A/N: Thanks to Ravenshell for being my beta. I did some additional add-ins to this chapter so any mistakes spotted are my own.

**Note: this chapter contains some graphic descriptions.

Chapter 63

As Leonardo and Raphael go after their brother, I desperately try to stop the flow of blood currently pooling around Michelangelo's body. April is at my side in seconds.

"What can I do, Sensei?" April asks, her hands clutched into fists as she fights against the tremors of trauma.

"Clear the exam table in the lab. Gather the antiseptic, gauze, and stitching kit." There's no time to ease April's panic as I bark out orders to her. I can only hope our current state of urgency is enough to keep her focus to help me save Michelangelo. She scrambles to the lab, making more noise than necessary to set up the supplies I asked for. Michelangelo whimpers as I gather him into my arms and hurry to the lab. Everything is set up as I asked when I lay Michelangelo on the exam table. My hands are slick with my son's blood…. there is so much blood. The lacerations extend from his elbow down to his wrist, where Donatello attempted to sever Michelangelo's arm like the raw meat of prey. As gruesome as the stringy mess of flesh looks, I focus on the deeper puncture wounds that form a semi-circle 'bite' in his arm at the bend of his elbow. Grabbing a towel, I press as hard as I can against the flow of blood as Michelangelo cries and squirms beneath my weighed pressure.

"Muh-my arm, my arm…" His choked sobs only strengthen my resolve. A son in anguish is a son still living.

I must concentrate on Michelangelo's injuries. I cannot afford to split my focus to comfort him at the moment. Thankfully, April steps in in my stead.

"Shhh. Don't look at it, look at me," April distracts him, turning his head toward her tear-stained face. "Master Splinter's going to patch you up, okay?"

"…Duh-Donnie…"

"It's okay. He…he won't hurt you." It pains her to speak of my son this way just as guilt weighs painfully within me.

"No... Donnie's... in... trouble... help him... Argh!" His pleas for us to help his brother are heartbreaking.

"Leo and Raph went to find him. Right now, we need to take care of you."

His breathing is shallow and his pallor is a sickening mint green as beads of sweat form on his clammy skin. "April, elevate his legs. He is going into shock." Donatello once told me elevating the legs would increase blood flow to reduce chances of shock.

Donatello...

I blink back tears as I refocus on the task at hand. Leonardo and Raphael will find him. They will bring him home.

After ten minutes of applying pressure, I release his arm. He is barely conscious as he moans out his suffering, but the bleeding has slowed to a trickling ooze. I fear he lost too much blood before I could stop the bleeding. My ears fold back as I survey the damage. Donatello's canines have used Michelangelo's arm as a scratching post, full of severe punctures and lacerations. His arm is swollen, twice the size it should be. His shoulder is squared off instead of curved, with a prominent bone showing beneath his skin. A dislocated shoulder. I will move it back into place but first his wounds must be cleaned. His breath catches in his chest as I pour the antiseptic over the length of his arm. New tears flow down his face, following the white trail of previous tears. Weakly, he tries to turn away from the burning pain. His cries are no longer pleas for the pain to stop, but simply wails for the torment to end.

"My brave, son. I am sorry, but it must be done."

After disinfecting the site, I take the needle and thread and prepare to close the deeper wounds. Every few moments I hear April apologizing to Michelangelo in a wavering tone coupled with hiccupped sniffling as he struggles to stay conscious. I begin to stitch a particularly gruesome rip that tore into his muscle tissue. My composure is nearly lost at the sight of a shattered bone peeking from the muscles of his forearm. If the wound had been any deeper I fear this would have been an amputation instead.

I am not a skilled surgeon like Donatello. Though he had no schooling in such things, he mastered what he knew. My stitching is not neat, but it serves its purpose of closing the open wounds. When Michelangelo finally slips into unconsciousness, April assists me with the remaining stitches. I stopped counting after I pulled thread through my 71st stitch. After our tedious work with needle and thread, we wrap the length of his arm in gauze and medical tape. I stare at his dislocated shoulder. I am thankful for Michelangelo's unconscious state because this will be painful. I must correct the misalignment as quickly as possible.

"Hold him." It is my only command. April is quick to comply and with a single gripping motion, I shift the bone back into his shoulder socket. His unconsciousness is short-lived as he gasps, choking on a scream before his eyes roll back and he passes out once gain. April and I do our best to set Michelangelo's fractured arm using small plastic piping from Donatello's supply closet as a splint to stabilize the bone.

April strokes his brow continuing her apologies as I check his body for less threatening injuries. I sense her unease as she looks at me with remorseful eyes. "I…I should help the guys find Donnie."

"No."

"But Sensei, I could-"

"You have done enough." I do not take thought in my words until I hear a small gasp from the human girl across from me. "No, that is not what I meant," I say as I meet April's wide-eyed hurt express with one of sincerity, "If you had not been here, Michelangelo—"

"Wouldn't have been hurt!" She blurts out as tears spill from her eyes.

