The Shield And The Light

"I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light." —Helen Keller

"Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It's not something you learn in school. But if you haven't learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven't learned anything." ―Muhammad Ali

"No," Raphael was gasping, his voice rising in both inflection and volume, and his eyes glazed over and he didn't care about the gush of blood over his hands and his chest, and "No no no no no" until his throat was cracked and burning, and he could feel the city that was him falling into volcanic fire, and the blood-soaked body he was hugging in his bruised arms was so small and so limp and so silent and the only thought galloping through his head was "If you can hear me, use that healing force thing, whatever it is, use me, use our bond, grab onto my mind, just stay alive, stay alive, stay alive because I need to say I'm sorry I need to tell you I'm so sorry I called you a stupid brainless idiot, because it's wrong and you're not, you never were and you need to know that, and gods, Mikey, we're stuck and we're alone and I don't know what to do and just please please please little brother just stay alive, I need you, Mikey…"

And he forgot he was saying it out loud until the shadows in the rubble behind him began to laugh again, but he was too tired to face them again, he was too tired to grab his bloodied weapons and also it meant letting go of his brother's body. So he growled and snarled and hissed and roared and hoped that his sounds would keep them back until his family could arrive because he pressed the T-Phone's panic button he couldn't remember how long ago, and now he couldn't even remember where his phone was but his brother's phone was still in his belt, so Raphael pulled it out with blood-slicked fingers from that blood-stained belt with blood running like wet paint and he pushed the panic button again and then he pushed speed dial for both his other brothers' numbers, and he felt cold and empty and he was shivering and Don would say it was shock.

And the sounds of living nightmares faded but eyes were still watching, and he knew it was all the blood. He feverishly wondered if he could press one of his open wounds to one of Michelangelo's wounds and activate Mikey's telekinesis so somehow he could transfuse his blood but he didn't think it would work and it sounded too strange anyway, and stop thinking so much, Raph, just listen, listen to his breathing! Memories struck him like weapons, not stopping, and he sobbed into his brother's neck, because there was so much blood back then, too, maybe not quite like this, but it froze him and ripped him down and he was nothing, he was nothing without someone to protect, and please Mikey just keep breathing…

And his brother was too silent. His plastron had been crushed, and blood seeped up through the cracks in the scutes, and Raphael had immediately thought that was it, it was over, Michelangelo was dying for real, nothing was going to bring him back this time. And his very soul had started to go dim, because his baby brother, who was his light, was going to die very soon, and all he could do was watch to see how long it would take for his littlest brother to just die completely, for that light to disappear forever.

And then a surge of familiar electricity crackled. And then, very very very slowly, the blood in all of Michelangelo's wounds began to clot just enough, and the cracks in Mikey's plastron began to seal just enough, and the scutes had shifted and reconnected just enough, everything just barely enough as though the telekinesis itself was too tired, and so now it was massive bloody bruising and still broken ribs because bone was hard work, and Raphael nearly lost his mind because Mikey was still alive, and still breathing, and because Raph had felt a massive telepathic pull and insistent telepathic tug deep in his own mind, and he had a bizarre sense that he was helping, that Mikey had found him psychically and sought him to help through their telepathic link, and in that moment Raphael cried and laughed because Mikey asked for him for help and he was going to stay alive because of him and he didn't care that his own left leg was still trapped until rocks and brick, or that his arms were covered in cuts or that his head pounded fiercely; he pulled his baby brother closer into his lap and rested their foreheads together and rocked back and forth, and his head really hurt and his leg really hurt and he wanted to sleep but knew he never could.

His dying baby brother sucked in an involuntary rasp and sighed stutteringly, the only signs of life, and blood bubbled on his lips and he choked a little, so Raph grabbed one of the scraps of cloth lying around and wiped Mikey's mouth and face lovingly. He wiped away the sweat and the tears and the dirt, just to make sure the freckles were there and accounted for. He wasn't even sure how conscious Mikey was. Maybe his subconscious and underconscious were the only things alert and happening enough to push the psionics to work. Maybe the psionics had just shut him down so the power could go to work. Because Mikey was supposed to be dead. His legs were broken. His right hand was broken. His skull was fractured and there was an open wound on his right temple. There were slices along his carapace. The old disabling scar on his left thigh had torn opened and blood was leaking from it through the wrappings Raph and found. The old claw mark scars on his right side had ripped open. The building hadn't been very tall or big but its collapse had been massive, and luckily there had been sheets and canvas and chamois and tarps surrounding them.

Raphael quietly realized that his leg, stuck under all the rubble, was broken in at least two places, that his shell was battered and cracked, that he had a concussion, that had been strangled and wore a necklace of bruises and claw marks. The shadows had stopped laughing, and the eyes blinking all around them had disappeared. Were they gone, the shadow gremlins? They had to be, retreated back to that tear in the world.

