Raph has seen a lot of things he'd rather forget: Slash slamming Mikey into a rooftop, Splinter with empty eyes, Casey taking a bullet in the arm that was meant for him.
The worst is Donnie's face, in the split second between April falling and Donnie leaping after her.
Raph tries to follow, instinct telling him to go go go and help any way he can, but his feet won't move. He's frozen, caught in the replay: April falling, Donnie yelling, Donnie's face.
Then pain blows the memory apart, and Raph drops to the roof, trying to scream to release the pressure around his spine. Nothing comes out but a high wheeze. Mikey wails nearby; even Leo groans, glacial calm cracking open as their senses are hijacked, someone else's agony rioting through their nervous systems.
April.
The pain cuts off seconds later, leaving Raph gasping on the roof, blinking away the grey dots over his vision. When he pushes up on his hands and knees, not quite trusting his legs to hold him up, faint sense-echoes ripple up his right calf, converging in a furled, aching knot near the crease of his thigh. It hurts, distantly, like a toothache. And there's more pain in his shoulder and back, deep in the muscle. In April's muscles.
Raph's no stranger to pain — one of these days he's going to wake up with an eye missing and he won't even remember how it happened, that's how used to pain he is. It's fine. He can handle it. What he can't handle is the way his body just accepts April's like its his own, and how relieved he is that he feels it at all. If the pain were to stop —
He shoves himself up, grateful that he managed to hold on to his sais when he collapsed. Leo's helping Mikey up, but Casey is still down on his knees, eyes wide and glassy.
Casey's out. Donnie's out. April's — out. Do the math. Raph tightens his fists and takes an unsteady step toward Rahzar. The beast is slower to recover, his movements jerky, and Raph hopes with every single cell in his body that it's because Rahzar got the worst of the blast.
"Guys," says Mikey, his voice shocked white, "Guys, we gotta — we gotta —"
Rahzar's laughter, thick and clotted, cuts off the rest of Mikey's sentence. "Gotta what?" he asks, his laughter boiling out of him "Ready for anything, huh?" he snarls, and starts to shove himself upright. "Too bad you couldn't bring a real kunoichi to the fight. You haven't changed. Still can't finish a fight."
Raph's vision clarifies as the second lid slides down over his brothers' eyes. Even Casey staggers back a step, and he's seen them like this for years.
"You haven't been here in a while," says Leo, the beginnings of a smile splitting his face. "We've got a few new things to show you."
Mikey moves first. The subtle gleam of a blade flashes in his hand.
"Raph, go help Donnie!" Leo yells, before the blade slides home and Rahzar's laugh is cut off by a wet squeal. For once, Raph is happy for an order that doesn't involve fighting, because it gives him something to do other than think oh god oh god she fell oh god. It lets him not see what comes next.
He leaps down, clumsy and too slow, and lands next to Donnie. His brother has already his hands locked around April's thigh, his mouth a thin hard line.
"Is she -"
"Shut up," Donnie snaps. "Just shut up."
April is motionless under Donnie's hands, lips parted and bloody. It's bad, it's so very fucking bad, and Raph's gut lurches when he sees the metal poking out of her shoulder and thigh. Donnie's hands are already covered in blood.
"Donnie -"
"I didn't catch her," Donnie hisses, and Raph closes his eyes. Above their heads, Rahzar squeals again, and even though a part of Raph doesn't want to imagine what's happening, his mind insists on picturing it anyways. And there's a part of him, much closer to the surface than anyone realizes, that wishes it hadn't come to this. He and his brothers, they're better than this, but Raph has started to understand about necessary evils, and about survival.
Better him than you, he thinks at April, smoothing her hair out of her face. He pulls off her head scarf and hands it to Donnie the moment his brother holds out his hand.
Raph curls a hand under April's jaw and counts. Her skin is clammy, even by his standards, but he feels a faint, thready pulse, and he hears a low, clotted sound as her chest lifts.
She's alive. And, just to add to the horror of blood and metal and Donnie's stricken face, she's waking up.
He crouches next to her head and cups her cheeks as her eyes flutter open. Her control flickers, and some of the pain from her thigh and shoulder leaks through, hot and slick as oil. Raph holds himself still as it recedes, back into April, but now he feels her confusion, her brief, mute terror.
"Raph," Donnie whispers, still not looking up. "Raph, please."
He has no idea what Donnie's asking him to do, until April's confusion crystallizes, and her terror transforms into horror.
"Wha…" Her voice trails off as she slides a hand down her hip. "Hurts."
"Hey, Ape," Raph blurts out, putting as much of an asshole spin as he can on the words. April's bleary gaze settles on his, her mouth opening on a croak. Raph pats her cheeks and grins down at her. He can do this. He can keep her from looking at the mess of her body. "We so boring you had to jump off a roof to get away from us?" Donnie twitches, but he keeps his head down and his hands stay steady, wrapping her scarf high on her thigh.
