Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. This was supposed to be a simple rescue mission—helping Mondo Gecko see the truth, realize he only had his best interests at heart, and maybe he’d leave with a new friend!

Instead, Michelangelo had been kidnapped, tossed about none too gently, even had his turtle comm smashed! (Donatello was gonna kill him. That made three in the last few months!) Plus, he was currently barreling down a mountain road in a truck with no means to control its direction. Being bound like a fish in a net made any alteration to this exceptionally difficult.

Michelangelo didn’t get scared very often but he had to admit—he was scared now. Being a mutant, he was hardier than most. Injuries healed faster. But he could still be hurt. Still be killed. They’d gotten a bit spoiled on the fact such a thing was rarely a factor.

But imagining the impact when this truck hit the bottom…The fire, the explosion. Even his shell could only protect him from so much. He wasn’t a fool.

And they didn’t call it Devil’s Mountain because it was a gentle drop.

Staring at the remains of his turtle comm, his throat felt oddly tight. If it worked, Leonardo would have been saying something in that super calm voice of his and even though there was nothing he could do about it, it would have calmed Michelangelo’s nerves. It would have been something to fill his thoughts.

Being alone with only your anxiety filled feelings did not contribute to a sense of calm.

His bros would come. He knew they would. But how fast could they get here? Even if they’d already been looking for him, it would take time for them to catch up.

Eyes blurry, he stared at the crumbled pieces of the turtle comm, tried to rehearse his sibling’s voice in his head. That baritone, that tenor that promised everything would be alright. And somehow, it always was.

He hit the side of the truck again when the wheels lifted slightly with the descend down the mountain path. Nothing but his own thoughts and all his thoughts were centered on how much this was going to hurt when he hit.

And if he was going to go out, was it really asking so much to go out hearing his brother’s voice?

“Hey, Turtle!”

Blinking at the familiar tone, Michelangelo lifted his head, barely being able to see through the flapping rear doors. But the sound of a motorized skateboard and a green face could only be…

“Gecko! You came after me, Dude?” His voice shouldn’t have been that high, that panicked.

The truck jolted, barely clinging to the road as the rocks and potholes played havoc with its tires. Gecko moved to the left, trying to avoid the careening vehicle.

“I told those goons to lay off you.” The teenaged gecko took a leap, grabbing onto the swinging doors to pull himself in, “No reason to off you!”

“Well, thanks, Dude! I knew you weren’t a bad guy.”

The mutant lizard went rigid in the face. “You don’t have to insult me. I could leave you here.” But he knelt, trying to get a grip on the net.

He hit the wall when the truck swung around a turn and would have slid back out if not for snagging onto the net that bound Michelangelo with his claws.

“Wasn’t an insult, Dude. There’s nothing wrong with not being a bad guy. It’s totally righteous.” Michelangelo took his next breath as the truck went slightly airborne before the tires slammed to the ground again.

“Well, I am a bad guy.” Gecko managed to slice through some of the net. If they hadn’t been tossed around like rag dolls, he might have just lifted the turtle. But there was no stability for him to get a good grip.

“No way, Dude. The bad guys are the ones at the top of the mountain. A bad guy would have just left me here. You didn’t.”

They jolted as the truck hit another bump and nearly toppled over. Gecko hit the floor and Michelangelo the wall.

“And I don’t even know why.” Scrambling to his feet, Gecko attacked the bindings again. “Mr. X always said the strong survive. That if they’re dumb enough to get into a situation to get robbed, it’s their own fault.”

“But do you believe him?” Michelangelo asked, trying to maneuver as best he could to slip out a foot or a hand.

“I…I dunno.” Gecko looked lost, unsure. “I used to but then you had to get involved. You and your talk about honor and crap. I wasn’t confused until you came along!” Despite the sharpness in his voice, the mutant didn’t leave, giving a shout of triumph as the net began to give way. “But I can’t hate you.”

The truck bounced and Michelangelo groaned as his cheek slammed into the side wall. That was going to bruise when all this was over. “Maybe it was just you didn’t know anything else. But you always knew it wasn’t—“

Michelangelo couldn’t finished because as he made his way to his knees, his stomach dropped out from under him. And it kept dropping. A distinct cracking…a breaking sound.

Both mutants went airborne and the turtle could make out the mountain growing further and further away through the rattling doors.

Their luck had finally run out. The breaking he’d heard were guardrails. They were careening, headfirst toward the ground.

Pushing against the wall for leverage, Michelangelo kicked the gecko through the flapping rear doors, screaming, “Save yourself, Gecko!”

