Characters:
thepartydude,
allmyturtles,
betterthanraph,
betterthanleo,
tic_tech_turtle,
heavyweaponsbot ... whoever else plotted with Mikey-mun XD
Location: The Gym, deck 3
Date: Friday 23rd after
thisRating: PG-16 to R for horrible injuries
Michelangelo.
The moment he saw
the footage, Splinter knew he had to be there now. He took pride in letting the boys solve their own problems, for the most part - but they were still
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"Mikey," he gasped, his throat tightening in shock. He gaped, his face frozen in horror, and he clasped one hand over his mouth. What was this. This wasn't possible. This couldn't be. It was a charcoal briquette. With a plastron...
"No! Mikey! Oh my God!!" He harshly shoves Don and Leo aside and drops to his knees, oblivious to Splinter next to him. His hands raise like he wants to touch him, touch his brother, but the simple fact that this lifeless hunk of crusty meat could have ever been little Mikey still hasn't registered at all. His eyes dart to the corpse's face, and it's then when it sinks in: that face, those features...
His emotional switch was flipped. His nervous hands suddenly grasped his dead brother by the shoulders and he hunched over as his lungs forced a throaty wail from the bottom of his chest. He was being loud, his open sob breaking the somber despair of the rest of his family.
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Didn't make this any easier.
Ironhide hung back. As much as he wanted to charge to the rescue, experience told him there was no point. There was nothing that could be done. Not now. They were too late--all of them were too late. One more time he couldn't protect his own. Jazz, Mikaela... Prime. The little one. And now this.
Heavy hands clenched, itching for cannons that simply weren't there. His reaction was somewhere between Raphael and the rest of them, silent, but then, he turned, lashing out at the wall nearby, his engine revving while cold rage wrapped around his spark.
What could he say? What could he do?
Except stand at attention, in case the survivors needed backup.
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"Blanket. Now." A towel, an exercise mat, anything. If Splinter's robe was large enough, he would use that, but his sons had far outgrown him. It would not cover half of Michelangelo.
Even as he issues the clipped order, voice far more hoarse than usual - almost weak - his paw rests on Raphael's shell. He couldn't protect him from this. It was devastating to all of them, but how Raphael would deal with it (or rather, how he wouldn't deal with it) worried Splinter the most.
There was little he could do to stop any of them from handling it in their own way. Splinter would simply have to do everything he could to prevent it from tearing apart their very family - no matter if it cost his own grieving process.
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Leonardo sprang into action; he nudged Donatello toward Ironhide, and turned to address the Autobot directly. "Ironhide. Please..." He trailed off, not wanting to outright ask him to look after Don but hoping Ironhide would catch his drift easily enough.
He- Yes. A blanket. Splinter wanted a blanket. He would find out if he had to piece one together by ripping the floor mats apart. This was a gym, there had to be a tarp or something in here somewhere, something. Leonardo put himself to work, trying not to think about Raphael screaming, trying not to think that all these scorch marks on the ground were from Michelangelo being hit over and over and over-
Blanket.
A blanket.
He needed to get a blanket.
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He'd probably have glared at Leo, but he was too angry, too tired, too shocked still to muster up any irritation at anyone, so he didn't.
Leo would get the blanket, so Don just followed Leo with his eyes and folded his shaking hands - dirty and stained and black - in his lap and waited, and listened, and thought about that voice, the murderer's voice, and trying to connect it to any he had heard before. There was nothing he could do, so he waited for something. Whatever that was.
If Ironhide came up to Don, or tried to get his attention right now, he would find him rather passive.
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What had happened? Why would anyone do this, and more importantly, how? This wasn't some kind of accident. Someone hadn't just thrown a match at him. Even something bigger, like a burning cloth or torch - or even alcohol, which would've burnt quickly if someone had doused him - there was no conceivable handmade weapon available on the ship that could do something like this.
Slowly Raphael's sobs started to ebb into violent, shivering inhales and exhales as he tried to get control of himself, but these were the thoughts going through his head. He leaned back against Don but he was completely silent and oblivious to the words and movements of the people around him.
Who. Who did this?
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Ironhide hated that. A complete inability to do anything for the situation. He was a heavy artillery mech. A heavy hitter. That was how he solved his problems. And that wasn't how he was going to solve this one. He was helpless. He didn't function well with helplessness.
He drew in a long intake of air, and limped forward. His gaze dropped, avoiding the body altogether. With joints and panels creaking, popping, he knelt next to Donatello, as requested. One large hand hesitantly rested on the turtle's shell, his good optic flicking between him and Raphael. It was about all that he could do.
And it just wasn't enough.
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He already knew it would give the boys nightmares.
Reluctantly Splinter covered Michelangelo's face and rested his son's limp head back on the ground. In some ways it was at least as bad, this formless shape under a tarp, his son made anonymous. But it was better than the charred flesh, the blisters - the many things he didn't want to remember.
Splinter stood with the aid of his cane. He very much needed it.
"Leonardo." His voice was weak, almost a whisper. The boys deserved stronger than that. Splinter didn't have any more to give.
"Donatello... Raphael." He takes a moment. The list is too short. Part of him knew that it would never be the same again... because Michelangelo was dead. But no - Raphael had died, before Splinter arrived. He was back now.
It hurt too much to hope, but neither could he give up. It might happen again.
"We can do nothing until this time tomorrow. It is impossible to seek closure now. We must wait."
Until we know.
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A statistic.
He couldn't stop to think about this; Ironhide came all this way, but he was probably uncomfortable. He should go. He probably wanted to go. He nodded to Splinter, bowed, and turned to Ironhide.
The words caught in his throat again and he shook his head before croaking. "Thanks Ironhide. We've got it from here." He could deal with his brothers later, after he collected himself. Raphael might be violent. Or he might need someone. Don would definitely need someone.
Leonardo could grieve on his own time.
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Then he wordlessly attempted to stand, and to pull Raph to his feet with him. Don wouldn't be able to, of course, if Raph fought, but he'd at least try and if Raph didn't want to then he wouldn't push him. He listened with only half an ear to Splinter, though the words were something like a lifeline. Wait.
He could do that. Wait. Patience was ingrained in his bones.
He'd always tried to be patient for Mikey.
He kept his hand on Ironhide, even when Leo asked him to go, and another, hopefully, on Raph.
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He had gone quiet by now, only sniffling and swallowing dryly. And although he wasn't speaking, standing or looking at anyone, the emotion growing in him now would be more than given to his family, the people who knew him best.
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He didn't have to speak, or do anything but loom here beside the other two. It was all he could do. Let them leave him with it until they took the body. And besides, he wouldn't have dislodged Donatello's hand even if he'd wanted to. Someone, at least, needed his help.
"Long as you will have me."
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