Story experiments: TMNT Fanfiction, "Cold Fire Rising"

[brightlotusmoon]

"Hey, does anyone remember this amazing story from like years ago, Cold Fire by Joanna Capello, whatever happened to that?" -Ninja Turtle fans on the internet.
LOL. I still exist. This pleases me.
Anyway, this is the first part of a fanfiction story I'm writing. It is basically an overhauled complete rewrite of a fanfic I wrote around 1998, one that made my name popular in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fandom of that time. Recently, I have actually been getting emails from strangers asking me to either find "Cold Fire" or write a new story in the same universe, a world in which our beloved Michelangelo gains telekinetic and telepathic powers via alien technology - but at a nearly fatal price. I was a sadistic little fucker. Angst, Tragedy, and Hurt/Comfort were my Tropes to play with.
This time around, I get to play with the 2012 reboot from Nick. Despite my skepticism of the first season, it really grew on me. Especially their very individual traits. And Mikey has freckles! And huge bright baby blue eyes! However, of course with that comes Mikey being the comedic prankster, the one seen as least intelligent, the loud silly goofy annoying weird hedonist who has ADHD and natural ninja skills and could be the most powerful martial artist if only he'd concentrate his potential.
It irritated me a bit at first when April O'Neil was brought in as a teenager and a hybrid human with Kraang DNA and rudimentary clairvoyant powers. However, once it was established that in Dimension X, Michelangelo was the Genius King, I realized that potentially, Mikey could also have Kraang DNA, which is why he is able to navigate Dimension X as if it were his natural state. "Hey, in crazy backwards land, crazy backwards dude is king." And it does make me wonder if the showrunners will actually touch upon that. If Mikey really has Utrom DNA, and if it is activated, would he be potentially psychic? I'm not waiting to find out.
This story takes place in the middle of Season 4. I know they're on a strict mission to locate all the pieces of the Triceraton black hole generator, to stop the Triceratons from ever getting to Earth in the first place, traveling back in time to prevent not only the destruction of Earth but the entire invasion. But I imagine they could take a break for a few months to deal with... um... this.

So, this is essentially for Emily to review for neuroscience accuracy, and for any TMNT fan who comes across it to read for fun. And if you are not a TMNT fan, or don't even know what TMNT is, think of it as a really weird in media res story with established characters in an established world that you can Google for a few hours. Seriously, this is a fandom that will remain immortal.
And if you do recall the details of "Cold Fire", just keep them in mind, because this will be much different.
PS, did you know that Dr Honeycutt is voiced by David Tennant? Looks like The Doctor has some new companions after all.



Cold Fire Rising

Chapter One.

It wasn’t even a mission. Doctor Honeycutt had let them explore this new planet with ease, like a vacation. Stretching, under a different sun, a new wind rushing at their backs. And they ran, taking in all the oxygen the atmosphere swirled with. This planet was so much like Earth. They didn’t need suits, or breathers, or anything.
The living embodiment of joy, Michelangelo cackled and whooped, spinning inches from the sand, arms propelling him higher, his mouth wide in a laugh that echoed through the silver trees. Silver trees!
And Leonardo grinned and shook his head, watching Mikey do backflips and shout about the softness of the sand. He was feeling pretty exhilarated. The air was crisp. The sky had sparse clouds, even. And it all felt so familiar. He sat down and leaned against a tree.
Donatello gazed around, soaking up the sights and sounds, calculating in his head how fast the wind was, how close that sun was, why the sky looked so much like the sky on Earth. His hands worked carefully as he crouched. His brain moved too fast and his body too slow and he was nearly bowled over by his little brother, who was cartwheeling through them, “Watch it, Mikey, I need to take sand samples!” and behind him, Raph grunted.
Raphael was on high alert, twitching, waiting. Danger? What was that? No, trees rustling. Why are the leaves so gray? Why where they here, so alone? This forest… this… place, it felt abandoned, and he growled softly, turning there, punching out. “Duuude, relax! This place is so sweet! Sit down and breathe!” and Michelangelo whirled past him with a giggle. Raphael wanted to slap him. Nobody should be that excited about sand and trees.
“Okay,” Leonardo said, “we are going to explore for a few hours and then get back. We’re still on a mission.”
“Hm.” Donatello, distracted, finished collecting samples and stood. “I did see what looked like a bar or pub on the other side of the forest.”
Raph let himself loosen. “I’m hungry, yeah. And I smelled good food when we passed that place.”
They began walking back through the forest, keeping all eyes on their surroundings. There was an abrupt “Oooh, hey, what’s that?” followed by an automatic “Mikey, do not touch anything!”
Donatello let himself relax and smile. This was normal. This was their family. This was-
“Mikey! Put that down! What do you think you’re doing?”
“Aww, Leo, it’s a rock! See? It’s just a shiny stone. It’s green. It looks like a turtle shell. Look!”
Don looked up, eyes narrowing. He didn’t recall seeing any green rocks…
Michelangelo was holding it in both hands. It looked like a polished, perfectly smooth cabochon. Opal? Emerald? Fluorite? Serpentinite? Why was he comparing it to Earth rocks, anyway? He stepped closer. “Michelangelo, I’ll take it. I can always run an analysis on-“
“Nope!” Raphael had pushed himself between them. “None of that. Mikey, just drop the rock and let’s keep moving. I don’t need to listen to you cooing over how shiny it is, or Donnie playing science geek with it. Put it back where you found it, right now.”
Michelangelo blinked. “I… I can’t.”
“What…?”
Leonardo turned with Leader Face on as Raphael’s voice dropped an octave. Donatello frowned.
“No,” said Michelangelo, “I mean I can’t. It won’t let me. It’s heating up. Guys? Something isn’t right…”
Donatello saw it, opened his mouth, lunged to knock the suddenly glowing thing from his baby brother’s hands, grabbed his right wrist - and then Mikey screamed. He screamed like the air was being yanked from his lungs, like his body was a puppet. He jerked back and forth, and then he was glowing, and the screaming rose in pitch, and Don felt Raphael's arm collide with his chest, shoving him back, and his brother was crying now, Mikey was sobbing in that way that indicated fear and confusion and pain, and everything was a painfully bright greenish-gold glow, and a final forced wail was expelled-
And Donatello found himself on his knees and hands, reaching toward Michelangelo, who was lying curled up in the sand, shaking and whimpering. The stone had fallen from his hands and was a lifeless gray with white striations. Just a rock. Just a simple, unassuming, harmless alien rock.
“Mikey!” Raphael had grabbed the younger turtle's face in both hands. “Mikey, it’s okay, you’re okay. We’re here. It’s okay. Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re okay.” Leonardo was gracefully crouched at Mikey’s head, gently holding his left hand and massaging the palm.