Shouting. Screaming. Sobs sounding like calls for him and Mike. Gradually through the dust, he made out several figures walking toward them. His brothers. April. Casey. Leatherhead.

"Heey," he breathed hoarsely, when they were close enough. "Finally... got here."

Donatello fell to his knees right in front, so close Raph could have touched his face if he weren't clutching Mikey to his breathless chest so hard. Don was desperately pale. "Raph," he gasped, "give him to me."

And Raph was shaking his head. "He's staying alive, he's breathing, he healed some of the wounds, he sealed himself up, I felt him grab me with telepathy, and I helped him, he helped me help him," and he knew he was babbling but he needed to make it real. He needed them to know.

Weight was lifted from his leg and he snarled in pain. Leo and Casey were digging him out. Casey's whole face twisted and paled when he saw the leg.

"Raph," Don was saying, as though underwater, "I need to look at Michelangelo. Please. Let him go."

Hands on his shoulders, hands on his arms, gentle gentle hands easing the body from his lap and he let out a strangled moan, and then arms were wrapped around his shoulders from behind and April's voice was in his ear, murmuring soothing words, and April's mind was in his mind, soothing him, and he shook and shook and whimpered his brother's name, and Donnie was saying "Wow. Oh god. Somehow, he's going to live, but it won't be easy. Leatherhead, can you…"

And Leatherhead, saying "Of course. Anything. Anything for my young friend." Blearily, Raphael watched the giant alligator pick up Michelangelo's body as if it were a doll, cradled easily in his huge paws, supported head to toe, and Leatherhead was murmuring, "It will be all right, my Little One. I've got you. Your family will take care of you."

And then Donnie's hands were touching him, stroking his limbs and head, and Donnie was talking, something about severe concussion, cracked shell, broken leg, contusions, lacerations, dust in the lungs; and Raph just closed his eyes because it hurt so much and because Mikey was safe and because the cavalry was here and because he had been the shield, he was still the protector, and he was dizzy and tired, and it was going to be okay, because his was still the shield.

In the infirmary, one week later, a groggy Raphael was staring at the tubes and needles in his arms, the bandages and cast on his leg, the bandages on his hands and arms from where he'd protected Mikey from falling pieces of building. Mikey had put up a force field, but something had gone wrong. One of the shadow monsters got through. It ripped real claws into Mikey, it ripped down the force field, it threw them both hard, and debris fell down and crushed Mikey and trapped Raph, and his rage had exploded him free and he managed to kill some of them, and he managed to tend to Mikey, as more rocks and more bricks fell, and Mike's unconscious form was being shattered and Raph flinched at each snap of bone in legs and hand and then it was his head and a rock and then a brick hit Mikey in the head and his head started bleeding, and Raphael had recalled a discussion between Donatello and Leatherhead about open head wounds actually keeping cranial swelling down, and all he could do was grab cloth and chamois cloths and canvas cloths and bits of tarp, and he sat and pulled Mikey onto his lap just as the rocks buried his left leg, and he pressed cloths to the wounds and he tried to clean the wounds with a nearby metal bottle of water, and then his only desperate last hope was to reach Mikey's psychic mind and beg him to start that weird self-healing thing because he was dying and it would be any moment.

Now, he looked over at the big bed, where Michelangelo lay wrapped and covered in bandages and IVs everywhere, and a slender Endotracheal tube and a Gastroenteric tube and a right lung intubation tube; and the monitors showed a weak but stable heartbeat, and the monitor linked to the headband showed weak but stable brain activity. And there was absolute confirmation that he wasn't waking up soon. And Raph blinked and saw the infirmary of The Fugitoid's ship, but the rage and anger and fear were not there. He felt empty, and calm.

Leo had been worried about Raph having PTSD flashbacks to Mikey's coma on the spaceship, and had suggested a sedative, and Raph had placidly agreed, which worried Leo even more, but it didn't even matter. Mikey was alive, that was what mattered. The coma barely mattered, even. It could be a month. It could be another three months like the first time. Raphael would be here. Once he was better, Raph would be the nurse again, he would be the physical therapist again, he would be the protector and the shield again. He had saved his brother's life. Nothing else mattered. He was the shield.

