Author's Notes: Some more angst for you this evening and brother time.


Chapter Nineteen

I'm not sure if my first moments of consciousness are even that or just a very vivid fever dream. My eyes won't open, but every sound makes me wince even though I can't differentiate one from the other in the jumble of noise that attacks my ears. My mouth and nose feel as though they're stuffed with cotton and I choke and gag against the intrusion. There's pressure on my shoulder, it might be a hand. I can't be sure. I can't be sure of anything really. There's noise and it's finally warm and there's pressure on my shoulder and a low, steady drone that whispers in my ear and sends me back into oblivion.

The darkness doesn't last. Nothing lasts. There's an end to everything and apparently this is the end of my blissful oblivion. I would have liked to have lingered there a little while longer. It's nice to be still for once. I don't usually get what I want and the pain is waiting for me when I return, like an unwelcomed house guest who just won't leave. It has set up shop and moved in its own furniture. It throbs and aches throughout my whole body and I can't quite pinpoint where it starts and if it ever ends. It isn't the bright, shocking agony of before. It's more low and persistent and just as unwanted. I think a small moan passes my lips and the pressure is back on my shoulder.

Open your eyes. You have to at least try. Come on. A ninja has control over his body. Open your eyes.

"It's all right, Donnie. You're all right. Don't try to move."

What do they know? Open your eyes!

The quiet voice can whisper and console all it likes. I will move. I have to. The fog of pain and something heavier, something unnatural weighs on my thoughts and threatens to derail my plans. All I have to do is open my eyes. That's all. That's the first step. It's simple. It's the start of every day. So why is it such a struggle? I won't let the fog win out. I'm stronger than this. I don't know how long I try, there are several instances where I come close to giving up, but I don't. I persist and all of my effort is rewarded with a glare of light so bright I think my retinas might burn out of my head.

"Easy, it's all right. You're all right," the quiet voice insists.

There's a loud click and the light dims enough where it is no longer painful to open my eyes. I can't see. The room is a dull blur and the effort to open my eyes has left an ache in my foggy head. I flinch at the sudden touch of a hand alongside my face. The hand doesn't move and soon I'm leaning in to the touch, reveling in the warmth of it. The cotton is thankfully gone from my nose and I take in a deep breath; wildflowers. April.

"You're all right," she says again, running her thumb in slow circles along the underside of my jaw.

Why does she keep saying that? You must not be all right.

"W-was…going…on," I mumble what I think are words.

I can't really be certain. Everything is so foggy.

"Master Splinter fixed your hand," she explains or tries she tries to.

Those words don't make sense to me. I'm the one who fixes things.

"He had to…to cut away a lot of the skin," she continues and I hear a slight catch in her throat.

Nice going, awake for two seconds and you already made her cry.

She sniffles and I lean against her hand, pinning it on the pillow so she can't pull it away. I don't want her to pull it away.

"Raph went to get more medicine," she says and her voice is steady again. "But you need to rest, all right?"

Be still.

I can't keep my eyes open any longer. I try and I fail. The pain doesn't abate with the darkness and I nuzzle against April's hand as if it will ward it off. She presses a soft and warm kiss along my temple and through the haze I have enough sense to wish for something more. If I concentrate hard enough maybe I can pretend we're back at her apartment, cuddled together on the couch without a thought for anything but each other.

The cotton is back. It pulls me from the darkness with a fit of coughing so strong I fear I'll never catch my breath. My eyes water and I instinctively reach my hand up to rub them. The bandage hits my face and the pain blossoms bright and horrible up through my arm and into my shoulder. It's unexpected and the fog is shattered. I long for the stillness of oblivion and try to call for help. What comes out is an animalistic noise I hope to never hear again.

"Easy, Donnie. Easy, it's all right. You're all right. I'm here."