Donatello coughed and blinked, shaking his head to dispel the pinpoints of light at the edges of his vision. Years of forced medical training snapped into place and he sat up. “Is he injured? Unconscious?”
Raphael was gently stroking the skin between carapace and plastron as his baby brother shivered. Raph was breathing harshly in that way Don knew was Raph's version of “calm yourself, don’t fly off the handle.” Raphael nodded. "He’s breathing, he’s not bleeding. I think he’s scared. Maybe in shock.”
Leonardo nodded. “There are burn marks on both hands. But beyond that he seems okay.” Fearless Leader looked up and stared at Donatello with an odd expression. “Donnie? You okay?”
“Me? What?” Donatello rubbed his head. “I’m fine, yeah. I’m fine.”
Raph raised an eye ridge. “Because you kind of… passed out for a minute after the glowing started.
“I… but… no, I just…” Donatello shook his head. He felt as though a soft electric current had passed through his arm when he touched Michelangelo, but he shouldn’t have…
“Come on, braniac, let’s stand you up.” And Raphael was gently pulling him to his feet. Donatello’s hands twitched. He blinked. “I’m all right. Really. I need to look at him. Raph, move, I have to-“
“Hold still and stop twitching.”
“Oh. Oh.” Donatello closed his eyes and reached for his ninjitsu training, the meditative exercises they performed when wounded or shocked. After a few breaths, he felt his brother’s hands fall away. “Okay, then, I need to…”
A long, whining groan from the ground. Donatello instinctively crouched at Michelangelo’s side, feeling all over for burn marks, bruises, cuts, anything. “Mikey, how do you feel? Are you badly hurt? Can you feel my hands? Can you see?”
“Yah…yeah…yes, Donnie, I’m…I’m okay.” Mikey coughed. He wiggled his fingers and toes. “I work, I promise. It’s all good.” He wriggled his shoulders. Donatello helped him sit up. “Let me stand, dude, I think I’m cool.”
“You were curled up on the ground, you were screaming and crying.”
“Well, it hurt. Now it doesn’t.” Michelangelo looked at him and slowly blinked those huge summer-blue eyes, the smattering of freckles standing out against skin that had gone a shade paler. He smiled, turning on that Mikey Charm. Donatello automatically smiled back. On instinct, he leaned in and touched his forehead to his brother’s, just like they had done as kids after Mikey’s nightmares had sent him to Donnie’s room for comfort.
“Okay, cool.” Raphael’s clapping startled them. “Let’s go find food. Can the bonehead walk on his own?”
Mikey stuck his tongue out and strode forward, dancing on his toes like a gymnast. “Assholes first,” he said, sweeping his arm out.
Raph grumbled, elbowing Mikey as he walked ahead. Mikey just grinned that brilliant sunny grin and softly howled, “Foooood!”
Leo leaned toward Don as they walked behind. “Wanna bet he’ll ask for a pizza with jellybeans?”
Donatello grinned. “Or sour candy and chocolate bits.”
“He might just barge into the kitchen and make it himself.”
“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind.”
Donatello paused, then knelt and scooped up the dead gray rock that had been so mysterious and frightening. He dropped it into his belt pouch without a word. Leonardo simply nodded. Donnie and his tests, his urge to know everything. Especially on different planets.
*
The place was huge, bigger than most restaurants. There were sections, a massive curved bar, and empty tables everywhere. The only seated customers were a dozen black-clad reptilian humanoids around a long corner table, and toward the middle, three humanoids that looked like squids, dressed in space suits. The bartender was canine in features. Waiters, cooks, and other staff were a mix of what seemed like goat, cat, and bird.
Leonardo keenly, quietly, and carefully took stock of every face, claw, and foot. They chose a table next to a wall, and a feline waiter with a computer pad came swiftly, offering beverages. Donatello easily explained that they were off-worlders and did know about any food. They all noticed the waiter tap something on his lapel. “It’s fine, we get that a lot,” said the waiter. In English. “Whoa, cool,” Michelangelo said, leaning over. “Is that, like, a galactic translator?”
“Yes,” the waiter said, pleased. “The translator immediately recognized your specific language. We get so many off-worlders, because this pub is neutral, that we need translators that are powerfully efficient.”
“Wait, neutral?” asked Donatello. “Like… like a neutral zone?”
“Exactly. If you have a beef with your rival, you squash it when you are in here. This is a place to eat and talk in peace.”
A derisive snort came from the corner, where the dozen reptilians sat. The waiter rolled his eyes. “Anyway, let me get you some menus you can read. I will help explain the foods. We make sure none of the food here can cause allergic reactions. We are one of the few pubs in the galaxy that caters to as many species as possible.”
He lifted his chin, smiled, and went to the bar, returning with four menus. “Now, for drinks, we have… hang on, please correct me if I am wrong. Sodda? Jweese…”
“Soda and juice!” Michelangelo said cheerily. He glanced at the menu. “See? Here. I want this soda.” He pointed, and the waiter’s eyes brightened! “Yes, okay! That says ginger ale! Good! How about the rest of you?”
“Got anything alcoholic?”
“Raph!”
“Oh stop it, Leo, we’re on vacation!”
The waiter moved his eyes back and forth, amused. He leaned toward Raph’s menu and pointed. “How about this one? It doesn’t contain much alcohol, but it should satisfy you.” The photo next to the description was a blue liquid tinged with pale orange. Raphael’s mouth twisted. “Gimme that one, then.”
Leonardo sighed. “Can I just get seltzer?” Donatello chimed in with, “Ginger ale.”
The waiter tapped on his pad happily. “Two ginger ale drinks. One seltzer drink. One Sky Rider mix. Take your time on choosing your food!”
He spun gracefully and moved toward the bar. The turtles scrolled through their menus, and eventually decided to split a dish consisting of varied vegetables, rice, mushrooms, and oily fish. Michelangelo leaned back. “It’s not pizza, but I bet I could make it when we get back. I think April will like it.”
When the food arrived, they dug in and realized how hungry they were. The food was delicious and filling, and gone before they realized.
“Wow,” the waiter grinned as he came to gather plates. “Either it was really good or you were all very hungry.”
“Little of both,” Raph smirked, patting his belly.
Michelangelo beckoned, and the waiter leaned in. “Dude, I’m the head chef of the family, and seriously, that was amazing. Kudos for the chef. Think I could get a copy of the recipe?”
“Mikey!” Leonardo admonished. “Don’t be rude.”
The waiter’s smile was wide enough to show sharp teeth. “No, I think she would be thrilled that another chef would want her recipes. I will ask. I’ll return with it and your check.”