A thud, a crash, heat, rattling and an explosion that sucked all the air out of his body. It was a sickening feeling—watching almost from outside himself as his body was tossed. As metal tumbled around him. At the red hotness of the engine, the snapping of flame on fuel.

Least it’ll be quick. I’m so sorry, bros…

OOO

“Where did his bleep go?”

Raphael leaned over Donatello’s shoulder, pointing to the now black screen. “You said it tracked his genetic signature right? So where did he go?”

The purple banded turtle bit his lower lip. “I…I dunno. It was tracking him just fine at the top of the mountain and then it was matching up with him heading down.”

Leonardo frowned. “Could it be a malfunction? Can you reset it? Did we really lose him?”

“Maybe forever.” Raphael’s tone had lost all joking, all sarcasm. Skin pale, the normally wise cracking turtle pointed, his finger shaking as he did. “Look.”

Raphael considered himself the strong one. As sarcastic as he could be, he was the rock, the one that could take the weight.

But this? He couldn’t take this. He couldn’t endure this. He felt something strong in his chest just snap.

Because that was a wreck. A wreck that only could have been made by a large vehicle plunging off the road.

Fire. Lots of it. And twisted metal. Broken trees where the—

“Oh no.” Leonardo was fighting his voice. He was the leader. He was the calm one. He had to be. But there was no mistaking it. “That’s…that has to be the truck Michelangelo was riding in.”

One could hardly call it a truck now. A heap of twisted metal, smoke and choking flame. It looked like the truck had been turned inside out.

The blimp faltered. Dropped a bit in altitude.

Donatello’s hands were shaking and he had to readjust the controls twice. “No. Not a crash like that. Not even his hard shell could…”

He wouldn’t finish. Couldn’t finish.

No. No. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t!

Yet the images invaded the mind anyway. Blood. Broken bones. A body crumbled and tattered torn asunder in so many ways it couldn’t possibly be put back together.

No more of Michelangelo’s ‘just because’ pizzas. No more of his hugs, those all encompassing embraces that made all the cold of the world wash away. No more of his insisting they have an evening of ‘movies, music, and fun!’ because ‘why not?’

They’d made fun of him that morning. Dismissed his dream as just another fancy of his wild imagination. There no reason to think he was lying. No reason to doubt the reality of prophetic dreams. Yet, they’d laughed anyway.

And if Michelangelo was still here for them to apologize to, he would have smiled and said he forgave them a long time ago. He would have said, ‘It was pretty gnarly, compadres. What’s important is you came around.’

Donatello squeezed his eyes shut and tears seeped out of them.

I’m so sorry, Michelangelo. We were too slow. I was too slow. We should have started looking for you earlier. We should have—I should have—

“Is that Michelangelo?” Raphael’s voice was broken, fractured pieces snapped together between sobs. And the hope on his voice now was as alluring as it was poisonous.

His vision was blurred with tears but even given that, Donatello shook his head almost instantly. A tail, too short, not muscular enough. Maybe it made him a terrible person but all the same, he found himself wishing that mutant had been in the truck, not his brother. “It-it’s not. It’s another mutant.”

“Could that be the mutant that was in Michelangelo’s dream?” Leonardo had no spunk in his voice. No motivation. A simple, bland admission of fact.

He was the leader. More than that, he was the big brother. The oldest brother. If Sensei was ever to fall, head of the family would rest on his shoulders.

His job was to keep his family safe. To make sure they all came home at the end of the day. He had failed. In every definition of the word.

If he’d stopped the teasing, insisted they follow up. Given his brother’s concerns the weight they were warranted.

Some brother he was and now…

A sound erupted through the air. A sound more animal than anything. A series of vocal clicks, screeches and croaks but mixed with an inhuman scream that conveyed only that pain was all that could relayed.

But all three turtles immediately knew that sound for what it was.

“Michelangelo!”

Chapter Text

Tossing aside a crumbled tire, Mondo Gecko hissed, shaking his hands to alleviate the sting from the heat. Smoke clouded his eyes and tears broke out.

“Michelangelo! Where are you, Turtle?”

He’d slid down the mountainside without much effort once he got his wits back. Why had the turtle kicked him out? He was the reason he was in danger to begin with.

And he saves me?

So Gecko had all but attacked the crash site. It felt almost ridiculous. Hoping against hope for a miracle. Hoping not to find a body mangled and broken amid the wreckage.

But then that sound. That horrible sound. It was both horrible and glorious all at the same time. Horrible in its noise—at the utter agony that had to be required to retch such a thing from anything living. Glorious because sound meant life!

“Michelangelo? Is that you? Where are you—“

“Michelangelo! Hang on!”