The voice is calm, but I can hear the slight panic fraying the edges of each word. I think they take hold of my arm to guide it back to the bed. I can't be certain. Every other sensation, every feeling is dulled to the crushing weight of pain sitting on my chest. I manage a few staggered breaths through my nose and bite the inside of my cheek until the worst of it subsides and I can open my mouth without fear of that sound coming out again.

"Don't try to move," the calm voice instructs. "You need to rest."

So bossy.

"L-Leo?"

The name is more of a croak than an actual word and the three letters alone are enough to send me coughing again. Someone is resting a comforting hand on my shoulder and eventually my breathing evens out although I can hear it rattle slightly in my chest.

"Yeah, I'm here, Donnie."

He's here. That alone is enough to calm the worst of things to the point where I can almost have a coherent thought. Leo won't let anything bad happen.

Although he did just stand back while Splinter drugged you and probably cut off your hand.

My hand.

My eyes are open. I don't care about the pain. I don't care about that stupid light that won't stop glaring down at me. I turn my head to the side, blinking back the blur and haze and willing my eyesight to focus. I need to see. I have to see for myself. White bandages stare back at me; thick and almost glowing in the dim light. I want to tear them off and see for myself. See what they left me with. I think I try to do just that because Leo is stopping me. He grips my left hand with a minimal amount of effort and pins me back to the bed.

"M-my…hand," I groan, trying to lift my knees up to push him off balance.

"Take it easy, Donnie," he says and that frayed sound is still clinging to his words but he holds firm. "It's all right. Master Splinter took care of it, but you have to relax."

Took care of it? What does he mean by that?

"Get…off!" I say and I think I might have shouted because he flinches and turns his head slightly to the side. "Let me…see it!"

"You can't," he says, barely flinching when I manage to free my left hand long enough to smack him across the face. "It has to stay wrapped until it's time to change the bandages. Do you want it to get infected again?"

Yes, that's exactly what I want. Jerk.

"Get off of me!"

I shout for certain this time and I don't care that the forceful words tear at my sore throat. Tears are burning twin paths down the sides of my face and my rattling breathes are coming in shorter intervals. It's anger, no it's rage and it's strong enough to even push the pain aside. It crushes any reasonable or logical thought far from my mind and I thrash and curse at my brother until I can't force out any more coherent words around my struggling breathes. He doesn't move. He stays. He's here.

"M-my…h-h-hand," I stammer around gulps of air and sobs that I can't control despite the great desire to do so.

"It's going to be all right," he says and the frays on his words have ripped. "It's going to take some time, but it'll be all right," he insists and his words falter under tears of his own.

No, that's not right. Leo doesn't cry.

"He…he cut…cut it off," I murmur.

My struggle is bringing on exhaustion fast and deliberate and I'm afraid I might slip back into darkness.

"No," he says quickly around a frantic sniffle. "No, Donnie. No he didn't," he insists and I believe him. Why would Leo lie? What would he have to gain?

I'm alone. The room is dark and the digital clock on my nightstand glares out an angry 2:45am with glowing, red numbers. I must have caught them between shifts. I know they've been taking turns sitting up with me. I remember some of it. Blurry, painful flashes of memories I can't put in to order or weed out from the fabrications. The pain medicine is starting to wear off and that means someone will be here soon to top me off. I don't want them to. I don't like how it fogs my mind and churns my stomach. I'd rather deal with the pain. The pain I understand.

There's a creak of the door opening followed by heavy, deliberate footsteps; Raphael. I close my eyes and try to even out my breathing. He sits in the chair beside my bed and I hear the click of a syringe against the glass side of a medicine bottle. I don't want that. I blink my eyes open and stare up at him He hasn't noticed I'm conscious. His concentration is so focused on filling the syringe with the clear liquid. There's a start to his movements when he turns and sees my eyes looking up at him.

"Oh, geez, sorry, man. I didn't mean to wake ya," he says, never raising his voice above a whisper.

Who is this considerate turtle and what has he done with your brother?

"S'fine," I murmur and the words set off a slight cough. "I was already awake."