As he left, Leonardo counted out the credit bits that Fugitoid had given them. When it was time for payment, he added extra, which puzzled the waiter. “It’s called a tip, where we are from,” Leo said. “It means that you did a great job. It’s yours to keep.”
The waiter blinked. “Oh, I…”
“Take it, dude!” Michelangelo patted his shoulder, folding a piece of paper into his belt. You gave me the recipe, so we give you a little something.”
The waiter was blushing. “I have never heard of tipping. It sounds very strange, paying extra just because I did my job. But… thank you. I accept.” He bowed his head and wished them well, then moved back toward the bar and the kitchen.
“Well.” Raphael drained the last of his beverage. “That was interesting. Wanna explore more, or head back to the ship, or…”
A commotion made them all freeze. Two of the reptilians were standing at the squid creatures’ table. “Okay, then. Food’s been eaten, fun’s been had. Now we settle. Where is our money?”
“Oy!” the bartender growled. “Take it outside. At least twenty meters away from the building. Y’know the rules.”
Weapons seemed to melt out of the darkness of the reptilians’ cloaks, nudging two of the squids. “Up, then. Come on.”
Silently, squid and reptile alike shuffled out through the door, which slowly closed.
Donatello looked at Leonardo. “Should we do something?”
Raphael narrowed his eyes. “Do we have to?”
Leonardo paused his eyes set on the door. From outside, there was a scuffling noise, and then a watery yelp. The staff turned their backs.
“Dudes, I think someone has to see what’s going on,” Michelangelo whispered. “The squid guys might be totally innocent.”
Leonardo seemed frozen in place. Then he nodded. “Quietly.” He beckoned and began weaving his way through the tables. The others followed, locking into their ninja stealth training. As they approached the door, Raphael glanced at Michelangelo. “Don’t say a fucking word, loudmouth.” Michelangelo stuck his tongue out and smiled.
Outside, the sky was just beginning to dim, spreading pale yellow light and making everything look old and dusty. The two parties, yelling at each other in English, were going around in circles. Weapons were drawn: Knives, swords, daggers, blaster guns. One of the taller reptilians, in a deep red trench coat in direct contrast to the black of his team, was a few steps away, watching carefully.
“We sent your payment a week ago, Alchemist!” one of the squids yelled. His hand, four fingers looking like tentacles with suckers cut through the air with a damp noise. The other squids angrily murmured in agreement.
The red-clad reptilian cocked his head. “Really? That is not what my accountant told me. Try again, Albelor.”
“That is the truth! The payment was sent! I cannot lie about a truth.”
“No, but you can bend the truth like a fountain!” One of the black-clad reptilians leapt and grabbed the squid’s tentacles with both clawed hands, very large hands, with four fingers and a thumb, and Albelor squealed. His companions appeared too afraid to help. “No, sir, we swear it.”
“Then why is it not in our account, salt creature? Why must you lie? The Alchemist has been very generous. He gave you exactly what you needed.”
“Y-yes! I am so grateful. And… and perhaps the money... it didn’t arrive on schedule.”
“Because…?” There was a squelching sound. The squid winced. His hands were being bruised.
“Because he doesn’t have to tell you, ass for brains!” Raphael yelled, leaping into the air and coming down hard on the reptilian. The squid gasped and stumbled back, clutching his hand. Raphael glanced at him. “You okay?” The squid nodded shakily.
The reptilian growled and twisted into a sitting position, throwing Raph to the side. Raphael gained his footing and held up his sai, taking a defensive stance. The reptilian’s eyes narrowed. “You should not have gotten involved, alien turtle man.”
“Too late!” Michelangelo worked his acrobatics and was suddenly right in front, balanced on his toes, grinning without humor. “Let the squid dudes go. I’m sure they’ll pay you when they can.”
“You think you know…” The reptilian pressed his snout to the turtle's snout before rearing back and headbutting him. Grunting, Michelangelo planted his feet and let his torso bend back, stretching his neck before bouncing right back. “That was fun. Do it again!” He butted the reptilian. His opponent staggered, but without the same agility the reptilian crashed to the ground.
“You do not belong in this fight!” One of the other reptilians rushed at blinding speed; there was a musical whirring in the air, and both Raphael and Michelangelo fell back. The long whip snapped and cracked the air like a snarl. “Leave us! Now!”
Leonardo rushed forward. “Not until you let the squids leave in peace!”
Yet another reptilian, this one with two swords, rose to meet him. “You know nothing of our conflicts, turtle man. Leave, or we will kill you.”
The clash of weapons filled the air. Donatello whirled in a dance with his bo, knocking out two reptile men, while Leonardo faced two more against his katana. Raphael, not even caring who he hit lashed out spinning. Michelangelo whooped and sang, jumping and twisting above it all, handsprings and backflips taking down three more before he even swung his nunchaku.
The reptilians were extremely resilient, each rising up and attacking again, the full dozen, minus the so-called Alchemist, who stood a few feet away, arms crossed, smiling. During one of his aerial moves, Michelangelo noticed this and twisted his body, maneuvering and spinning until he landed, cat-like, right in front of the reptile man in the red coat.
“You’re awfully quiet, scaly dude,” he teased, hoping to get a rise out of him. “What, scared to fight?”
The Alchemist raised an eyeridge, dark golden eyes wide. “Ah, no, not even a little. I’m just… extremely entertained.”
Mikey’s whole body was itching and tingling to move, the thing Donnie called ADHD sparking in his brain, the parts of him naturally prone to acrobatics and athleticism burning and reaching out to attack with as many distractions as possible. Why wasn’t this guy moving? What was so funny?
Mikey took a breath to soothe his overactive nerves, and gave the reptile his most dazzling convincing smile. “I bet I can entertain you a whooole lot!”
The Alchemist laughed. “Please, do, child. Come.” He held out a hand and crooked a shiny talon inward. Michelangelo put his weapons in his belt and spread his hands, rocking on the balls of his feet. The Alchemist glanced down and his eyes went very wide. “Fascinating!”
“Heh. What? Am I that talented? You haven’t seen nothing!”
A toothy grin. “Oh, child. You don’t know, do you?”
Michelangelo frowned.
“Your hands, boy. I know that mark.” And the Alchemist began to chuckle. Mikey felt himself shiver. That was not a pleasant sound. And yeah, so that rock has burned him. So what?
“Tell me, boy,” said the Alchemist, reaching into his coat, “how did you feel when the stone’s power surged through you? Did you cry? Did you scream? It has been a very, very, very long time since the stones have reacted to anyone. So I need you to be honest. How do you feel about it?”