"Off a roof," April echoes, blinking slowly. Donnie finishes tying the knot and April gasps. When she tries to look down, Raph pulls her gaze back to his with a finger under her chin.
"Right over the edge," he says, forcing himself to keep grinning. April's hands move like restless spiders over her chest and belly. "I mean, I get it, Leo's boring as shit, but it was a little over the top."
Nice choice of words.
There's a scream from the rooftop, a mangled crash of sound, and Raph tears his eyes away from April for a half-second - long enough for April to turn her head and see the shard of metal punched through her shoulder.
"Oh god, oh my god," she whines, reaching to pull it out. "Oh my god what happened to me, Donnie, what happened?"
Donnie chokes and snatches her hands away, glaring at Raph. "It's okay, it's okay, I've got - I've got you, April."
The twist in his voice makes Raph's head ache. Donnie's got her now, but he didn't for the one second it counted, and he's going to beat himself with that for the rest of his life.
Raph will worry about that later.
"Bro," says Raph, pulling April's hands out of Donnie's and pitching his voice so only his brother can hear it, "we've gotta move her. We gotta get her to a hospital."
Donnie blanches, but he nods, mouth in a tight line, and slides his arms under her legs. April whimpers, and Donnie cringes, but when he looks at Raph, he doesn't blink. "On my count," he whispers. Raph copies Donnie's pose, and when Donnie says "Now," he lifts.
April screams until she gags, then she falls limp against Raph, already half unconscious. He meets Donnie's eyes over her body, forces himself to hold Donnie's gaze. He's not going to leave Donnie alone in this.
"The Shellraiser's on the other side of the building." Raph swallows. "We've gotta hurry."
Donnie shakes his head, one quick movement. "No time. Half the streets are one-way — it'd be faster to run."
Raph boggles. He knows Donnie has a city map in his head, but running? For how long?
"Seven blocks," says Donnie, before Raph can ask. "I can make it."
Raph doesn't question him. He lets Donnie take April's weight, and something in him unknots as Donnie settles April's head into the hollow of his shoulder. For a moment, Raph's panic recedes and he lets himself think, It's going to be okay, Donnie will get her there. We're okay.
"Meet me there," says Donnie, and sprints away, out of sight.
When Raph turns the corner, Leo already has the engine running, with Mikey and Casey leaning out of the back, arms ready to pull Raph inside. Raph swings up and slams the door behind him. His hands slip on the handle.
Even in the dark, he sees his hands are sticky and wet.
We're okay, he tells himself, as panic roars in the back of his head.
"Mercy General!" he yells, and Leo guns it, tires shrieking on the pavement.
February 9th.
How did I not know what Rahzar would do? April thinks when Casey stops talking, her mouth dry and her tongue thick. I should have known.
Some kunoichi. And now everything's a mess because I didn't -
"Oh god," says April, and covers her face with her hand. "Oh god."
"Yeah." Casey sighs. "It was bad, but you're good now. He got you here in time for the doctors to patch you up all nice, and now that you're awake you'll get outta here soon, and -"
She glares at him through her fingers. The last thing she needs right now is to listen to one of Casey's slow meltdowns. He never bothers with things like emotions or trauma until long after the fact, then he declines spectacularly into uselessness. Rambling is just the first sign of what's to come. It's awful, but the only way to snap him out of it is blunt cruelty.
"Casey, shut up."
He jerks his head up, flushing and already opening his mouth, but she grabs his arm and squeezes till he pulls away.
"You do not get to freak out," she rasps. "Because then I'll freak out, and that is the last thing I want to do. I'm okay. I'm fine."
She's not okay. She's not even in the neighborhood of okay, and Casey would know that even if she didn't stutter her way through the lie.
"How's Donnie?" she asks, picking at her blanket and not looking at Casey.
Casey scrubs his hand over his face. "Hasn't come out of the lab since we got back. Splinter went in to talk to him, but…" He shrugs helplessly. April can only imagine how that conversation went. Splinter would offer kindness, hope, comfort, and Donnie would ignore it all, with a face hard enough to split stone.
The last thing she remembers is Donnie saying, We're coming to you. Always behind her, always instead of celebrating putting Rahzar down, he had to patch her up again. Some things never change. She clenches her fists and tells herself again that she won't cry, not yet.
"April?"
She turns away from Casey's voice and squeezes her eyes shut.
"Can I get you anythin'?"
There's nothing Casey can do for the dry rattle in her chest, and anyways, all April wants is to be left alone. She wants to go back to sleep and not think of the patch of her memory that's been wiped clean. She doesn't remember falling, and if her head can keep that piece on lockdown forever, she'll be happy.
"Go home," she says. "Get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere."
"I want to stay," says Casey. He's warming up to wear her down through his particular brand of well-intentioned stubbornness. Normally it would work, but April is done, so done, and she summons up the last of her energy to point at the door and glare.