Raphael left the infirmary after one month, grudgingly using a forearm crutch, and began therapy and then katas. He went back into the infirmary every day, bringing the usual things, the bucket of water and the washing mitt and sponges, the cloths and towels, the ice chips, the moisturizing balms (Mikey loved coconut oil, cocoa butter, and tamanu nut oil because to him it smelled like dessert, so April found a huge jar of body butter with those ingredients that advertised scar smoothing and hydration). So with Leo's help, Raph would carefully apply salve to the unbroken skin and the older scars, gently on his mouth that was starting to crack around the tube down his throat. Eventually Don would have him under an oxygen mask once they removed the lung intubation tube, but turtles needed water and moisture as much as possible, and Leo was the one who suggested using the lotion immediately after washing him, to keep him as hydrated as they could. The tamanu oil smelled like butter pecan ice cream, and blended with the coconut and cocoa, it really did smell like a sweet treat, and Raph tried to joke that Mikey might try to eat it if he were awake. Once, while changing the bandages around the head wound, Raph noticed that the scar had already tightened, so he rubbed the salve in and wondered if Mikey could smell it, wherever he was in his mind.

The only monitor that ever responded was the EEG and it showed a deep coma, but Raph still talked about life in the lair, still massaged, still bathed, still read books and relayed episodes of television shows.

Twice a week, they left Splinter alone with Michelangelo, as he brought in Japanese books to read, as he needed time with his littlest child, and sometimes they heard him crying and pleading.

After two more months, the tube was replaced with the mask. The EEG started showing random responses, so Leo brought in Mikey's T-Pod and they placed the ear buds in and at first chose instrumental EDM songs with strong bass beats. Indeed, according to the machines, Mike's brain began listening, and so Raph began singing along when he switched to hard rock songs. One song he played over and over, "Remember Every Scar" by a band called Escape The Fate, suited his own mood best. He played that interspersed with Disturbed, particularly "Indestructible" "Inside The Fire" and "Sound Of Silence" and "The Light" and "The Vengeful One" and "Land Of Confusion". He remembered when he and Mikey would play Guitar Hero and Rock Band and they'd sing duets on songs by Sick Puppies and Pop Evil together, because Raph's raspy angry-snapping baritone mixed with Mike's raspy cheery rounded tenor seemed to blend well and they always got high scores.

And so now he held Mikey's hand against his mouth and sang quietly, his voiced scratchy, "Life can turn you upside down. Chew you up and spit you out. Tear you up, it never ends. It goes on and on and on and on. Hold on to that heartbreak. Hold on to that hell you have to pay. All the tragedies make you who you are. Remember every scar."

He didn't expect any kind of response, but the EEG jumped a little, and in his head, deep in his mind, soft and horse and raspy, Michelangelo's telepathic voice said, Thanks, big bro. That goes for you too, y'know.

And Raph laughed long and hard in his mind, and switched to Disturbed's "Down With The Sickness" which Mikey telepathically joined in for, expertly howling the chorus and making Raphael laugh again. And when Mike casually switched to "Fire It Up" with a mental giggle, Raph nearly fell off his chair in tears.

And another two months after that, after daily chats telepathically, after helping his brother find his way back toward the start of winding labyrinth that would lead to consciousness, after helping Donnie with the physical actions of doctoring and replacing mask with cannulas, after helping Leo with the physical actions of therapy, after helping Splinter with the spiritual aspects of meditation, Raphael finally stood psychically hand in hand with his baby brother, in the middle of the maze of unconsciousness, staring up at the stormclouds.

Mikey looked at him, that bright sunny grin on his face. "This'll be fun!"

Raph flashed him a toothy, almost predatory, return grin. "Let's do it, kid!"

And they raced through that labyrinth, and Raphael beat down any obstacles and monsters and fears that rushed to grab at Mike, and time meant nothing, and then suddenly the end of the labyrinth was in sight, and they grabbed hands again and cheered and ran forward charging heads down, and it was blue like summer skies, blue like the color of his eyes, and Mikey squeezed Raph's hand so hard…

And Raph's eyes flew open and he gasped, squeezing back. And Mikey's eyes were wide open and he was smiling at him, and Mikey spoke, hoarse and harsh after four months gone, and he said, "We did it, Raphie. Thanks for saving me."

Raphael trembled and swallowed his tears and there was heat in his eyes. "Always, Mikey."

And because Mikey was too weak to lift his arms, Raph lifted them for him and draped them around his own shoulders, and he lifted up his torso to cradle against his own chest, and Mikey clung to his neck and Raph nuzzled his beak just to hear him giggle.

"I'm your shield, lil bro," Raph said. "And you're my light."

And he was rewarded with a happy sigh and a whispered, "Love you too, big bro."

And they stayed that way for a good five minutes, before Raph decided to yell out to the lair that Michelangelo was finally awake and everything would be okay again.

"I woke up one morning thinking about wolves and realized that wolf packs function as families. Everyone has a role, and if you act within the parameters of your role, the whole pack succeeds, and when that falls apart, so does the pack." -Jodi Picoult

"A family is a risky venture, because the greater the love, the greater the loss... That's the trade-off. But I'll take it all." -Brad Pitt

"A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow." ―William Shakespeare