Mikey frowned harder. “I… what? What the hell are you talking about? It’s… it was… it was just a shock. Like… an electric shock. Like, all over, deep inside.” He paused. Wait, why was he talking? Why couldn’t he stop talking? “Like my whole body was… covered in energy. All my insides. And my head. Inside my brain. Energy. It…” He forced his mouth shut. He shouldn’t be saying anything to this creep.
But the Alchemist was humming and smiling. “Very interesting! And you were conscious? That’s new. Oh, this is delightful. And here you are, fit and whole and ready to fight me like nothing happened. Come, then. Show me. Entertain me.”
Like lightning, he brought out a curved dagger and surged forward. On pure instinct and muscle memory, Michelangelo jumped back, curving and curling his body into intense angles and twists, his hands grabbing the nunchucks without thought. As the Alchemist jumped, kicked, rolled, and ran at him, Michelangelo’s powerful born skills lifted him, moved him, curved him in ways human gymnasts would be envious of. If it weren’t for the shell he could have contorted further. He landed multiple blows without even trying. The rush of adrenaline was so strong he could have flown, could have punched steel, and he crowed his triumph, nimbly dashing forward again with his beloved nunchucks spinning their soprano song-
He paused. Something had stopped him. He jerked, and a flash of pain flared through his torso. Wait, where was the pain? Why was he in pain? Distantly, he heard someone shout his name. He looked down to see two parallel, long, very deep slashes across his upper plastron. He looked up to see a curved blade dripping with blood.
“Oh…”
He drew in a cold breath. Okay. Okay, this wasn’t so bad. He could technically still fight. It was just time for defensive moves, that was all.
There was a blur of red and black, and suddenly his right shoulder was on fire. Another blur, and his right cheek stung. “Stop it,” he yelled, or tried to. And now his legs. The fire along his left thigh was even worse. He felt himself sway. He swallowed, and it was thick, and he tasted copper.
“Hey… hey, slow down… you! Stay!” He struck out and connected hard, and there was a growling yell. “Hah! Not so tough,” he called, but it was like yelling down a tunnel. Something was wrong. His hearing felt kind of clogged. “Hey! Hey Alchemist!” he coughed. He spat. Wait, was that blood? How did-
The reptile man in the red trench coat was right there, almost hugging him. He was smiling. So many teeth. So shiny. Oh, what big teeth you have… The Alchemist drew back his left arm. Michelangelo kept staring at that smiling mouth. The smile grew bigger, like a maw…
Something punched him below his rib cage, on his left side. It was a sharp punch, it was a cold, hard punch. He sucked in a breath and wished he hadn’t. Pain erupted and filled him like lava. He wanted to scream. He was trying to scream. He could hear faint screaming. Was it him?
Someone was screaming his name. Someone was shouting words that would have made sailors proud. He heard squelching sounds, crunching sounds, cracking sounds, growling sounds. The Alchemist was holding onto him.
“Yes, little boy, that was very entertaining. Thank you. You have an incredible stamina. You have so much kinetic power. You have a massive wellspring of potential inside you, if only you could learn to focus and direct it all the time. You could be the greatest fighter and athlete in the galaxy. You never will. But you could have been the best.”
Mikey sucked in a shuddering gasp. “You… fl-flatterer… you. Does… this… mean… you give… me… roses… now?”
The Alchemist chuckled. “Oh, I enjoy your silly jokes. But enough is enough. We are done here. You, boy, you are done.”
Someone was screaming, screaming his name. There were pounding footsteps. They were far away.
Michelangelo blinked; there was something glistening like glass in the Alchemist’s right hand. He felt all floaty. Why couldn’t he move? The Alchemist brought the object down and connected with Mikey’s left shoulder. There was a sting, a very sharp and warm sting. He tried to pull away. “Shhh,” the Alchemist murmured. “It will be over soon.”
The Alchemist released his hold. Mikey felt his body crumble to the side. His right side. He lay panting, while half a dozen types of pain roared through his body. That warm sting in his shoulder was getting warmer. It bothered him more than anything else. In slow motion, out of the corner of his eye, he watched the Alchemist take his curved dagger, completely soaked in blood, drop the shiny glass thing - wait, a syringe, it was a syringe - and call to his men. The Alchemist ran at blinding blurry speed. The other reptilian men, the ones who were still able to move, followed. Someone was screaming.
“-et back here! You cowards! What did you do to my brother! What did you do?!”
Oh, that was… it sounded like Raphael. Good old hothead Raph. He loved shouting.
“Mikey. Mikey, can you hear me? Can you speak? Mike!” Hands on his face. Leathery three-fingered hands. “Oh… oh god, Mikey…”
He breathed, and it was so sharp and so cold. “D-Donnie?”
“I’m here, little brother. Just hold on. Just… oh god, Mikey, just hold on…”
He blinked. Donnie sounded panicked and terrified. That wasn’t right. “Duude,” he slurred. Something warm trickled down his cheek from the side of his mouth. Was he drooling? How embarrassing. “Don’t… no… don’t be… s-scared, Donnie?”
He looked straight up, and his brother’s dark chestnut brown eyes, like red tiger eye stones, were wide and yes, filled with panicky terror. He felt so confused. He almost wanted to laugh. Donnie? Stoic, logical, rational, scientific Donnie, shaking in what looked like pure terror?
A gentle hand on his cheek. He moaned and leaned into it, blinking. “Leeeooo…” Oh. Oh, his face. His dark blue eyes. Leo was afraid, too. Leo looked so afraid. Horrified, even. Leo couldn’t… no. Leo was leader. Leo kept himself calm all the time. This was Leonardo, come on. This was Fearless Leader. So why was-
“L-Leo, w-wh’s… wrong? I got… smthin… on my… face?” He was so, so confused. Leonardo’s sapphire eyes were so wide, his skin so pale. His mouth was trembling. “Easy, Mikey,” he said hoarsely, in a voice that reminded Michelangelo of when Leo had woken up from his coma at the farmhouse. Thick and deep and raspy and tired. Shaky. “You…you’ve been hurt bad. Really bad. We need to get you to Honeycutt’s lab. Just lie still. Don’t move. You’re gonna be okay. I swear, Mikey. You…” He choked. Mike frowned. Was Leonardo trying not to cry? “I promise, you’ll be okay.”
Michelangelo relaxed. His brothers were here. They were gonna take care of him. He was hurt, but they could fix it. The burning in his shoulder was getting worse and it was spreading. He whimpered.
Immediately, Raphael’s face was right above his, deep emerald eyes staring into his. “Mikey,” he rasped. “Mikey…”
He tried to smile. “Raph… hey…” A cough moved through his chest, and with it warm liquid. Damn it, he really hoped he wasn’t drooling. He kept eye contact. Raphael was staring at him definitely in horror and fear and worry. “S’okay, Raph…” and he tried to lift his arm to touch his brother’s face. He felt his entire right arm twitch. Raph did it for him, grabbed his hand and brought it to his mouth. Mikey tried to squeeze his brother’s hand. He couldn’t. His fingers twitched. Why was he so weak?