New voices from overhead. Arching his neck up, Gecko blinked as a huge blimp suddenly careened to the ground, barely touching the earth before two turtles were leaping off. The third followed once an anchor was dropped.

Stepping to the side, Gecko said, “I can hear him—“

“Hang on, Michelangelo!” The turtles tore by Gecko, not even giving him a sliver of attention. He was glad he’d thought to step aside. “Hang on!”

Wait. Michelangelo had mentioned a family. He’d not paid much attention to it at the time but he definitely remembered him talking about a father. About siblings.

These are your brothers, aren’t they, Turtle?

OOO

Raphael leapt over a collection of still smoldering rubber, his ears trained to one thing and that was his brother’s scream. More accurately, his brother’s scream of pain.

He and his siblings were made of tough stuff. Came from both being a mutant and the type of lifestyle they had. Being trained in martial arts, they had developed pretty high tolerances for pain. Being thrust into battles just hardened that tolerance.

But Michelangelo was screaming. Howling in pain. And his voice had fallen back to the half broken chirps they used as children. Plus, Raphael could hear tears in those cries.

They weren’t even really words. Just guttural eruptions.

“Hang on, Michelangelo!” Was that his voice being so high pitched? Maybe it was Leonardo. He was in full blown Mom-mode. Good thing there were no henchman down here; they’d not survive a frantic Mama Nardo.

Even Donatello—calm, cool, collected Donatello—was racing through the debris like it personally offended him. No thought to himself, only about reaching the source of that cry as soon as possible.

A part of Raphael was aware of the gecko mutant following them. Shell, they’d all seen him from the blimp but until he found Michelangelo, that was simply unimportant information.

One good thing about the screaming—the only good thing about it—was it was something to follow.

“C’mon, Michelangelo, keep howling. Let us know where you are. We’re coming. Big Brothers are coming!”

Raphael didn’t even recognize his own voice.

After a minute or so, the noise led them all to the far end of the wreckage. It looked like the crumbled front of the truck, remains of the engine, wheels, axels…

But most importantly, a turtle pinned under some of the metal and siding. Very little could be seen of him—just a bit of the torso and head—but he was alive.

He was alive.

“Michelangelo!” The three brothers rushed over and immediately slammed their weight against the pieces of truck keeping their brother pinned.

It took a few tries but the pieces tumbled to the side, allowing them full access to their younger brother.

Leonardo dropped to his knees next to him, eyes immediately looking him over.

“Oh, God. Donatello, help me!”

Michelangelo’s left leg was obviously broken, probably in several places. His right arm as well. Road rash coated his whole body, in patches, and judging by the bruising on his head, a concussion at minimum.

But most concerning, that he could see, was the remains of the truck engine was clasped around their brother’s left knee. Burning flesh was evident and the smell was nauseating. When Leonardo gently touched the block, it seared his hands.

He grabbed his brother’s leg, trying to maneuver it out. Michelangelo screeched in his ear at the slightest movement and the leg didn’t budge in the slightest.

Leonardo cursed. He never cursed.

“We hafta get this off!” Donatello lodged the tip of his Bo into an opening, hoping to jimmy it off.

Michelangelo’s screams turned to howls.

Raphael knelt next to his youngest brother, cradling his head in his lap. “You’re hurting him, Donatello!”

“I know, but it’ll hurt him more if we don’t get this off!”

The rocking and moving wasn’t doing much good. The engine block was wedged tight. And the longer it stayed in contact, the deeper the burn.

“Let me help.” A voice spoke up behind them.

Whirling around, the three turtles found themselves faced with the lizard mutant they’d spied from above. Even as he approached, he was taking off his shirt, using it to wrap his hands.

“I’m Mondo Gecko. Michelangelo’s…friend.” He hoped he was. But more than that, he hoped he’d have the turtle still alive to be a friend at the end. The gecko boy grasped one side of the engine block and pulled.

Any port in a storm. Donatello and Leonardo took off their masks, used them to shield their hands (it still burnt but if they made this work quickly, it would suffice), and yanked on the other side.

“Hold him still, Raphael!” Leonardo barked. To Donatello and their new ally, he said, “Now pull, hard as you can!”

The engine was well made; it had been deemed for a government truck. But three mutants pulling at it (two of them being martial arts trained) appeared to be a breaking point. The metal groaned, as if protesting its imminent destruction then flew apart.

Tossing the metal aside, Leonardo dropped to his knees again, assessing what damage had been done. Donatello stayed standing, casting an ominous look at the gecko. Unfair perhaps but his brother hadn’t gotten in this situation on his own.

And Michelangelo was well known for letting his heart overrule his common sense.

Still, the gecko also didn't have to help them and he did.

