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Chapter 12

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(Raph.) Just a whisper, barely audible.

(I see 'em.)

Leo led the way up, to get a better position on them. With a little more distance between themselves and the Foot soldiers now, they were able to converse a bit more freely.

Raphael pulled out his sais in readiness.

"Wait. Two of them… probably scouts. We should follow them."

"Or, we could jus' pound the snot outta' them until they tell us where to go." Raphael was gearing up. He was tired of looking, it was time for action.

As Raphael took a step forward, a katana blade materialized in the way, blocking his path.

"Raphael. We wait. That's an order."

Instinctively, Raphael shot a pissed off look at his brother. It disappeared the moment he looked into Leo's face. There was something different about the way he looked now, the way his voice sounded as he'd said those words. It conveyed anguish beyond words.

In that moment, he finally understood. Raphael looked at his brother, knowing his torment. He blames himself. He always does. Being the leader wasn't a desire for power, it was a terrible burden. The responsibility of keeping his family safe was a constant weight upon him, always the foremost thought in his mind at all times. An' I haven't exactly made it too easy for 'im.

"Leo. I'm sorry."

Leonardo knew what his brother was saying. It wasn't this last bit of impulsiveness he was apologizing for. He was sorry for all of it, for all of the fighting and bickering. For the rebelliousness that had eventually spiraled them all into this nightmare.

"It's not your fault, little brother." He used the nickname with compassion, in a protective sense. Eyes steady, he sheathed his katana.

"Leo -" Raph started.

Leo tensed, and placed a hand up. Shhhh… it said. Raphael stopped and followed Leo's line of sight – the two Foot soldiers were on the move. Leo gave his brother a nod: let's go.

The two turtles moved invisibly across the rooftops, always keeping a short distance behind their quarry. They trailed them for hours, until at last they observed the Foot slip into the window of an old, deserted-looking building. It's a medical facility, thought Leo. His stomach turned at the imagery of it, thinking of his brothers inside having medical 'procedures' forced upon them. This has got to be the place, no doubt about it.

They cased the perimeter of the building, looking for possible entry points.

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Far away, it felt like someone was touching him. It was a gentle touch, it felt good. This confused him. He furrowed his brow. What?

His chest raised and fell with breath. The heart still beat. The eyes blinked once. Upon his entry, Don understood right away that Mike's physical form was still functioning but it was entirely on autopilot. The lights were on, but nobody was home.

His brother was broken. Donatello also understood now that everything he'd endured here had also been visited upon the youngest turtle, though Mike was the least equipped to deal with such a thing. This never should have happened to him. It's not right. Don's fist clenched, his heart ached. There was no life in Mike's eyes. The body kept breathing, but the soul was dead.

Donatello crawled his way over to where his brother was sitting. Mike was leaning into the wall absent-mindedly, like a stuffed doll propped up against it. He placed a hand on his shoulder. "Mikey."

Mike turned slightly in the direction of Donatello's voice, but didn't look directly at him. Miles away, Don thought sadly. "Mike, it's Donnie." He shook his brother slightly. "Mike."

Don? So confused. Where am I? What's going on? The blinding white room was coming back into focus. Something was off though. There was something in the way of the white. A large, green blob in his vision. He reached out towards it. It felt warm, familiar somehow.

"C'mon Mikey, snap out of it!" That's… Donatello's voice? His eyes focused. Slowly, his brain began to make sense of what he was seeing.

"Don…?"

"That's right, Mike, it's me," Donatello's heart leapt. Maybe Mike wasn't brain-dead after all.

"Don, how –" Michelangelo saw his brother at last. He was alive! Donatello was alive and he was here…?

He saw something else now. Don looked thin and exhausted. He had sores all over his body, and his shoulder was black. Realization was finally setting in. "Donnie… not you too…"

Without another word, Donatello pulled his brother into him. The two embraced fiercely, a sense of relief washing over both. "Don… don't leave me… don't leave me here alone anymore…" Mike was crying now.

"I'm not going anywhere, Mikey." Michelangelo buried his head in Donatello's chest, his entire body shuddering with sobs. I understand, now, Don thought, I get it. I understand the rage, the bloodlust Raphael feels, this is why. Again, he swore blood on his enemy. I will kill them for this, and I will enjoy doing so.

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Donatello said he figured it had been about three weeks. It didn't sound like a lot of time really. Unrelenting, 'round-the-clock torture would change your mind about such a thing, though. Don's fever had broken some time ago, and he was thankful for the ability to formulate his thoughts again, especially now that he was reunited with his younger brother.

"Donnie." Michelangelo's tears slowed. "What about the others, are they here too?"

"Leo's safe. I was able to touch him. He's looking for us right now, Mikey." He had his good arm around Mike's shoulders.

"An' Raph?" He looked up at Donatello, eyes huge and wet. Innocent, thought Don, just like a kid's.

"I don't know. But I haven't seen him here… they're probably both out there, searching for us." The words filled them both with hope, accompanied by the image of the two eldest turtles coming to release them from this horrid place. They both knew the determination with which their older brothers would be looking, and almost shuddered to think what would happen to anyone that got in their way.

"Mike," Donatello inquired, "Mike, are you alright? Are any of your wounds serious?"

Donatello started looking over Michelangelo, assessing his injuries. None of the cuts looked too serious, but one of his hands was swollen pretty badly. Probably some broken bones, Don thought, if I don't set it soon, he may never use that hand again. But it was pointless to try here with nothing to splint it. Looks like they've used him as a punching bag. Don could feel the anger welling up in him again. Mike's body was more black-and-blue than green. His flesh was lumpy and knotted with scars and scabs. Something else caught his attention. Bruising all along the insides of both arms, with several small holes over the veins. Injections. Were they drugging him? He'd assumed initially that Mike had been given the same shock treatments that he'd been subjected to, but closer examination of his brother told a different story.

Before Michelangelo could answer, Don pressed him, "Mike… what did they inject you with. Tell me."

Mike dropped his eyes. He began panting heavily, trying to speak. His entire body was shivering.

"It's okay, it's okay," Don held onto him, "you don't have to tell me." Shit. "Just tell me you're okay now…"

Chest still heaving, Mike nodded his head slowly. After a moment, he spoke. "Don't know… don't know what it is. Always wears off eventually." And then they stick me with it again. He was shaking uncontrollably.

"S'okay, Mikey… it's okay…" Don cooed at him, trying to comfort his little brother. They sat there in silence for a while.

After some time, Michelangelo spoke. "Donnie… I'm glad you're here. I wish you weren't, but…" he trailed off.

"It's okay Mikey, I understand."

"Your shoulder… does it hurt?" Mike noticed that Donatello wasn't moving the arm on that side.

Donatello sighed. "I don't really feel it so much anymore."

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