Raph let out a shuddering breath. “M-Mikey… stay with me. Please.”
Michelangelo frowned. He tried. He tried to furrow his brow, raise an eyeridge. “Raph? I’m right here, I…” he sucked in a breath that was agony. “I don’t… unnerstan…” The burning. It was everywhere now. It was in his head. It was in his head. In his brain.The burning in his brain.
“He’s in shock,” Donatello said in his “doctor voice.” “Whatever was in this syringe… Oh shit. His eyes. His pupils are dilated. Mikey, can you hear me? Mikey, focus on me…”
But the burning was too much. The world was moving away from him, twisting, shifting. His head was full of fire and cold. He blinked. He thought he blinked. Wait, why was everything so bright? Everything was so scratchy. And loud. And…
Wait, was he shaking? He couldn’t think. He struggled to look at something. What was right near his face? Yes. His brother. Those tiger eye chestnut irises. It was Donnie. Donnie would help him!
He opened his mouth. “D… D, I…I’m…on fire…I don’t…feel good."
The shaking. It was getting worse. He felt his muscles tensing and clenching. He felt his eyes roll back. He heard his own voice cry out and choke. The shaking. He couldn’t stop. His brain was on fire. His brain was on fire! Somebody put it out! Help! Donnie, HELP?
The voices were nothing but air.
“What’s happening! Mikey!”
“Raph, no, don’t hold him down, he’s having a seizure! Leo, I need-”
Silence. Just air. Suddenly, darkness. A deep, intense, thick molasses darkness. There was nothing else. He was floating in it and oh it felt so good. Something told him to sleep.
And so Michelangelo slept.

Chapter Two

Raphael remembered everything, every single bit, and he hated himself for it.
He remembered knocking down reptilian fighters and how they kept getting back up. Shell to shell with Leonardo, who was yelling at the squid-people to run. Sweat pouring down his face. Teeth clenched. Hearing Donatello cracking bone with the bo, then cursing “How the fuck are they still moving?” He remembered Michelangelo doing one of his gymnast moves, or parkour moves, flying and tumbling and taking down three or four at a time.
And then the bizarre fight between Mikey and the… that guy, the Alchemist. Mikey taunting with his usual show. The Alchemist making weird statements, laughing.
Mikey screaming. Oh, he remembered Mikey screaming.
White rage filling his brain, but still he had to fight through bodies with weapons, and he didn’t care how bruised or cut he was getting, because his baby brother was in trouble…
Mikey screaming again.
And that sound. He was too familiar with the sound of someone being stabbed. He howled. He shrieked. He roared.
His baby brother was being stabbed.
That laughter, the words, they just ran together, but he saw the reptile man drop a syringe, and Raphael lost his mind. Only Leonardo wrapping both arms around him stopped him from giving chase.
Donatello scooping up the syringe. Raphael remembered collapsing next to his little brother, and there was so much blood, so much blood, no no no, and Mikey was coughing up blood. He was covered in blood. He didn’t even know what was happening. His bright baby blue eyes were dulling. He was reaching for Raph.
And then his muscles were twitching, and it was like his entire body was in one massive spasm. And he cried out and fell unconscious, but his body, it kept spasming, and Raph grabbed him in a hug to try to… and then Donatello told him not to, because Mikey was having a seizure. And Raphael stopped thinking. He scooped Michelangelo into his arms and began to run. His brothers yelling after him, running after him. The little pod they had used to land on the planet was That Way, and Raphael ran like he had never run in his life, because Mikey was barely breathing and he was bleeding everywhere and he had been stabbed, and it was MIKEY.
On the Ulixes, Raphael had been shoved aside and Mikey firmly taken from his arms, and he growled and snarled and snapped until someone was hugging him. April. It was April. She was telling him to stop, that it was okay. He could barely hear her. But he allowed himself to be led to a couch, where someone was telling him to take deep breaths. He looked at himself, covered in his brother’s blood.
So much blood.
April, telling him he should take a shower. Casey, asking if he needed help.
“Mikey,” was all he could say. White haze. White noise. Mikey.
Someone was crying.
Someone was pushing him into the showers, muttering about controls and water. He felt that weird sonic pressure, sloughing off the blood and the dirt. Sonic showers were bizarre. He was clean, somehow. Someone was leading him back to the couch. He protested. A voice told him that Honeycutt and Donatello were doing everything, literally everything. He was not allowed in there. He fidgeted and growled. Someone had taken away his weapons. He needed to punch something. Someone leading him to the simulation room, holodeck, whatever they were calling it. Finally, he focused. Leonardo had built a simulation of their dojo.
“Have fun,” Leo said, looking utterly exhausted.
Raphael paused. He stared at his brother, who was staring out at nothing.
“Leo,” he said. “Stop. Stop blaming yourself. Right now. Cut that shit out or I will use you as punching practice!”
Leonardo gave him a blank look, and then he sighed. “Yeah. You… you’re right. I’m… I think I’ll watch some TV. Or stare out into space for a while.”
Raph blinked, expecting a fight. “O-okay.”
His brother left. He felt himself deflate. He stared at the equipment around him. He snarled. “Mikey…”
He lunged at one of the practice dummies, the heaviest. And he took out all his rage on it. Luckily, the holodeck was soundproof, so nobody could hear him sobbing.
*
Anywhere but here. Donatello wanted to be anywhere else. He was not really a doctor. He had been forced into it because of his thirst for knowledge and science, and medicine was science, and he and his family kept getting beaten up. He even learned basic surgery. But he was an engineer. And maybe engineers and surgeons had things in common, sure, but still.
This was new territory. None of them had been injured like this before. He realized how many debts he now owed Dr Honeycutt. It would never be enough. If this had happened at home… oh god. No, Donnie, don’t think about that.
“Donatello? Are you all right?”
The lilting gentle voice of the Fugitoid - the human scientist brain in the android body - was very kind, and very helpful, and almost paternal. Donatello swallowed and took a shuddering breath.
“Donatello, I think you should sit down. Also, you are squeezing that damp rag extremely hard.”
He blinked. Yes, there was a chair. Of course there was, it was his chair. Well… Honeycutt had created a lab room just for him, with the infirmary off to the side. And there was technology he never had on Earth, there were tools to play with, no wonder his family tried to coax him out, no wonder Michelangelo would just leave trays of steaming hot food outside the door…
He felt his body drift backwards.
“Whoa, Donnie! Easy, we got you.” April. That was April. Oh, he loved her voice. Wait, was she wearing latex gloves?