“Damn.” Leonardo winced as he gently maneuvered his brother’s leg to check the damage. “That’s at least a third-degree burn. Maybe worse.”

“What the shell is worse than third degree?” Raphael spat but he never took his eyes off Michelangelo and between his statements, he was giving light, rumbling churrs to his brother. The likes of which he had not done in years.

Despite himself, Donatello answered. “Fourth degree. Down to the bone and marrow.” Logic was his safe haven and if he had to think and dissect facts then the fear bubbling through every cell of his body might not overwhelm him.

Raphael blanched. “To the bone?”

Before any of them—including Michelangelo—could process the ramifications of what that meant, Leonardo took charge. A small pause then he took a breath and calm colored his features. “But those are treatable. Burns are treatable. We can handle that.”

And he smiled—smiled!—at his little brother like they’d just found him with a sprained ankle. “It's gonna be alright, Michelangelo.”

Tears rolling down his face, the surfer turtle found his voice, though his accent was notoriously absent, “Hurts! Hurts! It hurts!” After a moment, his English faded away and Japanese took its place, “Itai!”

Raphael stroked the sides of his brother’s face. “Hey, we know. We know. It’s gonna be okay—“

“My shell! My shell!” The boy sobbed. “Make it stop!”

Raphael locked eyes with his two other brothers, pale in the face. “Your shell?” He parroted.

Not his shell, not his shell, we can't deal with a hurt shell…

“HURTS!”

“Okay, let’s look at what we’re dealing with. Rotate him slowly.” Leonardo spoke, solemn. “Yeah, you get his shoulders Raphael.”

Donatello gently held his sibling by the hips and Leonardo his belly.

“Deep breath, Michelangelo. We’re gonna fix this, okay? But I need you to stay as still as you can. Can you do that for me?”

A shaky nod. “Just make it stop, Big Brother!”

A nod so full of resolve it should have cracked the air and Leonardo looked to Donatello and Raphael. “Together. Towards me. One, two, three.”

A shuffle, a yelp of pain over the movement of the broken leg and—

“Oh, fuck.” Raphael’s eyes grew wet. Trembling hands moved to where his brother had been flat on his back. Rich red blood dotted his fingers when he pulled them back up.

Donatello was going to throw up, he was almost certain of it, “Oh, my…it’s like a cracked egg!”

That might have been a crude statement but it was also accurate. Michelangelo’s shell was crumbled inward, broken fragments oozing blood all over his back, dripping to the ground. It was a meteor crater in the middle of his shell!

They could feel his muscles pulsing from the pain.

“Cracked?” Michelangelo’s voice heightened. “Is it broke? Am I broke? Is it, is it—“ Fumbling with his unbroken arm, the youngest tried to reach behind, tried to feel for whatever had made his brothers turn that ashen color.

They were never that color! Not even in battle!

Was his shell broke? How would they fix that? They couldn’t fix that! “I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m-I’m—“ His voice began to falter.

“No, no, no.” Leonardo grasped Michelangelo’s hand, pulling it back.  “Shh, relax. Relax. It’s not that bad. Just surprised us. But you don’t want to agitate it.”

“Not that—“ Raphael went quiet when that lizard clamped a hand over his beak.

Donatello hissed at the blunt turtle, dropping his voice as low as possible, “We don’t want him in shock!”

Pulling the lizard’s hands down, Raphael snapped back, voice low. “You weren’t helping either, Mr. It’s-Like-A-Cracked-Egg—“

“Gecko. There’s a tan bag on our blimp. Can you grab it?” Leonardo’s voice had turned stoic. He was in full leader mode. “Donatello, help me remove what you can from the wound.”

Wound. Very clinical. Distant.

“You got it!” Fumbling as he ran, Mondo Gecko left the small group, anxious to do anything to help. He didn’t know much about turtles but judging by the way they are talking…by the fear in their eyes, it was bad.

And it's my fault. If I got there sooner. If I had just let him go. If…

“Raphael, call up Doctor Goodfellow. Tell her we have a shell injury and we need her help as soon as possible.” Leonardo turned to his youngest brother who was starting to shiver. “Just a precaution, Michelangelo. You’ve got a few cracks. We want to make sure we treat those, okay?”

He wasn't lying, just not telling the whole truth. Right now, calm helped them more than panic.

Leonardo’s voice was warm, like he was talking about getting antibiotics to make sure a small cut didn’t get infected. Like it was something they’d wrap up in an hour then treat with a movie and pizza.

He even knelt, gave a light nuzzle to Michelangelo’s beak, with a soft, “Hear me? You're going to be just fine.”

Donatello stared at his brother.

