear..." They both seemed to have forgotten Michaelangelo, who sat dumbfounded in the sidelines as he watched his brother approach a breakdown. He wanted to jump up and comfort Donnie, or offer further words of encouragement... but he was rendered speechless. He had never seen Donatello this worked up before. He was the rational one, the level-headed one, the grounding force that kept the rest of them sane! It was disconcerting to see him in such a state of self-doubt. Aslo, now that Leonardo had left his post at Raphael's side, Mikey was the closest one in proximity to their ailing brother. He reached out and grabbed Raphael's hand, and watched his brother's shallow breaths as his chest rose and fell so subtly.

"Donatello," Leonardo addressed his brother formally, yet his voice had adopted an even more tender tone. "Listen to me," he implored, his sad eyes reaching out to their distressed brother with concern. "You were amazing tonight. You couldn't have done anything different. Donnie, we're lucky to have you..."

At that last sentence Donatello finally stopped his pacing, and looked at Leonardo with strange wonderment. He finally nodded and managed a weak smile, though his eyes shun with unshed tears, and his posture slumped with extreme exhaustion.

Leonardo smiled and raised his hand to grab a hold of Donatello's shoulder comfortingly, but suddenly grasped his left inside instead. He groaned involuntarily as doubled-over, and his face crunched in pain.

"Leo!" Mikey cried with fresh concern, as Donatello lunged to Leo's side. He tenderly plied the moaning turtle's hand away from the side of his shell, while his other hand helped support Leo's weight. Donatello quickly examined Leonardo's plastron, then quickly shook his head in the same manner he had looked disapprovingly upon Mikey's foot. After a quick argument Mikey's head, he kept himself firmly planted in his seat, instead of jumping to Leo's side as well. Without even noticing, he squeezed Raphael's hand even harder.

"How long has your side been hurting?" Donatello questioned anxiously. Leonardo hesitated before he answered, with a childlike guilt that came naturally with his do-no-wrong attitude. His blushed uncomfortably with greatly apologetic eyes. Donatello looked up at Leonardo's face in surprise. He had expected such a stunt from Raphael, but not Leonardo, the "responsible one".

"Since the lake..." Leonardo admitted reluctantly. His face was no longer shrewd with pain, but was blushing even harder with embarrassment.

"The lake!" Donatello exclaimed scandalously. "You should have mentioned something, we could have..." Donatello trailed off as Leonardo lowered his head in shame.

"Donnie, what's wrong? Is Leo hurt bad?" Michaelangelo spoke up nervously as he fretted over Leonardo's mystery injury. He subconsciously squeezed Raphael's hand ever tighter.

Both brothers turned to look at Michaelangelo in unison. They looked like they had forgotten he was in the room. "Leo's going to be just fine," Donatello did his best to quell Mikey's fears, his brown eyes filled with sympathy. This had been a horrendous night, everyone's nerves felt like they had been pulverised in an earthquake, and it was understandable that they would feel afraid. It seemed like fate wasn't finished dealing wild cards this evening, and Michaelangelo prayed that this was the last.

"From what I can tell, Leo's just a little bruised," Donatello continued reassuring as he further inspected Leo's side. Mikey didn't mind the patronising tone Donatello used as he lightly referred to Leonardo's injury, as if he had nothing more than a scraped knee. "I suspect a rib or two may have been bruised, as well..." Michaelangelo interrupted Donnie's explanation with a fearful gasp, and Donatello rushed to alleviate his brother's worries. "It's not as bad as it sounds! It's painful, though, but nothing severe."

Of course, the term severity was relative. Compared to Raphael's current life-threatening struggle, Michaelangelo had to agree with Donatello. Though he was still mildly worried, he had to admit that "bruised ribs" didn't sound as serious anymore.

"Leo, I'll have to further examine you in order to be sure, but we should do this in my other lab..." Donatello explained as he tried to lead Leonardo out of the room, but their blue-clad brother stubbornly resisted. He was distressed as he looked at Raphael, as though the thought of leaving his seriously injured brother's side was an unfathomable horror. Leonardo obviously was still willing to ignore his injuries, sacrificing his well-being until Raphael's condition improved further.

"It's okay, Leo," Mikey reassured with a smile so brilliant, that it lit up his face. It was one of Mikey's many talents, the ability to radiate happiness in a comforting manner when depression and sadness stalked his loved ones, no matter how glum he was feeling himself. "Raph will be fine, I'll watch over him."

Leonardo opened his mouth to protest, but Donatello was literally dragging him out of the room. The purple-clad turtle was exhausted and cranky, and his patience was wearing tight. He mimicked Michaelangelo's reassurances as they both disappeared out of the door, heading straight for Donatello's science lab, which could easily be used for medical purposes if the need arose.

Then Michaelangelo was alone. Raphael's strangled breathing magnified in his ears, along with all the other horrible sound effects brought forth by medical emergencies. Once again, Mikey couldn't bear it, and broke the silence.

"Hi Raphy..." he began hesitantly, the complete lack of confidence falling off his tongue awkwardly as his words tripped over themselves. He cleared his throat loudly and began anew. "Dude..." What did one say to a wounded brother, anyway? He peered closely at Raphael's expression. He had expected him to look peaceful, or restful, or some other relaxed expression that usually accompanied a face that was deeply absorbed in the unconscious realm of oblivion. Yet, Raph's face contained not a trace of any peace, he instead looked strained, haunted, even hunted... and definitely in pain. Perhaps it was Mikey's imagination combined with the fact that Raphael was pale, swollen and beaten... perhaps it was even a trick of the light that made his face seem stretched, made his mouth look like it flicked into a grimace... But from Mikey's point of view, Raphael definitely looked to be in pain. Michaelangelo's heart sunk and his brow furrowed in concern, as he said the only thing that leaped to mind, "Dude... you look like hell."

