Chapter Eighteen: The Struggle is Real

Day Five

Friday, early morning

Bren was just finishing up with the last of his patients from an ambush on a patrol, a dog with a stab wound in his arm, when his ears pricked at the sound of his name from the main room and footsteps approaching rapidly.

Ausla, a small black marten, tumbled into the makeshift medbay, a bit out of breath. "Bren! Bren, we rescued him. And it looks like—I've never seen anyone who had had so much-" She wrung her tiny black paws together.

The raccoon approached, keeping his voice and demeanor calm as always. "Be still, Ausla. Who did your team rescue?"

"Raphael, the turtle from another world, who got captured because of me at the southeast Othila base. They're bringing him in now. He-" The marten choked on her words.

What do I need to treat him? "Is he injured, Ausla?" He kept his voice calm, even as he surveyed empty cots and backed toward his wall of supplies. Lower priority patients could be further from his supplies, leaving nearer cots for the worse off.

Ausla shook her head and gathered herself. "No. He's unconscious from alemnea, but they must have kept giving it to him even after he was asleep... He was barely breathing the whole helicarrier ride here," she added in a whisper.

A swell of fury swept through Bren; he stood still for one breath. Those Othila are savages. They were angry at the damage he did, and repaid him for it.

Then, he turned the passion into energy to move quickly. His quick paws yanked open drawers and cupboard doors as he grabbed things a patient with dangerously low vitals might need and set them by the nearest cot, which was thankfully unoccupied. I could really use an assistant. I would use Ausla, but she's too shaken up to be of use. As he finished hauling out a heavy oxygen tank, he heard hurried, heavy footsteps and glanced up. The marten still stood, lost in her distress, in the middle of the aisle.

"Ausla, please step off to the side." Bren raised his voice as three muscular animals—a wildcat named Grek and two stocky dogs—appeared in the doorway, carrying a very limp turtle. "Set him down here."

Bren's breath caught in his throat. Ausla is right. I've never seen an alemnea overdose this severe. The Othila must have given him a constant flow the whole time he was in their power. Either they don't know how dangerous their precious alemnea is, or they know and don't care.

As they obeyed, grunting, Bren stuffed the cot's thin pillow under the turtle's neck and shell, which tilted his head back to help open up his airway. Practically in the same motion, he slapped an oxygen mask on over his mouth; he held it there with one hand, while flipping the tank on. How can I save him without help? Movement under his hand startled him; one of the dogs was lifting Raphael's head to slide the straps over and secure the mask.

Bren looked at the dog, Xolar. He nodded. The other dog edged out of the way, but the wildcat, Grek, also met the medic's eye. A bit of relief touched Bren. These two would help him save Raphael's life.

The raccoon entered full medic mode and went to work, paws and orders flying.

Closing his eyes to ignore the starry wallpaper of this world-between-worlds, Casey imagined the Statue of Liberty standing proudly on her island, before she was green. He willed himself to be there, at her toes—but nothing happened except a headache. He frowned. "Hey, Taevon?"

His companion was fussing over something in his shoulder bag. "What?"

"I, uh…" Casey swallowed. "I can't teleport."

"Nonsense; we've gone to dozens of places. You've been doing beautifully."

Casey shook his head, making his black hair whip back and forth. "No, man, I'm talkin' 'bout right now. I tried ta go ta th' Statue of Liberty, an' I couldn't. The last few times have been extra hard, an' now I think th' stuff in the dart ran out."

Taevon let the bag drop to his hip and stared at Casey. "And here I thought it might go the opposite way…" His voice, which had been British, switched now to American. He ran a hand through his brown curls. "Well, I suppose temporary makes more sense. Okay." He straightened his shoulders. "Let's try one last thing, and if we absolutely have to, I've got one last trick to get you back home… unless you want to just keep traveling with me?"

Casey frowned. "What? No! I've gotta get home ta Raph an' April and the guys, man."

Taevon sighed. "Worth asking, I guess. All right. When is the last time you definitely remember it was, before you came here to meet me? Like, the time on the calendar and the clock?"

"I dunno what time it was when Raph and I ran into that buncha weirdos on th' roof. We'd been out for a while, I guess. I met up wi' Raph down in the Lair after supper. Leo, Mikey, and Master Splinter were goin' out for somethin', and Donnie was happy ta stay put on his computer or whatever. I remember seein' th' clock while we were talkin,' and it was… 7:30."