Sometimes, it was so easy for him to get frustrated with Leonardo. They thought so differently about things. The genius had engaged with many an argument about why he thought his way was better than Leonardo’s. About why he needed to rely more on logic, on science, on why his bossiness was unfounded at times.

But in times like this—their baby brother had a shattered shell and not one ounce of panic slipped through Leonardo’s masked voice. He was even grinning! Reassuring Michelangelo it “wasn't that bad” and “we'll get you fixed up in no time.”

Donatello’s hands were quivering, despite his attempts to calm them, and when pieces of his brother’s shell FELL. OFF when was brushing away dirt, he swallowed down vomit.

Leonardo stayed cool, calm, and focused. He took the bag from Gecko as he returned and pulled out the bottle of distilled water. “Thanks, Gecko. Michelangelo, we’re just going to flush the wound, okay? Get any dirt and grime out of it.”

Donatello shook, grateful his littlest brother was turned away from him. If Michelangelo saw his face right now…

“Donatello, you and Raphael splint his arm and leg. Gecko and I will handle the shell.”

It was all so organized. So calm. So collected.    Donatello couldn't even imagine staying this level of controlled. Not with a sobbing baby brother. Not with blood and literal pieces of shell staining the ground.

The genius gave a silent thanks to their Sensei, their father, who had seen, years ago, that the best person to lead them was Leonardo.

Sensei. Master Splinter. They had to call him. Let him know. He'd know what to do. He'd take over. He'd make this horrible trembling throughout Donatello’s entire body stop and reassure them and wipe away Michelangelo’s tears. Everything would be all right again!

It had been a long time—missions and missions worth—since Donatello had felt this way. He'd thought himself too old for it. But right now? He would have openly wept to see Splinter arrive on the scene. Call him a coward perhaps but he wanted his father to come make it better.

Logic was Donatello’s haven. Usually, that served him well. But even as he bound his brother’s leg, all he could think of was how lethal that shell injury was. It was basically shattered. How did they bounce back from that? How?

“Deep breath again for me, Michelangelo,” Leonardo leaned over his brother, unscrewing the water bottle top. “I know it's going to aggravate those nerves but we need to keep it clean, okay, fella?”

A shaky nod and the sobbing hadn’t stopped. When the cool water oozed into those fractures, the cries escalated into screams. Howls of pain, pleas to make it stop.

Gecko grasped the boy’s free hand, his own sweaty and cold. “It’s…it’s okay, Michelangelo. It’s…okay.”

Gecko didn’t look like he believed a word of what he was saying but he repeated it, regardless. As if it was a magic mantra.

Raphael came over with one of the emergency blankets from the blimp and almost robotically, the group cradled their youngest brother in it. It was a two-fold purpose—keep shock from setting in and keep the wounds clean.

“Dr. Goodfellow said bring him to the back entrance. She’ll be ready for us.” There was a chill to the red banded turtle’s voice. “She cancelled her other appointments.”

“Good. Let’s move.” Leonardo maneuvered, with Raphael slowly moving his youngest brother’s lower half. The blanket served as a makeshift stretcher.

Even so, every movement drew another scream from Michelangelo. As much as he tried to resist it, the jostling aggravated so many wounds.

“Don, can’t you give him something?” Raphael tried to keep the anger out of his voice but hearing his youngest brother scream for the past ten minutes and there being absolutely nothing he could do about it had turned his nerves to shattered glass. “I know we don’t have a lot but don’t you have something?”

Realization finally settled on Donatello’s face. This. He could do this.

Except…no. No, he couldn’t.

“I can’t. If Dr. Goodfellow has to give him something, I don’t want to chance it.”

If she has to do surgery. She’s going to have to do surgery. If she even can do surgery. If I do anything that delays it…

“Fine.” Leonardo settled Michelangelo as best he could in the glider. There wasn’t exactly a good place and no position he used was going to be painless. So, he opted instead for the best position to allow maximum speed. “Then let’s go!”

“Wait!” Raphael spoke even as he clamored up next to his two brothers, taking position next to Michelangelo. He would hold him the whole trip if he needed to. “What about April? She was headed up there!”

Leonardo hissed through his teeth. He’d forgotten about that. “We can’t leave her, either. But Michelangelo…”

“I can get her out.” Gecko offered. “I know Mr X’s place inside and out.”

Donatello narrowed his eyes, “Why? Does it have anything to do with why my brother was in a flaming truck wreck?”

Gecko took a step back. The look in those eyes did not bode well for his health, “Well, I was coming to save Michelangelo! I told the other goons to lay off him! They weren’t supposed to hurt him!”

“So, you were in cahoots with this Mr. X guy? So you’re the ones that turtlenapped him to begin with?”