Not the most eloquent phrase, nor the most wittiest, and Mikey almost cringed when he realised that he had swore, for it was not his style. Yet, the words just came out, unhindered, unheeded... they voiced themselves of their own accord. And it was true. Raphael looked horrible.

With a sad a weary sigh, Michaelangelo continued to talk, though mostly small talk. He spoke about the weather, about Casey's new motorcycle, about April's new HDTV wide screen entertainment centre, the latest episodes of survivor... He didn't pay any mind as to the topic of his one-sided discussion, he just wanted to fill the silence. He also hoped that the sound of his voice found it's way through the black void that filled Raphael's mind. Perhaps through his sickness and comatose affliction, Raphael would be soothed.

After a short while, Mikey could have sworn that Raph's facial expression relaxed slightly... and the orange-clad turtle smiled as he continued his monologue.

Mikey prayed that Raph would pull through. He desperately needed his brother's vigourous presence. He wanted to see Raph's eyes flutter open, smile as he looked at Mikey's concerned eyes, then say: "Why do you look so worried? It's only a flesh wound." Most of all, Michaelangelo just wanted to see Raph smile. It seemed that Raphael didn't smile nearly enough. At least Michaelangelo could take pride in the fact that he made Raph smile more than anyone else. Even if it often was at his own expense.

There was an intoxicating rush derived from the act of making someone smile, or laugh out loud. It was the most pleasant feeling Michaelangelo had ever known, and it was the reason he had grown into the goofy joker that he was today. It's not as though he had decided at a very young age that he would grow up to be the clown of the family. It was far from his life's ambition. He had simply grown addicted to the invigorating satisfaction obtained from the mirth he invoked in others. It had happened so gradually, that he didn't realise it had happened at all, until one morning he awoke to realise that no one ever took him seriously anymore. That either half the time they were laughing with him, and for the other half they were laughing at him.

Perhaps he could have set forth from that day on, and tried to grow a serious name for himself. Yet, how could he change so easily? He was stuck in a trap of humour... the self-induced slave labour of being a clown. He was desperately addicted to bringing laughter to his loved ones. He could no more back away from this role then he could let them down. He just couldn't change.

After a while, he had realised that as frustrating as it sometimes was, he didn't want to change. His life could be a lot worse.

In fact, he was finally seeing how beautiful the role of a clown actually was. He didn't realise what a miracle it was to make Raphael laugh full-heartedly, when only moments before he could see a soul-tearing darkness shrouding the red-banded turtle's eyes. Nor did he appreciate the difficulty of finding ways to keep Raphael from venturing outdoors for an evening of solitude, and instead convincing him to watch zombie movies all night with his brothers. Mikey could accomplish all these tasks relatively easily.

He knew for a fact that no one else could.

Mikey was more than just a cute face. He loved his role among his family. It didn't bear nearly half the maturity and responsibility that went along with being the "leader", or the scientist/doctor, or... umm, the maniacal-psycho-trying-to-cheat-death... still, it was equally important. Michaelangelo brought more than the gift of laughter or the enlightenment of pop-culture: he kindled the very flame that was the heart of his family.

Michaelangelo was hurtled suddenly from his thoughts. The recited list of his favourite reality tv shows fell short off his lips. Had Raphael just squeezed his hand?

"Raphy?..." Mikey voiced nervously. "Come on, Raphy, it's my Mikey! Come back to us Raphy... Can you hear me? Let me know that you can hear me..."

Michaelangelo leaned forward as he tightened his grip on Raphael's hand. He examined his brother's face for any sign of comprehension, but his efforts remained unrewarded. Just as he was about to give up, he felt another distinct jerk on his own hand. There was no mistaking it this time! Raphael just moved!

"Raphy!" Mikey cried happily, his face beaming and eyes watering with unbridled joy.

His happiness was annihilated, horribly so, when Raphael's body started jerking and heaving violently in a fit that looked like a seizure. Michaelangelo backed away in horror as Raphael's hand lurched out of his grasp. He searched to find his voice as he watched his brother shake and flop around on the medical cot with such harrowing vigour, that Mikey could hear his brother's shell smack against the metal of his bed. The rhythmic beeping resounding from the tiny heart-monitor increased viciously in an angry tempo, as if voicing it's own alarm at the trepidation of the sight.

Finally, after a few terrifying seconds that cut through Michaelangelo's chest like a rust-encrusted dagger, the terrified turtle found his voice, and shouted in a bloodcurdling scream that could have stopped the Earth's rotation itself, "Donatello!"

To Be Continued...

A/N:

Dum dum dum! I revised the last chapters, and there is only one more chapter left! plays suspenseful music

Expect the conclusion to be posted next weekend. Oh wait... I have people staying over at my house all weekend... so don't hold your breath...

As usual, I have notes for my reviewers... but I shall post them no longer on I have recently learned that it's against policy to do so. Therefore, I will be posting Notes to Reviewers in the future on Mickis' new forum Stealthy Stories. I will also be editing my previous chapters, and moving the past Notes to Reviewers there as well. You will soon find the url linked from my profile page.

Well, Notes To Reviewers will appear there as soon as Mickis gives me an author's account... look for them in the next couple of days! Thank you so much for reviewing, and thank you for reading! I hope everyone's summer was fabulous, and that Halloween was memorable!