He grimaces. "I'll be quick all right? This'll help you sleep," he says and he's lowering the needle towards my arm.

I reach across my body with obvious effort, taking hold of my arm before he can stick me. "No," I say, grateful that my voice doesn't waiver. "I don't…want it."

He holds the needle mid-air, his eyes round and concerned. "But…Master Splinter said…"

"I don't care what he says," I hiss and the anger is back, making my arms tremble and my chest tighten. "Not his…decision."

"Don, you gotta rest, man. You're hurt, this'll help you sleep," he insists, making another try of it.

I hold firm and push away the needle. "I don't want to sleep," I say and my voice isn't steady anymore. It shakes and trembles and threatens to choke off by tears at any moment. "I didn't want…I didn't want to sleep and he…you let him. You both…you just stood there…you let him…"

My throat closes and I pinch my eyes shut in shame or embarrassment or anger, I can't settle on one, maybe it's all of them. He stammers over a response and instead attempts to rest a hand on my arm. I pull away with a frantic, lurching movement.

"Don't touch me," I say between painful gulps of air.

"Donnie…"

"Where's Mikey?" I ask, cutting him off before he can defend himself or admit wrong-doing or anything else he plans on saying. "Get…Mikey."

"All right, okay I'll get Mikey," Raph says with scared, frantic clips of his voice.

The chair clatters back against the floor as he runs out of the room. I pinch my eyes shut and try to focus on my breathing. I try to be still. I can't. I need Michelangelo. He won't judge me. He won't tell me what to do. He'll ask what he can do to help and actually mean it. We're a team. He wouldn't have stood there and done nothing.

"Hey, hey, it's all right, D. Ya gotta relax. Can you do that for me?"

His voice is rough from sleep, but he's there and I cling to his hand when he takes hold of mine.

"Breath with me, all right? Ya gotta breath. In…and out. That's it. You got this, Dude."

I do have this. I'm stronger than this. I won't let it beat me.

"Do you want some pain meds?" he asks quietly.

"N-no," I say with a violent shake of my head.

"All right…that's all right. You don't have to. We're not gonna make ya," he says and I cling to his hand just a little bit tighter.

I knew I could count on him.

"Y-you'll stay?"

"Yeah, of course. All night if ya want," he says with a squeeze of his hand.

"Can…can you read to me?"

I don't know where the request comes from, but he doesn't make fun of me despite how childish it is. He cranes his neck over at the bookshelf along the far wall, squinting in the dim light.

"What do you want me to read?" he asks.

"You pick," I say, not wanting to let go of his hand as he stands to pick a book from the shelf.

Raphael is still lingering in the doorway. I can hear him breathing. I'm sure he thinks I'm being ridiculous. I don't care. The pain is creeping back to unbearable the longer I go without pain medication and I need something to distract me. Mikey takes his time, running his finger along the spines of the books and silently mouthing each title as he moves. Finally picking one he crosses the small distance and instead of sitting in the chair takes up shop on my bed along my left side.

"They're mostly science books," he says with a disapproving cluck of his tongue against his front teeth. I don't know why that surprises him.

He settles back against the headboard and I take the hand that's offered, leaning my head against his leg as he opens the book. The book is fairy stories, knights and dragons and princesses to rescue. I don't know where he found it amongst the textbooks. It must be a left over from our childhood and I'm certain there was some night in our past when I read it to him. When he'd sneak into my room after a nightmare or a particularly nasty fight between Leo and Raph and I'd read him stories until dawn.

I close my eyes and listen as he reads; the quiet tenors of his voice a welcomed distraction. Raphael leaves his post at the door and takes a seat beside the bed. He lets a few more minutes pass before reaching out to rest a hand on my shoulder and I hear a tiny hitch to his breath. I don't pull away. I shouldn't have snapped at him before. It wasn't entirely fair. I'm not thinking straight. There's still a heavy fog clouding my thoughts and the pain is twisting them into something bitter and angry. I don't want to think that way. Things will be better in the morning. They'll have to be.