Raphael looked like he might snap. His whole body was quivering and if he wasn’t currently preoccupied with a writhing Michelangelo, Gecko was almost certain his life would be in peril.

Judging by the look from Donatello, it might still be.

“I…Michelangelo was trying to help me. He kept saying I was good, that he knew me. I didn’t believe him at first but…I didn’t want him hurt, when I saw the truck rolling away I…”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Mondo Gecko forced the mangled Michelangelo out of his thoughts. “I couldn’t get to him in time. But I can help you get your friend April…and stop Mr. X.”

“And how do we know that—“ Donatello began.

“No time to argue.” Leonardo interrupted his brother. “We don’t have time for this. Michelangelo doesn’t have time for this. Donatello, go with Gecko, get April then meet us at Dr. Goodfellow’s office.”

The engines fired to life a moment later and Donatello shielded his eyes from the flying dust. Gecko turned his head away as the blimp lifted back into the sky.

As it vanished into the distance, Donatello turned to the mutant gecko by his side . “Fine. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

“And that’s what happened. I can’t tell you why I went after Michelangelo except I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

Donatello took in the details as they made their way up Devil’s Mountain. As much as he wanted to blame and loathe this lizard, he was beginning to see what his brother saw.

Someone that had been used. Someone that never had the chance to be anything but bad. Someone that, deep down, knew this wasn’t him.

“Michelangelo has that effect on people.” Donatello kept his tone even but it was hard. The longer this took, the more time it would take to get back to his brother and he didn’t know if he had that time.

If he lost his brother because of this Mr. X thing. If he didn’t have a chance to say goodbye…

“And I think he was right about you,” Donatello continued. They had reached the outer wall of the manor. Strapping his climbing cleats to his hands and knees, the turtle clarified, “You’ve got no reason to help me right now. I mean, isn’t this your own father you’re going against?”

Gecko looked uneasy. A doubt in his eyes. “I mean…I guess so.”

Raising an eye ridge, the turtle parroted. “You guess?”

The teenager shrugged. “I guess that’s what he was. He never called himself that, though. But he taught me everything I know. Is that a father?”

It wasn’t said with sarcasm. He was dead serious.

Turning so he faced the gecko fully, Donatello said, “It’s part of being a father. Not all of it. Families aren’t that simple. Well…no, that’s not true. Family IS simple. It’s people that care and love you and want you happy. But there’s lots of ways to do that.”

Gecko frowned. “Sounds cheesy.” But nice. So nice.

“Maybe it sounds that way but having someone you can count on, no matter what…that does a lot, given the life we have to live.” The turtle paused, “Not your experience?”

“I mean…not really. Soon as I could walk, Mr. X had me test my skills by gettin’ my own food and stuff. Took me a while to get good at it.”

Brow furrowed, Donatello asked, “And what happened until you got good?”

“Stayed hungry.” Gecko kept his eyes ahead but the scientific turtle could see the wheels turning. “Mr. X would have food in the manor and if you could get it without getting caught, you got to keep it.”

“And if you got caught?”

Gecko shuddered. “He’d eat it in front of me. Nothing made your stomach hurt more than seeing someone else get to eat and you didn’t.”

Donatello couldn’t fathom going hungry. Even when his family had been struggling, when life in the sewers had been the hardest, Splinter always made sure they were fed. To his own detriment at times. “How old were you you went with Mr. X?”

A shrug as they looked upward against the manor walls. Donatello made his way upward then said, “Try your palms. If you got some gecko traits like we got turtle traits, I bet you can scale this.”

It seemed a pretty asinine statement but the ninja had been making sense so far. Gecko tested his palms against the stone. After a moment, they held and he began to scurry up beside the turtle.

He must have looked shocked or stunned or something because Donatello smiled at him. “Benefits of being a mutant.”

He’d never thought about that stuff. No one really did much about him being a mutant unless it related to what he could do for the group. What Mr. X needed.

But he’d never thought about things for just him. If he didn’t have Michelangelo’s broken body ironed into his eyes, he might have enjoyed the idea—discovering things just for him. Things about just him.

“So.” Donatello said again as they climbed. “How old when you?”

“I…what do you mean? How old were we when we were mutated? Mr. X told me the mutagen made me…well, strong enough, I guess. He said I was special, full of possibilities. He’d show me the path. But he wasn’t there to…coddle me.”

The pain in his voice was evident. What an existence. To be with someone who taught you everything you knew and to be told you were not worth looking after. That they couldn’t be bothered.

What other lies had he soaked up? “Do you think you were an adult?”

