Author's Note: Donatello POV is back.


Chapter Thirteen

"Hissss, pop!" Michelangelo cries out, laughing and slapping his knee when the Kraang device pops open and mutagen oozes out. "I could do this all day," he says, sliding over to the box to grab another. "Seriously, Donnie, why isn't all science this fun?"

"Just make sure you're getting as much mutagen as you can into the jar," I reply with a rub of my eyes and a wave towards the glass container now half-full of collected mutagen.

"You need to get your priorities straight," he teases with a smirk, positioning the sound cannon near the glass. "Hisss, pop!"

It's the eventual come down from the high of discovery. My endorphins crash and my mood crashes along with them. My heart isn't racing and excitement no longer takes center stage. Without the welcomed distraction I'm painfully aware of the physical. More specifically, the maddening throb of pain emitting from my right hand. I try to shake out the offending digit with nothing but another low tremor of discomfort for my troubles. I should have taken it easy for a while, let the injury rest and heal, but I didn't have time for that and now I'm going to pay for it.

"Does your hand hurt still?" April asks, even though it's quite obvious it does.

"Y-yeah," I say with another shake and grimace. "It'll calm down, just need to rest it a bit."

"Right, because that's likely to happen," she says and her teasing smile makes my face burn.

"You sure it's safe to trust Mikey with that thing?" Raph asks.

He pushes open the lab door with a cringe-worthy squeal. The sound of his voice is enough to cool the growing blush across my face. His skin is still wet from the rain and he shakes off not unlike a dog.

"Hey, man, I'm like the best with this thing," Mikey replies, lifting his chin and resting a hand proudly on his upper plastron. "Watch this," he makes a big show of pushing the button and then grins excitedly when his current target pops open. "Hiss, pop, Dude."

"Uh huh," Raph says, but stops short of rolling his eyes. "So…you're just opening them?" he asks, turning his attention and most likely disapproval in my direction. "Thought you were working on the tracker."

"The tracker won't work," April says and I'm sure I look surprised that she answered for me. "Donnie figured out we can destroy them using sound instead."

She sounds fiercely proud and it makes my blush burn back to life. Raphael steadies his gaze on her and moves his jaw like he's chewing. He doesn't look amused. Although to be accurate, he almost never does. I prepare myself for a fight and I stand, shocked when it doesn't transpire.

"Sounds good to me," he replies with a shrug. "Nice job, Donnie."

Wait…what?

He still thinks you're going to freak out at any moment.

"Um, thanks, Raph," I say, too tired for a fight or to fling accusations.

"You and Leo find the truck?" Mikey asks, sifting through the box for his next target.

Raph rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. So, the two of them had a fight. I shouldn't be surprised it's usually a drawn out conclusion when they're alone for any length of time.

"Nah, nobody showed," he says, his eyes darting for the door. "Leo is gonna stay out a little while longer."

"By himself?" Mikey asks with a frown. "Is that safe?"

"It's just the Purple Dragons, Mikey. I think Leo can handle it," he snaps in reply. His shoulders tense and his hands instantly ball into fists at his sides. "I…I'm gonna go clean up. Call me if something interesting happens," he adds with a growl before stalking out of the lab.

It must be exhausting being that angry all the time.

"I was just asking, geez," Mikey mutters.

He only lets Raph's temper dampen his mood for a few seconds. By the time he sets up his next victim he's all smiles again. Cleaning up might not be a bad idea. I've been wearing these gloves for hours now and I should probably change the dressing over my wound. It's an innocent movement, nothing taxing or strenuous. I reach up with my left hand to pull the glove from my right without any extra force than is needed to complete the task. Regardless, the stiff leather rakes over the bandages covering my thumb and I see stars.

I don't think the word pain does it justice and agony doesn't seem entirely appropriate either. It's bright and sudden and catches me so by surprise I can't help but make a strangled noise from my throat. I pitch forward and grip my hand tightly to my upper plastron, afraid to move, afraid to look. The initial shock ebbs somewhat, but the increased sensation is far from gone. It comes in fast waves and reaches its tendrils up to my shoulder. Pain isn't the right word, but it's the closest I have to accuracy. The one thing I'm certain of is that something is wrong.

"Donnie, are you okay?" April asks.

She's by my side with her arm around my shoulder and her hand resting on my arm. I don't have the composure to focus on her touch. I'm too busy trying to get a breath in past my clenched teeth. She tries to pull my left hand away, to get a better look at my injury but I stumble away from her; keeping it hidden.

"S'fine," I lie, turning my body to keep out of her reach. "I just…bumped it," I swallow back an unrelenting wave of nausea. "I'm just…I need to…I should clean it. S'fine."

"It's cause I did the stitches wrong, isn't it?" Mikey asks, his new found enjoyment of science forgotten. "I told you not to have me do it."