"Good! What day of the week?"

"Monday? Yeah, Monday."

"Now, close your eyes and picture that moment." Taevon clapped a hand on Casey's shoulder and spoke in a French accent. "7:30 in ze evening on Monday, in ze Lair. Look around the room in your mind; remember how everything was. Zen… just go there."

Casey tried his hardest. He pictured the Lair: a bit messy, as usual. Raph putting Mikey in a headlock. Leo checking over his stuff while chatting with Don, who was holding a coffee mug. Master Splinter waiting patiently, leaning on his walking stick. I was standing near Raph when I happened to look at the clock.

But when Casey willed himself to be there, to stand where he'd stood before all these crazy time-traveling trips, his head felt like it had filled with air, and then he simply felt lightheaded. He opened his blue eyes to stare into Taevon's calm golden ones.

He breathed his disappointment out slowly. "It's all used up, Taev. You gotta get me home, man. I can't be stuck here forever." As he spoke, Casey's words started to sink into his own mind. Wait. If I can't teleport anymore, how am I gonna get home? The stars-that-weren't-stars stared at him, a threat in their innocent twinkle. Wait, if I can't teleport, how am I gonna get food—

"Well…" Taevon fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. "I've got good news and bad news. Jior can take one passenger on a teleport-"

"You can?" Surprise and relief shocked through Casey, followed by indignant annoyance. "Then why on earth didn't you jus' take me away when th' people in the cowboy town were gonna shoot me? An' all dose other places? Why'd you make me do it myself?"

The time traveler cleared his throat and kept looking down. "Because you had to learn, and besides, I'm a bit rusty. I've only had occasion to take a passenger once or twice, and not in a long time. Since Jior never interfere, we mainly use it to take our children on trips with us when they're too small to do it themselves, and I'm not married…" He spread his hands and glanced up with sad eyes. "I took my little cousin time traveling once or twice, but then my aunt and uncle frowned upon any more travels with me." He cleared his throat.

"Anyway, the point is, you're not stuck here. I can take you with me—but the bad news is, I can't take you exactly to your home on that Monday night at 7:30, or to the rooftop where you were fighting goons with Raph, as you keep saying."

"Why not?"

"Because I haven't been there. I haven't been to that specific place in that specific time. I have a few specific space-times I go to, like the speeches and a few events, but mostly I just wander, and go to, say, the city of Alexandria sometime BC, and that vague wish lands me in the general area of the city in the span of decades or centuries. Sometimes, if I'm not paying attention, I land there before the city was built, or after it was destroyed."

"Well, what if you just tried? There's no harm in tryin.'"

"If I tried to take you to your city in your specific time, I might land us in some random person's apartment the year before, or underground a month late, or in the middle of the street, about to get run over. Besides, you're human, and they would see you appear."

Crossing his arms, Casey absorbed this. "So where can you take me?"

Taevon scratched at his neck and gulped. "Uh, well, there's one idea I've had. If, uh, you eat the berries that, er, boost a Jior's natural teleporting ability, it might, uh, give you enough power to focus on your home and get there. It's risky though," he finished in a rush, twisting the hem of his shirt around his fists. "We'll teleport in to the Old Anchor instead of the current one, so less people will see us, hopefully. And we'll put you in my spare Jior clothes, and put the hood up, and hope no one realizes you aren't cousin so-and-so." He held up his bronze forearm to Casey's Caucasian one and stared at it in the dim ambient lighting. "You're pale for a Jior, too… we'll put you in my jacket…"

Casey had already done all the thinking he was going to do while Taevon was worrying. "Let's do it!"

Friday morning

"Good morning, Opponent," came the Gamer's smooth voice over the shell cell. Don clutched the armrest of his computer chair. "I just thought I'd let you know that today is a good day to be lazy. Chill out. Watch tv. Eat ice cream. But be ready tonight, because over here we're gearing up for Level 3."

He hung up, and Don stood and set his cell down on his desk. Okay, so he slammed it, but thankfully it didn't break. Well, maybe the casing broke a little, but nothing important. Never mind, he'd have to repair it later. After the more important things on his to-do list, like rescuing three of the most important people in his life.

"My son?" Splinter had heard the ring; he leaned on his walking stick just outside his room. "What did he say?"

Mikey peered over his mountain of comic books from where he lay on the couch with his ankle propped up. "Are you gonna go get Leo, Donnie?"