"Home. Now. If the nurses tell me you came back before tomorrow morning, I will kick your ass, Case."
Casey gives her a dubious stare, one eyebrow arched, and she sighs. "It'll be on the when-I'm-better to-do list. Now go, please. Go sleep." She drops her voice to a whisper. "Get better, Casey."
It's a shitty way to apologize for not taking care of him, but Casey understands. He leans down and gives her a stubbly kiss on her forehead, one of the few places on her body that doesn't hurt, and shuffles out of the room, exhaustion written on every line of his body.
April counts to twenty after the door closes, then twenty again to be sure, and finally lets herself cry.
A sharp gust of cold air wakes her hours later. No light comes through the curtains now, other than the spark of a far-off streetlight, and even the sound of traffic has faded. April blinks, wonders why she isn't in her bed, then smells plastic and antiseptic. It isn't long, just a breath or two, before the pain swarms up underneath her skin. Her shoulder and thigh still ache, but her entire chest burns, and there's a tender spot on the back of her head that makes her wince when she brushes her fingers against it.
Not a bad dream, then. She shifts against her pillows, and then something pushes against her senses — not quite a sound or smell, not even a taste, but something between all three. Even with a sore throat and swollen eyes, she smiles, and knows Donnie can see it even in the dark.
"Casey told me he left the window unlocked," he says. "I didn't want to wake you."
"It's fine," she whispers. "I'm glad you did."
"I've got seven and a half minutes before the nurses come back around." Donnie steps away from the window, looking everywhere but at her. April watches him check her IV stand, her morphine drip, even the machine that monitors her heart rate. It gives her an absurd, almost giddy burst of satisfaction to see him. Of course he'd want to watch her heartbeat on a screen, even if he's close enough to reach out and feel her pulse for himself.
"Donnie, th—"
"Don't," he says, going still with one hand on the rail of her bed. "Don't thank me."
Oh, Donnie. April swallows, her dry throat clicking. "According to Casey, it was all you. Well, and a little Raph, but I'm still processing the fact that Raph, you know, cared." It's a lame attempt at a joke, but Donnie huffs a little laugh and some of the steel goes out of his shoulders. April covers his hand with hers. "So tell me who I'm supposed to thank, if not you." Her voice rasps away into nothing.
"I wasn't careful." He pours her a glass of water and holds it steady while she tips her head back and drinks, her tongue clenching as the water slips down her throat. When she's finished, Donnie refills the glass, but she doesn't drink.
"Neither was I. If anything, you should be yelling at me. I should have figured Rahzar'd try something." She sighs, wriggling her fingers in between his. "So let's just skip the whole blame thing. If we've only got a few minutes, I'd rather not waste time on that. Okay?"
Donnie finally looks at her, and the worn, wrung-out cast to his eyes makes her flinch. "Okay." He sighs. "Seems like your doctors are doing a good job."
April laughs, even though it hurts. Her back feels skinned raw, and she's sure she's got a few cracked ribs, but it's so Donnie — so sure he could do a better job. To be fair, he probably could. "They are professionals, Donnie. I think they know what they're doing."
"I know, I just wanted to be sure. You know. That you were okay." Because you almost weren't, says the muted almost-color of his thoughts.
Donnie won't let her get away with lying the way Casey will, so she doesn't even try. "I will be," she says, and he rewards her with gentle pressure against her fingers. "I promise." Something Casey said occurs to her, and she takes a deep breath, ignoring the jagged shriek from her ribs.
"What do you think Rahzar meant? A storm's just beginning?"
"No idea," says Donnie. "We're going to look into it. Whatever it is, he won't be around to see it."
April shudders. She may be curious by nature, but she's not morbid.
Donnie shuffles his feet. "Three minutes," he says. "Then I should let you sleep, but I'll come back. Have to make sure the doctors are doing their job."
"Sure you do," she replies, searching his face. It was bad, she knows that much, but he's hiding the worst of it from her. She wants to draw it out of him, so he's not walking around poisoning himself, but there's no time. Instead of pushing, she grabs his arm with her free hand and tugs him down.
Now would be the time for a kiss and a confession, if it were anyone other than Donnie. But she knows he won't believe it if she told him now — he'd blame it on guilt, or the drugs in her system, and he might even be right.
If not now, when? Her control wavers, and she steadies herself. If she lets go again, he'll feel everything — not just the warmth and happiness at having him near her, but her body's pain. That, she can't allow.
"Thank you," she says, as fiercely as she can. "Without you —" April lets the sentence fade, not knowing how to finish.
He presses his forehead to hers, one finger touching her chin. For the space of one breath, he lingers, then his T-phone beeps a warning.
"Time's up," Donnie whispers. "I'll be back — soon, I promise."
"Okay," she whispers back as he pulls away, reluctant to let him go. April holds on to his hand as long as she can, leaning after him until he slips out the window, spare seconds before the nurse opens the door.