Donatello hit the soft chair and sighed and looked at April. Her hair was pulled back, and messy, and her face was streaked with dried tears, and she was pulling off a pair of blue latex gloves. Why couldn’t he remember her being in the infirmary? What had she been doing there? Was she helping with Mikey? Yes, obviously.
He turned his head and looked at Honeycutt, whose robotic eyes looked sad and compassionate. Donatello rubbed his face with his hand. “I’m so sorry, guys. I think I’m just tired.”
“Of course you are,” said Honeycutt, “we have just spent seven hours in surgery. I imagine that at this point, a part of your mind detached just so you would not break down emotionally from having to operate on your own brother.”
Donatello exhaled. He remembered now, he remembered all of it, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. “His left lung. Did we successfully intubate and reflate?”
“Yes.”
“His seizures have finally stopped.”
“Yes.”
“The dagger did not pierce any major organs but there was internal bleeding. That has been stopped. All the wounds have been freshly cleaned, bandaged, and wrapped.”
“Yes, Donatello.”
“He has been hooked up to the appropriate IV tubes, with saline, painkillers, nutrient fluids?”
“Everything is set up and running smoothly. His vitals are stable, though still very weak. Donatello, I insist that you rest.”
“No.” Donatello pushed at invisible hands, flailing at the air. April grabbed his hand in both of hers. “Donnie, you haven’t slept. You could be in shock, you know. You know how Raph was almost catatonic until Leo got him to the holodeck.”
“No. I need to analyze that syringe. I need to know what was injected into him.”
Dr Honeycutt’s white face came into view. “I have already begun the analysis. It will be a while. Donatello. You need sleep. I don’t. I will monitor Michelangelo’s progress.”
April tugged at him. “Don, come on. Leo is watching TV. Let’s join him. Casey will make some food. Come on. Please, Donnie.”
Please. He looked at her, taking in her face, her eyes. He couldn’t say no to April. He nodded. He let her guide him out, into the main area, with the huge couch and the huge play area and the huge huge television. Leonardo glanced up and nodded. Donatello nodded back. April deliberately nudged him into the spot directly next to Leo. They were practically leaning against each other. Donatello felt a rush of nostalgia, and dropped his head sideways until he was nuzzling Leo’s collarbone. Leo carefully rested his head on Don’s, and Don felt that nostalgic warmth spread through him. He sighed. He heard April whisper “Awwww!”
He closed his eyes.
*
Raphael had had enough. He had pounded, punched, smashed, kicked, and yelled at everything in the room. He was sweating and sore. He left the holodeck and went back to the sonic showers. He missed water showers. Oh, well. He was actually feeling a lot better. He stomped his way into the main area. On the couch, Leo and Donnie were leaning on each other, asleep. As were Casey and April. His mouth twitched into a smirk. He made his way to the infirmary.
He thought he could prepare himself for anything. He believed he could.
As he got closer to the large bed his brother lay on, his body shook so badly that the Fugitoid made a strange noise and grabbed a chair before Raphael crumbled to the floor.
Bandages. Everywhere. Tubes. In and out. Oxygen mask. Machines. Slow, stuttered beeping sounds. Oh god, Mikey. Raphael scooted forward and the wheels of the armless chair spun him. He steadied himself and the chair and grabbed the edge of the bed. His little brother was buried under gauze. An oxygen mask adapted to fit their faces hid Michelangelo’s slack mouth while his body automatically sucked in air. The only unbandaged parts were his hands and feet. They were so still. Raph gently held his brother’s left hand. It was too cold. He rubbed his other hand against it. His brother needed to be warm. Why wasn’t he warm? He was too still. He was never this still. Some part was always in motion, a toe, a finger, his mouth, his head. Humming, dancing, spinning, giggling. No. He should not be so motionless.
Raph got up and went around to the other side of the bed. He cringed. A tube was sticking out of the left side of Mikey’s chest. He remembered Honeycutt saying something about a collapsed lung.
Too many bandages.
He glanced up at the screens. Heart monitor, sluggish and slow. He made a small sound. He didn’t even know what kind of sound, but it shoved through his throat and out of his mouth, and then he was lying on top of the very still figure, his head on the very still plastron, and whatever sound he was making just kept coming. He stayed that way. Eventually, he lifted his head, breathing harshly. He brought his face to his brother’s cheek, nuzzling him, the way he would when Mikey would wake up crying from a nightmare, and Raph would barge into his room, take him in his arms, press their heads together.
It’s just a dream, Mikey. It was a bad dream, that’s all. I’ve got ya. Don’t you worry. Big brother is here. You’re fine. I’ve got ya.
A hoarse voice was saying, “Wake up, Mikey. It’s just a nightmare. I’ve got ya. Big brother is here. You’re safe, baby bro.”
Was that his voice?
There was that funny sound again. The one starting in the back of his throat. It filled his chest achingly, like dense fog. He exhaled, but the sound came with it. His eyes were burning and wet.
Oh. He was crying.
He hated crying. He struggled with all his emotions. He didn’t even think Casey knew he cried. Splinter knew, of course. Sensei knew everything.
Sensei wasn’t here.
Raphael cried. Tough, wild, rough, angry, stubborn Raphael.
He held onto his motionless, comatose, machine-breathing baby brother, and he cried, because he didn’t know what to do.
*

Chapter Three

Of course they still hadn’t found the pieces they needed. Of course the Triceraton black hole generator was scattered through many planets. Of course they needed their space suits to travel.
Leonardo missed the planet with the silver trees and golden sky, and the incredible food. He couldn’t remember its name.
The only bright memory was Michelangelo’s blood pouring everywhere, and the mystery injection, but Mikey had asked for that recipe and…
At some point during those seven hours in the infirmary, April had come out to the main area, her hands shaking, fingers gripping a blood-stained piece of paper. Shakily, she had asked if anybody had wanted to try cooking the meal that Michelangelo had so happily queried after at the pub. Nobody volunteered. Nobody wound up making the meal.
Everybody was going to wait until Mikey wanted to make it himself, because everybody knew Mikey was the chef, and nobody wanted to eat a new recipe that Mikey had not made.
Everybody was desperate for Mikey to wake up. Honeycutt said that was not going to happen, not for a while. How long was a while? Nobody answered. When Donatello muttered that due to the average turtle’s need for hibernation when wounded, it could be as long as three months, the same amount Leo spent in the farmhouse bathtub after Shredder’s brutal attack. But Leo’s wounds had not actually been this terrible. For Leo, it had been about recovery, which was how he had been active the day he regained consciousness.
When Michelangelo eventually regained consciousness, he might be unable, incapable, of leaving the infirmary at all for a long time.