"No, the stitches are fine, Mikey," I insist. "I just bumped it. It's fine."

The initial shock has faded to an unhappy memory and I manage to take in a deep breath. I glance towards the lab door, my hand still clutched to my chest. I don't want either of them to see this. It's probably infected. I need to take off the bandage, irrigate the wound and maybe have Master Splinter take out the stitches. I'm not about to ask Mikey to do it. Not with the way guilt is making him almost unrecognizable at the moment.

"I have to clean it," I say again, taking less-than steady steps towards the door.

"Donnie…"

I ignore her. I shouldn't. I'm sure she's just concerned, but if my thumb is infected I don't want her to see it. I hurry to the bathroom, only letting out another held breath when the door closes behind me and I slide the lock into place. The overhead lights flicker and the shower head drips out an echoing pattern across the tile floor.

If this was a horror movie you'd be dead right about now.

I laugh, the noise sounding entirely off-putting in the dreary bathroom. It's not really funny, but I laugh just the same. I think I may be running a fever. Leaning my hips against the counter I take in a few steadying breaths. I'm afraid to look at my hand. For all my posturing that I didn't want Mikey and April to see it, the real thing I didn't want them to see was my reaction. Something is wrong and I'm afraid to look.

Could be interesting though? Could be something new?

There is that, I suppose. The one bright spot that maybe, just maybe I was about to see something new or at the very least learn something. I pry my left hand away and rest my right on the cool surface of the counter. The movement brings another wave of pain and I grit my teeth against it. The bandage is still in place, although I can see dark and ominous splotches fighting to seep up through the gauze.

This isn't going to be pretty. Please…just don't let there be bugs.

The medical tape at the edge of the bandage is already losing its adhesiveness. I hope it makes unwrapping my thumb easier. I take hold of the tape and pull it free. I see stars, burning, stabbing, vindictive stars. There's no going back now and I start to unwrap the bandage. The gauze has started to fuse with my skin and when I pull it free it takes a thin layer of skin and something slimy and unpleasant with it. It smells. It's acrid and almost…mechanical and it turns my insides until I'm throwing up whatever small amount of food is in my stomach.

Nice going, Genius.

I grip the edge of the sink with my good hand until I'm certain I'm done retching. I take in a slow breath through my nose and force open my eyes. The thumb is swollen, the stitches cutting into the flesh surrounding the initial wound. The swelling doesn't concern me. I expected that. What I didn't expect was for the skin of my thumb to have turned black. The color travels outward through the veins in my hand and the wound oozes a sickly green substance. This is not how infections are supposed to work. This is new. This is wrong. Fascinating.

Fascinating? What is wrong with you? You're going to throw up again.

I clench my jaw and struggle to turn on the faucet with my other hand. This is going to hurt. This is going to hurt a lot. I push my hand under the water before I lose my nerve. My expectations do not disappoint. The shock of it almost sends me to my knees and my left hand gripping the sink is all that keeps me upright. I scream. I don't mean to. I don't want to, but the guttural sound rips from my throat the instant the warm water touches my flesh.

My vision blurs and for a brief, delirious moment I think the water somehow morphed into fire because it is most assuredly burning me. I scramble to turn off the faucet, but settle for sliding to the floor instead, once again clutching my arm to my chest. I think I throw up again, but I can't be certain. I can't be certain of anything. I press my back against the cold tile wall and struggle to find a breath around my closed throat. A loud, deliberate sound breaks through the fog of pain. It's steady and angry and if a sound was Raphael this sound would definitely be him. Another inappropriate laugh rips from my throat…or maybe I just imagined it.

"Donnie!"

How does the angry sound know your name?

"Open the damn door!"

Don't move. Its vision is probably based on movement.

"Donatello, open the damn door or I'm breaking it down!"

I think someone breaks down the door. They must have, because there's a hand on my shoulder and another on my face.

"S'fine," I mutter, trying to push the hands away.

Stop moving! It'll see you!

I think I'm delirious.

"What the hell is wrong with your hand?"

"Get away," I grumble in reply. I try to scoot away but my legs won't cooperate and the hand on my shoulder is keeping me firmly planted where I sit. "S'fine."

"It ain't fine, stop saying that. Mikey, go get Master Splinter. Don't argue with me, just go!"

The fire is starting to cool and my breaths come with something resembling regularity. I blink back the tears in my eyes and am suddenly aware of the bitter taste of sick in my mouth. Raphael comes in to focus. He's kneeling beside me, his green eyes wide with fear. I must have screamed louder than I thought. Behind him I can see the broken bathroom door hanging on its shattered hinges and April lingering just inside it her face pale.

"Sorry," I mumble, pausing to swallow back another wave of nausea. "I thought…I thought water would help."

"What the hell, Don?" Raph says. "You're hand...it…"

He doesn't finish, but he doesn't have to. I know I saw it for myself.