Don shook his head. "Not yet. He's making me wait. Again."

"Til when?" Mikey said. "'Cause I can't help yet, bro."

"He said tonight, but of course that's no guarantee, and of course 'night' is more than a little vague…" At some point, Don had started pacing. "It could be 5:00, it could be 11, it could be 3 in the morning. Or whenever he feels like it. I'm at his beck and call, and I can't stand it. He's stringing out his power over me."

"My son."

"Meanwhile, who knows what Leo's going through, considering what the Gamer did to Mikey? And I don't know where Casey is; he hasn't figured out his way back here yet. And it's been two days since Saja left. No telling if she found Raph, or if she got captured or something, or if she's even able to take Raph back with her."

"Chill, Donnie! It's gonna be okay!" Mikey called. A brief glance at him told Don that his brother very much wanted to go make him coffee muffins or something.

Then Master Splinter appeared in Don's way; he jerked to a halt. Master Splinter said nothing; he merely stretched out his arms and enveloped Don in a hug.

Don shuddered, his whole body quivering with taut muscles.

"As Michelangelo says, it will be all right, Donatello." One ancient, but still strong, paw rubbed at Don's shell; the other started kneading one shoulder.

Listen to Sensei, Don. The turtle willed himself to relax. We've gotten through lots of hard things. I've rescued all my brothers by myself before.

A pull led Don nearer the couch, where Master Splinter ordered him into a chair with a pointed finger. Splinter returned to his room, and Don stared at his feet, avoiding Mikey's worried gaze, alternating between trying not to think about Leo, Casey, Raph, Saja, or the Gamer, and trying not to let whatever tension Splinter had released come back. Neither venture was successful, so when Splinter returned and handed him a gently steaming mug of tea, he took it without complaint.

Splinter slipped behind him and started a proper shoulder massage. Ooh, that feels good. I could almost forget about everything. Sensei almost never gives shoulder rubs. Lavender and other calming scents filled the air, mingling with the chamomile and mint of the tea. I know what he's trying to do… but it's still working.

Twenty minutes later found the tea drained and Don's muscles much more relaxed. Splinter came around the chair and plopped in his own worn armchair.

Don felt like he should bow, but he also didn't have the energy to do so, so he packed all his gratitude into spoken words. "Thank you, Sensei."

Master Splinter raised an eyebrow. "How do you feel, my son?"

"I feel… much better." Don thought for a moment. Mikey peeked over the edge of the comic he had more or less returned to a few minutes into the shoulder rub. Don scratched at his arm. "I guess it's just getting to me how much power the Gamer has over this whole situation. He can have me sprinting across town anytime he wants. And how much he's making me wait. And in the meantime, I can't do anything to help Leo, Casey, or Raph."

Mikey set his comic down on his plastron. "I wish I could tell you where my prison was, bro, but they drove me around so much I couldn't keep track. Plus the evil thing kept zapping me." He frowned and went to rub at the back of his neck.

"Let it heal, Mikey," Don said with a sigh. "It's okay. Keeping track of turns is really hard from the back of a van."

"I do not like the situation either, Donatello. But I do know that you are trying your best both with researching and with the rescues. You have worked tirelessly."

Don shrugged. "All my research hasn't really helped anything. I still don't know who the Gamer is, or where he's based."

Master Splinter's dark eyes glittered. "I suspect you know more than you think you know, my son, and that had the Gamer contacted you any more, you would already know where to find him." He raised a paw when Don started to protest, and Don quieted. "Just remember, Donatello, that he has had months or longer to plan and prepare for these challenges, and access to the resources of the Foot clan. You, my son, have had a few days, and you are just one turtle."

The purple-masked turtle slumped lower in his chair. I'm not sure if that's supposed to make me feel better or humble me. Knowing Sensei, probably both. He straightened a bit and clasped his hands in a half-bow. "Yes, Sensei."

"You'll get 'em, Donnie," Mikey said quietly, his eyes flickering with hope and trust in his older brother. "I know you can do it. Don't let that creep get you down. Tonight you'll get Leo, and your new friend will get Raph, and Casey will show up late and miss all the action when we all go beat up the Gamer for messing with our family."

Don closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and slowly exhaled through his nose. When he opened his eyes, determination sparked in them. "You're right, Mikey. You'd better heal up so you can help us show the Gamer why he shouldn't mess with mutant ninja turtles."