Nope, I still don't own them. Sigh. Please review, pleeease?
Donatello's head rolled against Raphael's shoulder with every step that Raph ran. He was dead weight in Raphael's arms, cold as a stone, still as a corpse. Leonardo was leading the way through the sewers toward the lair and Mike was bringing up the rear, watching behind for pursuers. The splash of the water and his own harsh breaths were the only things Raph could hear. He dropped his gaze to Don's face and prayed a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening. Please…just please…
He splashed up to the door of the lair, breathing heavily from the long run and his heavy burden. Leo keyed open the hatch and sprinted inside, shouting. "Master! Master!" There was a sharp note of panic in the edge of his voice that unnerved Raphael, though he would never admit it. He shouldered past Leonardo toward the infirmary, ignoring the muted, whispered pleas from Mike for a promise, an assurance that Donny would be okay. Raphael settled Don onto the bed, softly, ever so gently, secretly terrified that he would jostle his brother and make the whole fucked-up situation that much worse. He smoothed his palm over Donatello's sweat-soaked forehead. "We're home, bro," he whispered, "We're home."
Splinter swept into the room, moving at a clip that Raphael wouldn't have guessed him capable of. He scanned the brothers with worried eyes, then bent and swept a bony paw over Donatello's brow, his face crinkled with concern and, Raphael suspected, fear. "Has he spoken?" Splinter's words were rough with emotion.
"No, Master, not a word," answered Mike, his own emotions putting a quaver in his voice. "Is he gonna be okay?"
Splinter's hand gave a nearly imperceptible tremble as he softly touched Donatello's pale cheek. "I do not know, my son."
"Master, I fear he's been poisoned." Leo's hands were clenched at his sides, and he was fairly vibrating with anger and with the strain of the rescue. Splinter stopped short, turning to look at Leo with a hooded gaze. "Bishop said something about him needing an antidote."
Splinter's eyes darkened with anger. "Bishop," he said quietly.
"We should call April, she'll know what to do!" The words were barely out of Mike's mouth when he went pale with memory. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, then he whispered, "Oh. Yeah." A slick of tears brightened his eyes, and Raphael squeezed his shoulder with a strong grip, trying to telegraph an understanding and peace that he himself didn't feel. Mike raised his hand to his mouth, biting at a knuckle to stop himself from sobbing.
"We shall have to do our best to help him, my sons, and hope." Splinter motioned to Leonardo. "Come, Leonardo, and you, Michelangelo. We must clean his wounds, and perhaps some herbs and medicines may help him." Splinter led Leo and Mike out of the infirmary, the tip of his cane pocking against the stone floor. To Raphael, the old rat looked hunched and aged, as though many years had fallen suddenly upon him.
Raphael stood looking down at his brother's still form. He suddenly felt bone-tired, so tired that his muscles began to tremble, and he pulled up a chair, dropping to a seat next to the bed. His eyes roamed up and down Don's body, taking in the new wounds and the pale pallor of his brother's skin. Blood was drying across Donatello's chest in rusty brown smears, streaking across the smooth surface of his carapace.
Raphael took a deep breath, pulling in the air as if to cleanse his body and mind of all the fear and anger of the last week. "You know I ain't good at talking', Donny. I'm better at brawlin'. Most times when I do talk it all comes out wrong. I'm a dumbass when it comes to that sort of thing." Raphael shook his head, his hand coming up to trace a ragged scar on Don's shoulder. "But I can talk to you. You always know when to listen and when to give advice, and you never lecture me or judge me, even when I'm bein' a dick. You just let me be me."
Raph stopped, emotion threatening to stop his voice, and he stood, reaching across Don's still body to grab a packet of clean gauze and some rubbing alcohol. He soaked the gauze and smoothed it across Don's chest, wiping away the dried blood and sweat that was crusted across his plastron.
"You can't leave me here alone with Leo and Mike, bro. We'll kill each other, you know that." He gave a little snort of laughter. "Leo is…well, Leo is Leo, and you know Mike can't be serious for more than 45 seconds." He made an exaggerated shudder, even though he knew Don wouldn't see it. "And you know everything in the lair would go to hell if you weren't around to fix it." Raphael forced a mirthless smile. But Don remained motionless, his breaths shallow and uneven.
Raphael dropped his face into his palms. He couldn't ignore it any longer. The feeling had been haunting him from the moment that he walked into April's apartment and realized that Don had been taken. "You know I didn't mean what I said, right, about it bein' your fault? I couldn't handle you thinkin' that you were responsible for April…" He had to stop, not willing to say the words. "For her bein' gone, 'specially if you thought it because of me. I don't think I could live with that." He grasped Donatello's hand, desperate that his brother should hear him, should understand his words. "We all got guilt, man, about one thing or another. Believe me, I know. But don't you dare feel guilty about something that you couldn't control."
He bit the corner of his lip, trying to gain control of the pain in his chest. "I told you that you've never done enough to keep this family safe." Shame flooded him as he repeated the words. "But you've saved our asses more times than I can even count, bro. You've pulled us out of the fire so many times, because you use your head instead of just actin' without thinkin'. And I never gave you credit for that."
He resumed swabbing at Don's chest, needing to erase the blood, the signs of his brother's torture. He tossed a handful of gauze toward the wastebasket, unheeding when it bounced off the rim and onto the concrete floor. "We need you, Don. I need you." Raph had to swallow hard, hot tears suddenly burning his eyes. He dashed them away with the back of his hand, vaguely embarrassed. "Aw hell, Donny, I love ya. You gotta fight, man. You just…" He stopped, the lump in his throat momentarily strangling his voice. "You just gotta."