I conceal the part of my mind that wishes to blame April for this horrible misfortune, hiding it far from the reach of her novice telepathy to deal with at a more appropriate time. April has been nothing less than a daughter to me. Her heart was sincere in her actions even if her timing was far from impeccable. "And he may not have been alive now were you not here to help me. Now is not the time to fill the atmosphere with negative thoughts."

She stutters for a response as she avoids looking at me. My eyes advert to the counter as the sound of plastic beakers and glass test tubes vibrate at April's emotional dismay. "I should go. I can help find Donnie. It's the least I can do." I sigh at the guilt lacing her words.

"It is too dangerous and your mind is not in a good place." I oppose her while bandaging a small scrape I missed on the side of Michelangelo's head.

She huffs and I can sense the same recklessness that often embodies Raphael rising in April. "I reached Donnie before, I could—"

"April. It was not a suggestion." I sense her fiery temperament but spearhead it before it fully rears its ugly head. "I need you here." I tell her, my voice sincere and stern. I say this not only to disarm her reckless emotional state and keep her safe but also because I do not wish to be alone in case Michelangelo takes a turn for the worse.

Her demeanor changes as she looks down at Michelangelo's ghastly form. The shaky supplies on the countertop come to a halt as April nods numbly at my request for her to stay in the lair. She pulls a chair beside the examination table, holding my son's undamaged hand in her own. Crossing my arms within the sleeves of my robe, I hide the tremors of emotional shock as I excuse myself into the den.

My heart races as the true weight of this current trauma finally seeps in my body and mind. Donatello's mutation was more violent than I anticipated. My poor judgement in guiding Donatello to accept his mutation has resulted in two sons fighting for their lives in vastly different ways. I observe the wreckage to our living quarters. My eyes briefly falling on Donatello's shell, split in half like a walnut—one side on the floor and the other tethering on the arm of the couch. I follow the length of the couch down to the floor as a small reflective glare catches my attention. Picking up the small object, I realize it is a syringe….the same syringe Donatello nearly used to end his own life. Aside from myself, there were only two others in our home who knew about the syringe—Leonardo and Donatello. Given Donatello's worsening state, it only leaves Leonardo. Sorrow and anger fill me as I realize what my eldest son was willing to do as an act of mercy to his brother and safety to our family. I push these emotions aside; they have no place in our circumstances.

Straightening my stance, I blink away the heaviness of tears until my vision clears. As I head back to the lab, I hope to maintain a sense of serenity despite the maelstrom currently engulfing my family.

I wish I could punch somebody but this passenger seat will have to do.

"Kid, I promise if you kick the back of my seat one more time, getting taken down to the station will be the least of your worries."

I rear my leg up giving Martinez one more hardy kick for the road.

"That's it, come here, you little—"

I lean away from Martinez's grabbing hands, pressing my body against the backseat door.

"Martinez! Get a hold of yourself. He's just some punk street rat. We'll check him in at the nearest police station for questioning and then let the local law deal with their own street scum." I glare at Johnson through the rearview mirror. The guy's a real prick.

"Hey! Who you callin' street scum?" My outburst is ignored as a call comes in over their radio system.

"Johnson, what's your location?"

"Sage, I'm in Chinatown. We've apprehended that Jones kid. We're going to take him down to the—"

"Forget the kid. You've got trouble coming from the Canal street subway."

"What kind of trouble, Sage?"

"The kind that needs containing. I've already called for artillery but we need to be in place until they get there. Have your weapons ready."

Static fills the car as Johnson and Martinez share a look. Martinez gets out, opens the back door and yanks me by the back of my shirt.

"Consider this your lucky day, kid," he gruffs as he unlocks my handcuffs and shoves me on the sidewalk. "Do yourself a favor and go home."

I flip them the bird as they drive off swerving around a corner. Pulling out my t-phone, I see I've missed a few calls from Raph, I hit redial.

"Casey? I've been calling you for thirty minutes already!" Raph yells over a commotion in his background. "Donnie's on the loose!"

"Whattaya mean he's on the loose?" A screeching roar and a lot of screaming voices on Raph's end answers my question.

"Aw, crap." I start to put two and two together. "Raph, where are you guys?"

"We're at the Canal street subway."

"Dude, you guys got trouble," I say while pushing through a bunch of people heading in the same direction.

"I know that, genius. I just told you—"

"No, I mean more trouble. There are EPF agents headed your way."

"Aw, sewer apples."

"I'm almost there," I tell him as I get closer to the horrific screams. Cramming my phone in my pocket, I pick up my speed. Wish I had all my gear. Nothing but a few smoke bombs. I snag an armful of firecrackers in route from a street vendor. After a few blocks, the vendor stops chasing me. Running over the seat of a bench, I thunder out a battle cry as I jump down never losing my traction as I beeline toward my friends. Casey Jones is in the house!

TBC

A/N: Back with another chapter. As always thanks for reading and/or favoriting this story! Feel free to leave a review!

See you next chapter!

Poetique