A shake of the head. “No. Course not. Still don’t think I am. I was too small. I grew bigger over the years. But…didn’t the mutagen make me strong? Smart?”

“Yes and no. It blended with human DNA and made you humanoid. Sentient.” Donatello lowered his voice as they grew closer to the open window. “If you were anything like us, you were the human equivalent of a toddler when you mutated. You needed someone to teach you, to care for you, to teach you right from wrong. How else were you going to realize what they were?”

Gecko lowered his eyes. “Mr. X always said if you can take something from someone they’re at fault for not being smart enough to keep it. But even when he was showing me all the tricks…it didn’t seem right to me. Not everyone does that. Most people don’t do that. Know how many people I saw helping each other? Couldn’t tell Mr. X that, though.“

Donatello smiled. “Looks like Michelangelo was right. He usually is about people. Despite the fact you got stuck with Mr. X, you knew it was wrong. Deep down. I doubt Mr. X would have saved Michelangelo.”

Pausing in their climb, Gecko lowered his head. “No. But I didn’t either. I…I wanted to. I was so close. I was right there. I’d gotten through the ropes when the truck left the road. Michelangelo…he kicked me out when it started to fall. Told me to save myself.”

Gecko looked at Donatello, something akin to desperation in his eyes. “Why would he do that? I had him kidnapped. Attacked him a few times. And he kept telling me I was good! But I wasn’t! What good person does what I did? Why would he tell me that?”

For the first time, something akin to warmth filled Donatello’s eyes when he looked at Gecko, and the younger mutant pondered if the gentle tingling in his chest is normal.

“Michelangelo believed in you. I have to admit, so do I.” His voice went soft, like it did when he comforted his brothers. “And a bad person wouldn’t be helping us. Wouldn’t have helped Michelangelo.”

“But….your brother is hurt because of me!”

“Blaming you would be like blaming a kid that stabbed someone and didn’t know a knife could cut. Tell me, Gecko, after meeting Michelangelo and everything he tried to tell you, after everything that happened, can you see yourself continuing to steal? To continue to hurt people?”

The lizard shuddered, visibly.

The way Michelangelo had screamed. The way his brothers had been shaking. Like their entire world had crumbled apart and all they could do was grasp hold of the pieces.

That was what happened when people got hurt. They crumbled and cried and the world fell apart around them. The look in their eyes. He’d seen eyes before that couldn’t grasp why this was happening to them. They’d always given him pause but now, they were a symbol of something else entirely.

“I…don’t want any part of that, anymore.”

“So, how about we take out our anger on the person really responsible for all this? On Mr. X?” Donatello waited, the air between them aspark with tension.

But a good tension.

Part of Gecko thought he should protest. That he should have some reservation. After all, Mr. X was why he was alive!

But what connection did he even have? Why should he want to protect him? What had he done for him? Truly, honestly, without an ulterior motive?

If he wasn’t useful, would Mr. X have kept him around?

Michelangelo’s fractured, broken face. His plea that ‘you’re not a bad guy!’ Even when they threatened to toss him to sharks—sharks!—he only ever looked at Gecko with pity. With love.

With hope.

When had Mr. X looked at him like that?

“Donatello…this family of yours. What…what would you do if someone was lost? Lost like I was? Like I am?”

A soft answer, one given with concern and compassion. “Guide you back home. Walk beside you. Let you know you’re not alone.”

Mr. X would let someone wander. He’d let Gecko wander so long as it was to his benefit.   Him being confused, young and gullible meant he was perfect to be used. To be exploited. And Gecko’s skills, strength, and intelligence had been a prize too good to pass up.

Because that was all Mr. X saw. A prize. That was all he was to him.

“So…in a family…do you…I mean…what is that like?”

Donatello adjusted his grip, though kept his voice low. “It means you belong somewhere. It means you’re welcomed, no matter what you do. Or no matter what you don’t do. Cause it’s you that’s valued, not what you can offer.”

Who was he? Gecko pondered. He really didn’t know. Not really. But he did know that if he came back suddenly lacking in strength, in intelligence, in skill….Mr. X certainly wouldn’t welcome him with open arms. He’d be angry. Feel betrayed. Like he’d damaged something he owned.

That couldn’t be this family Donatello was talking about. It didn’t match at all.

Is that all I am to you, Mr. X? A tool? A prize?

And poor Michelangelo had to pay the price

That cry, that scream. That plea for mercy. The burns. The breaks. And all the blood…

A dangerous glint took Gecko’s eyes. “I’ve got a plan.”

OOO

Master Splinter had embraced the fact that their lives were dangerous. It was simply a result of being mutants. It was one reason—the main reason—he opted to teach his sons ninjitsu.