Leonardo swallowed hard. These lumps in his throat were getting harder and harder to push down. These tears in his eyes were getting harder and harder to stop from falling.
He had listened to Raphael angrily sobbing in the holodeck when Raph didn’t know Leo was there. He had listened to Raphael fearfully crying in the infirmary, a completely different sound for Raph. The hothead hated to cry at all. Angry tears during a fight was one thing, letting out frustration and letting in relief. But crying openly, out of worry and fear and concern… Leo admitted that even he didn’t like it. It felt too much like weakness. And warriors could not be weak. They were Ninja.
They had lost their sensei.
They had lost their home.
That day, they had cried. Yes. Not even hot cocoa helped, not really, even though the wide smile on Mikey’s face was Leo’s calming focus. For all the teasing, the insults, the irritations…
Leonardo shook his head, as a memory surfaced forcefully.

“I don't want him and I'm in charge!”
“Why am I always stuck with Mikey? Raph you take him.”
“Over my dead body...”
“Y' know, I'm startin' to think nobody wants t' be with me. Fine! I'll just go on my own. Heh. That's a closet.”
“And that's why nobody wants to be with you!”

Leo squeezed his eyes shut and a tear finally slipped out. They should never have been so harsh. Yes, Mikey was impatient, impulsive, often immature, impetuous, random, distracted, noisy, nosy, sometimes thoughtless. He did have ADHD, after all. But their words had been hurtful. Mikey was brilliant, joyful, stunningly intelligent in much different ways than they were, playful, agile in thought, consistently positive, managing to pull the family together with a joke or two, able to take the worst situations in stride. Leonardo recalled how Mikey was determined to accompany him during the battle with Mega-Shredder, how horrifying it had been to watch Mega-Shredder swallow Mikey whole. When Mikey emerged from that gigantic mouth, breaking teeth and howling victory, it was like exhaling a breath Leo hadn’t realized he had been holding. Mikey was good at what he did. Mikey was the best at what he did. And what he did was magic.
Leonardo pressed his hands to the window separating him from outer space and whispered his brother’s name.
“Leo…?”
Wait, how did get on the floor?
“Leo, do you need anything? Food? TV? Er… comic book?”
It was Casey. Crouched over him, staring at him. He was…sitting on the floor. He didn’t remember sitting on the floor. He spared Casey a glance and went back to looking out at space.
“Ah, hell, Leo… c’mon. Work with me here! Raph’s practically being sleepin’ on top of Mikey, Donnie’s wandering around like a zombie, and you’re… you… I don’t know what’s goin’ on. Leo, talk to me. It’s been, like, six days and you haven’t said more than a few words.”
Wait, what? Six… days? But they just brought Mikey to the ship…
“Casey,” he said.
“Yes! Um. Yes, Leonardo?”
“I’d… like to watch some TV. Do you want to…?”
He watched Casey’s eyes light up. “Sure, sure, yeah! I’ll get us some snacks, too! I’ll see if Don wants to join us on the couch and-”
“Where is Raph?”
Casey froze. “Oh. He, uh, well, he’s been sitting in the infirmary. He makes these scary noises when we try to make him leave. And…”
“I will talk to him.” Leonardo pushed himself up. Casey offered his hand. Leo decided to take it rather than argue. He could be Perfect Leader some other time, he guessed.
“Leo, he… isn’t doing good,” Casey warned, his voice breaking.
Startled, Leonardo frowned. “What do you mean, Casey?” Because… wasn’t Raph getting it all out in the dojo simulations?
Casey bit his lip and shuffled his feet. “I know you haven’t gone into the infirmary in a couple of days and all, you haven’t really been paying much attention in general, and I get that, I get that, because it is really hard to look at Mikey right now…” his words tumbling faster, “but Raph is, like, I don’t know… obsessed with sadness? I’m really worried, Leo. I mean, it’s like when he was watching over you at the farm, but not. He won’t come out to eat so one of us has to bring food. Like, he’s made himself at home. There’s the bathroom in there, the sink, that little stove… he hasn’t come out, is what I’m sayin’. And he keeps talking to Mikey, and the shit he says… I don’t wanna listen, Leo. It’s so private. It’s really really dark. He…”
Casey paused and stared Leo right in the eyes with a dark look. “I think he really needs you.”
Leo felt his eyes widen. Oh, he didn’t like this. Casey knew how intense Raphael could get, but they all knew there would come a time when-
Leonardo did not remember how he came to stand at the infirmary doorway. On the other side, in the laboratory section, Donatello was relentlessly typing, the desk covered with paper and vials. The little tray table that would normally hold any food that Michelangelo brought was empty. Leo tightened his shoulders and looked away, to his right, where he could hear that distant, weak beeping that was unmistakable. He took a deep breath and walked into the infirmary.
Three empty beds greeted him with pure nothing as he walked past. He steeled himself and approached the fourth bed. Raphael sat on the other side, holding Mike’s hand and staring at his face. Leo cleared his throat. “Hey, Raph.”
Raphael looked up, his face blank, yet tight and worn. Leo noticed the pile of blankets and pillows next to him on the floor. Gods and Buddha, what was happening? How could he have missed so much? Had it really been almost a week?
“Nice to see you, Leo,” Raph croaked, and Leo’s gut clenched in guilt. “I mean, I know we’ve all been out of it. I don’t think Donnie’s really slept, except at his desk, when April forces him.”
Leo nodded. He took the other chair and sat. His hands automatically reached out to rest on Mikey’s chest, the way Splinter would ease their childhood fears and illnesses. He remembered the healing mantras. He had no idea if they would even work. He was thinking too hard, wasn’t he?
“You’re thinking too hard,” Raphael said, and he jolted. “Heh. Donnie said you might try a mantra. I mean, feel free.” His laugh was dry and cold. “Doubt it’ll do a damn thing, though.”
Leo hated feeling hopeless.
But. It was so instinctual. He felt his breaths in and out. He heard himself chant. His shoulders slumped and his head dropped. He repeated the chant until his throat felt sore. His hands were shaking.
“Leo.” Raph was talking to him. He was busy! Stop talking, Raph! “Leo, hey. Listen, I think his heartbeat is steadying out!”
Huh?
Carefully, Leonardo opened his eyes. Mikey’s body hadn’t stirred. But… yes, he heard it. That faint beep was just a little stronger. Not by much, but-
“DONNIE!” he yelled, standing up too quickly. His head spun. As he steadied himself, he heard furniture scraping, paper scattering, drumming feet.
Donatello slid, actually slid, into the room. “WHAT!”
“I…” Leo fidgeted. “I did Splinter’s healing mantras on Mikey. It isn’t much, but his vitals are a little better.”