"Must have been something on the metal. Don't…don't let Mikey touch anymore of the containers," I say, taking in a sharp breath through my nose.

"Right, yeah of course," he says with a hurried nod. "What do you need me to do? What do I do?"

He sounds close to panic and it isn't a comforting thing to hear. I try to unclench the fist I have pressed against my chest, but somehow the pressure on the wound seems to keep some of the more bright flashes of pain at bay so I decide against it. I close my eyes and take in another breath.

Be still.

"I just…I just need to sit here for a minute," I explain.

The weight of his hand on my shoulder is starting to cause its own discomfort and I stop short of tearing away from his touch. He's trying to be a comfort.

"Some water?" I ask and as soon as the request passes my lips it is all I can think about.

"Right, yeah, of course," he says with a quick nod. "I'll get ya some water. April, sit with him until I get back."

I breathe a sigh of relief when the weight is lifted from my shoulder and chance a look up at April as she sits down beside me. She's as equally worried as my brother, but she wears it differently. She's ashen and wide-eyed with her lips pressed in a thin line. I don't want her to worry. It makes my stomach squirm to see her worry.

"It doesn't…hurt as much now," I say, which isn't a complete lie. "I'm sorry I…startled you guys. I didn't know the water would do that."

She nods, moving closer until she's pressed up against me. I can feel the heat radiating off of her and it isn't until that moment that I realize how cold I must be. She looks over my thumb and hand with growing concern, but keeps from touching the afflicted hand for which I am grateful.

"Those stitches will have to come out," she says regretfully.

She knows how much it's going to hurt.

"Was it, did it look like this before?" she asks quietly.

She doesn't want to sound accusing. I wouldn't blame her if she did. Hiding an injury does seem like something I would do. Injuries get in the way. Injuries keep you from your work.

I shake my head. "No, it was…it was just a little cut. Two stitches, nothing."

She bites her bottom lip and more than a few unwholesome thoughts pass through my pain-addled mind at the sight of it. I laugh and the sound does nothing but make her look more worried.

"Taken down…by an alien paper cut," I say around another disconcerting chuckle because it is so ridiculous.

I'm a highly trained martial artist. I might not be as good as my brothers, but that still puts me above a great deal of people. This is not how I'm supposed to go down. We're supposed to go down fighting, out in a blaze of glory. Not crouched on the bathroom floor with a oozing cut bringing me to my knees. It's not even a stab or something impressive. I didn't even notice when it happened. It's ridiculous and so I chuckle again. April takes hold of my face and her worried look is replaced by that stubborn narrowing of her eyes I love and fear in equal measure.

"You're not down," she says and the strength in her words cuts off another laugh before it begins. "We'll figure this out and everything will be all right. You're not giving up already are you?"

Pathetic, Coward.

"No," I say with a slight shake of my head. The pain dulls enough where I can almost get my wits about me. "We'll figure it out."

She smiles, her hands still warm and soft against my face. She leans in and I'm afraid she's going to kiss me so I turn my head away. Hurt is sudden and horrible across her eyes and I explain in a mush of words and stammers.

"N-no…I…I mean. I threw up."

She blinks and then the smile is back along with that blush I love so much. "Always the gentleman," she says with a quiet laugh behind her words.

She does lean in and kiss the top of my head and it tingles and makes me wish for a toothbrush. She pulls back slightly and I catch a glimpse of the hem of Master Splinter's robe as he glides over. April moves to give him room and I take in a hiss through my teeth when he takes hold of my arm by the elbow. He is trying to be gentle, he is gentle. It hurts just the same. His brow is furrowed and I think I spot anger in his eyes. I can't be sure in the dim light and the increased throb of pain from even the slight movements.

"I need to remove these stitches," he finally says. "Are you able to stand, my son?"

I don't get a chance to try on my own. Raphael is already at my side, draping my good arm over his shoulders and heaving me up to standing. The world spins and I'm all awkward, gangly limbs with feet that refuse to do the one thing feet are meant to do. I lean on my brother and can hear the tiny grunt of struggle to keep me upright. His shoulders tense, he doesn't waiver and after a few slow breaths the pain has dimmed to a more manageable level and I get my feet beneath me to alleviate some of my weight from his carry.

"We're just going to the lab," Raphael says. "You can do that right?"

"Y-yeah," I say with a nod. "I'll race you," I add with a snort of a laugh.

What is wrong with you?

I think he rolls his eyes. I can practically feel him roll his eyes. "Let's make it out of the bathroom first, hotshot."

The first few steps are the epitome of struggle and I lean on him more than I would like to. I might be slender in comparison to my brothers but my added height does not make me light by any stretch of the imagination. Raphael is strong, but dead weight is dead weight and it doesn't make dragging me across the tiled floor an easy task. Master Splinter walks behind us, keeping close. He won't let us fall. He'll catch us.