But He's The Cute One

[allmyturtles]

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 this
Rating: 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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[thepartydude]

It hurts.

But not as much as Michelangelo thinks it should, surprisingly. It's almost as if his brain has just shut down, or the burns were too deep. Hell if he knows, he's not Don. He can't even lift his head to see his own injuries.

All he knows is that he can't move. It's difficult to breathe; the air is thick with bitter smoke tainted with the acrid taste of plastic and burned flesh, and his throat and chest hurt. Something bites sharply against his skin every time he tries to breathe, so he takes small, shallow breaths. Is his plastron cracked?

He can't move. He tried, but his limbs won't listen to his mind's orders, they refuse to obey.

Is he gone? The other guy? Did he leave, or is he planning another move? Mike hasn't heard a sound from him in forever. Or is it a minute? His mind keeps wandering, it's difficult to stay focused and he just wants to sleep. Something instinctive knows that is a bad thing, and a small part of him wonders if he'll die here. Alone

[allmyturtles]

"Shhh."

Splinter's in Damage Control Mode. The only problem is that Mikey's injuries are completely out of control. There is nothing either Splinter (or Donatello) could do. Perhaps there might be a slim chance, if the ship doctor was here - it appeared skilled, no matter its demeanor - but by the time it got here...

No, Splinter knows. He's seen death before, and it is very close now. The old rat does not cling to false hope, or deny the obvious. His youngest son is dying.

Cool, dry hands gently stroke Michelangelo's temple before Splinter carefully - oh so carefully - lifts the turtle's head just a few inches. Splinter edges his leg beneath Michelangelo's skull so that his son can have his head in his lap.

"I am here."

[thepartydude]

A harsh, shallow gasp as his head is moved -- it hurts it hurts -- and Mike's breaths rattle wetly in his chest. But they're small and shallow, and growing further apart. Breathing just doesn't seem all that important anymore. Things seemed very important a minute ago, but there's this sense of calm. Acceptance.

It's okay. Mikey's not sure what's okay, but it is. He was waiting for something, he's forgotten what but he was waiting and now he doesn't have to wait anymore. He's not scared anymore.

Another small, ragged breath, and then he just ... stops.

[allmyturtles]

Splinter feels Mikey relax, and he knows he's helped somehow. But that is slim comfort when the old rat feels something shiver through his whiskers, and then -

He's gone.

Splinter remembers finding them, frightened from the long fall, alone in the cold. To this day he remembered; one was assertive, one was curious, one was feisty, and one was the smallest - but such energy. He had cleaned them up and kept them safe. They were all so small then...

And then Michelangelo was the cheerful one, the mischievous one. Always goofing off, playing jokes, but so good when he applied himself. All the back-flips in the world couldn't dampen his sense of fun, and to be honest, Splinter hadn't wanted them to.

Michelangelo warning the pizza shop about anchovies, Michelangelo clapping his hands to pretend he was doing his flips, Michelangelo falling off the couch before hugging his long-absent big brother...

Just this week, Michelangelo brought him cake.

Splinter's breath catches in a hoarse, quiet sob.