Eyes round, Don hurried to the bed, checking the monitors, Mike’s pulse, the oxygen. “Yes. Yes!” he said. “A little! I mean, it is so much better than it was six days ago. Leo, that’s amazing.”
Panting, Leo grinned. “Just… don’t expect me to do it every day. I mean, I am sure I could. I want to. But…”
“Bad idea!” That was Raph. He was standing, still clutching his baby brother’s limp hand. “I saw what was happening to you, Leo. You turned a funny shade. You almost stopped breathing.”
“What? Really?” Donnie’s hands fluttered around him, grasping, patting. He grabbed Leo’s face, turned his head to the side. “Do you feel dizzy? Out of breath? Sore? Does your head hurt?”
Leonardo waved him off. “A little. No. Maybe. No. No, Donnie, I’m fine. I feel… oh.” And he pitched forward.
“Well, there’s your answer,” Raph grumbled.
Don’s arms were comfortable. “Leo,” Donatello said, “I forbid you to do the healing mantras every day, or every other day. You can do them once a week. Maybe.”
“You’re not my mom,” Leo murmured.
“No, but I am your doctor,” came a lilting voice from the door, “and I agree with Donatello.”
“You’re a robot,” Leo slurred, feeling happily sleepy. “I’m a turtle.”
“Um.” Donatello hoisted him to his feet, gripping his shoulders. “Leo, when was the last time you slept? Like, really slept.”
“When was the last time you really slept, Mister Genius?”
“Fair point. You need to go to bed.”
“No, you.” But Leo turned to Dr Honeycutt and shuffled out, trudging toward his bedroom. He was starting to sway and shake. How much healing energy had he used, anyway? He would have used it all up, given everything inside him, if it meant his baby brother improved even a little.
He felt the cool metal hand of Dr Honeycutt on his shell, guiding him. Ah, his bed. He robotically removed all his gear and belt, and faceplanted into his pillow.
“Sleep well, Leonardo,” Dr Honeycutt said quietly.
Leo fell deeply, and his first nightmare was splashed with blood.
*
April kept constant time. The turtles were all so disconnected from reality they barely knew what day it was. Did it even matter, out in space? It mattered to the equipment keeping Michelangelo alive, she thought.
It has, she thought, been two weeks and four days. Should I bother with hours? Nothing had changed. They had to force Leonardo to stop doing his healing mantras. He was getting sick somehow. Now she understood what it meant to “suffer from exhaustion.” Mikey was in a very deep coma, and the only thing the mantras did was occasionally keep his heart rate from dropping. But the toll it took on Leo was too much. Honeycutt had fretted over him and finally became angry enough to put him in an infirmary bed for a full day. Leonardo had grimaced and sighed the whole time, but he did drink a lot of tea, and he meditated carefully.
April kept pulling herself back to that moment when the turtles had burst into the main area screaming and yelling for help, Raphael ahead with a bloody Michelangelo cradled in his arms. Dr Honeycutt had been swift and clinical leading them into the infirmary and asking questions, a flood of words from different mouths. April had screamed and grabbed Casey by the wrist, chasing after. Leonardo had spun around to face them, his entire body pale and bruised, his eyes wide and dull.
And then the words flying from his mouth, his hands slicing the air, the description of the planet and the pub and Mikey’s kindess to the staff, and the black reptile men, the battle, the syringe. And then, like a well run dry, Leo stopped talking, and his eyes got the look of someone shell-shocked, and he robotically walked into the infirmary.
April followed, telling Casey to look after Leo and Raph. She was already grabbing surgical gloves and mask, running to the sink and scrubbing up, calling to Honeycutt asking what she could do, that she had medical training, was Donnie okay, how were Mikey’s vitals…
Dr Honeycutt crisply thanking her and asking if she was steady with a scalpel; that Donatello’s hands were shaking. And that was how April found herself performing a chest tube insertion on her baby brother. How her small hands and slender fingers worked through blood and fluid and raw flesh, how somehow she stayed calm and steady with tears streaming down her face. Donnie, sweet darling Donnie, standing close enough to touch, instructing her on mutant turtle anatomy and its differences and similarities with human anatomy. Their brains were human, their lungs and hearts and stomachs and a good portion of their bodies reacted the way human organs did. But they were still cold-blooded. And Donnie told her that he was going to prep himself to draw his own blood, and then Raphael was there too, calm and still as a stone, insisting Don take his blood too, and Leonardo, silent and determined, holding out his left arm, and April cried a little more.
Donnie had stopped shaking and became calmer than she had seen him in a long, long time after the transfusions. By her side, he worked tirelessly, mouth set, muttering things like “…lucky there was barely any head trauma, Raph, you need to back away, I can’t see… April, check all his ribs for fractures and hematoma formation…okay, that one is bruised, that one is broken? Dr Honeycutt, could you please check his pectoral and abdominal scutes for further bruising, I think he was- no, Leo, you need to move away if you aren’t helping… okay somebody wipe my forehead please?” and his voice was deadpan.
April learned quickly how to apply acetone, rapid polymerizing epoxy resin, sterilized fiberglass cloth. She then moved on to his limbs, helped clean and stitch the multiple lacerations in Mikey’s skin, but when she saw the massive gash stretching down his left thigh, she realized she couldn’t move. Her breath hitched. Donatello saw it and nuzzled her temple, unable to touch her with gore-covered hands. “I got it, April. Deep breaths.” And she was so grateful she let herself cry again. She watched closely as Donatello deftly cleaned the extraordinary wound until bone shone through. She watched as he began closing the flesh from the inside, thread and needle speeding through muscle, until he reached the leathery top layer of skin and the sutures tightly covered any exposed flesh. She realized that Mikey might have some long-term problems with that leg. She found herself flashing back to when she broke her leg when she was twelve, how cumbersome and slow and long the recovery had been; even now, her leg ached before rain came.
There was no rain in outer space. They were alone. But they were on an incredible space ship. An incredible scientist was with them. If it were not for Dr Honeycutt… no, April, stop thinking. Look at the bruises and cuts elsewhere on his legs. Oh, Mikey, so many bruises…
She got a fresh, damp cloth and began cleaning his legs gently before helping Don wrap them in gauze. Belatedly, she wondered if arnica could help.
From what Leo had told her, Mike had barely been aware of how and where the Alchemist alien struck, he’d been so fast. Not just the two gashes in his pectoral area, not just the deep stab wound or the slice on his thigh, but all over his arms, his legs, his sides, anywhere skin was exposed. Oddly, his head and neck had been spared. Then again, the Alchemist had injected him with something painful and possibly poisonous. Mikey’s head trauma was occurring from the inside.
April felt helplessly terrified.