Injury and illness was something they’d grown accustomed to. It was part of life and especially part of their lives. Their mutant blood usually provided rapid healing and rest and homemade remedies typically handled the rest.

But Raphael had called Splinter with a shaky voice and said “Papa. You need to meet us at Dr. Goodfellow’s.”

Splinter had taken off at a breakneck speed run.

They rarely had to call on outside help. They were fortunate enough to have made allies that gave them the opportunity to access such help. A true blessing.

Behind Raphael’s voice, Splinter had heard his youngest. Screaming. Crying. Howling for help in Japanese. A father knew his son’s cry. His baby boy was in pain—a tremendous amount of pain.

And Raphael? His prideful, strong boy—so fixated on appearing tough, unaffected by whatever trial was thrown their way. Always willing to become the wall that stood between danger and their family. Always with a sarcastic quip so their enemies knew nothing could phase him.

So he kept up the facade nothing could break him.

Splinter knew better, naturally. As did his brothers. But appearing unbeatable was how Raphael coped with the craziness of their lives. If presenting that rock solid wall got him through their lives, so be it.

But Raphael had not called him Papa for almost ten years.

Splinter emerged from the private entrance into Dr. Goodfellow’s office far faster than his age should have allowed. The doctor had set it up not long after they had met her—a simple, bare room with shelves and supplies to show any outsiders. A wooden chest in the corner led down into the sewers and while the room could be opened from the inside, it could only be opened from the outside with a key.

The ninja master wasted no time, opening the small office door and venturing out into the larger waiting room.

Leonardo and Raphael turned to greet him, their plastrons and skin stained red. So much red.

Splinter’s heart sank.

“My sons…what has happened? Where is Donatello? How is Michelangelo?”

“Donatello is getting April, dealing with the mess on Devil’s Mountain. Dr. Goodfellow rushed Michelangelo back into surgery as soon as she saw him.” Leonardo’s voice trembled as he spoke. “She didn’t even say anything.”

“He was in a truck wreck.” Raphael spat it out. In a rapid fire succession, to get the words out as fast he could. To not let it sit on his tongue any longer than necessary. “Burned. Cut. Br-broke his shell clean open.”

Raphael looked down at his hands, at his body, still smeared with his brother’s blood. “We…we couldn’t…if we knew could have but we—“

Splinter reached up, gently grasped Raphael by the cheeks. “You got your brother here, my son. And for that I am grateful.”

“He was…there was so much blood, Master.” Leonardo didn’t sound like a leader anymore. His voice broke, it quaked and quivered. He wasn’t the calm, commanding presence.

He was a scared teenage boy.

Much as Splinter wished to break down, to sob at what he was being told—and his imagination was doing wonders with the limited information he had and the rusty red covering his other sons—he needed to stay calm. There was little point in panicking. As much as it might alleviate a buildup of his anxiety, he knew that would only be temporary and he had two other sons right here that needed him.

The best thing he could do for Michelangelo was care for his brothers.

The ninja master turned to Leonardo, gesturing him over. “Leonardo, come. Sit with me.”

They didn’t bother with the chairs, just settled on the ground. Leonardo hit it like all the energy had been sucked out of him. An ungraceful splat he would have been humiliated by under any other circumstances. Raphael sprawled out like a flayed bird. Both of them leaned in on Splinter like moths gathering around light.

“He wasn’t even talking, not really.” Raphael stared at his hands. “Just screaming. I’ve…he was hurting a lot.”

“I couldn’t make it better. I couldn’t fix it. We didn’t get to him before the crash.”

“That was not your fault, my student—“

“But he called me, Sensei!” Leonardo ground his hands into fists, shaking the whole time. “He called me. Called us! He was counting on us to come and—“

Splinter laid a palm on Leonardo’s cheek. “And come you did. If Michelangelo were able, I’m sure he would tell you the same. You have given your brother a chance. Now, the best we can do is give him a sense of calm. Of confidence.”

Splinter moved, lotus style, and offered one hand to Raphael and one to Leonardo.

They each took it, hands damp with sweat and a light tremble as they clung to their father. A desperate unspoken plea to wipe away all their fear.

“Sometimes, simply knowing you’re not alone is enough to dissuade the darkest of fears.” Splinter took a deep inhale. “And to give much needed strength. Meditate with me. Let your spirits reach out for Michelangelo. Let him know that he does not fight alone.”

OOO

“Mr. X, here’s the turtle we caught snooping around!”

Donatello marched forward, Mondo Gecko with the gun pointed at his back. He hated being vulnerable like this but it was their best chance to get close. Gecko, as far as they knew, was still on their side.

And, just like Donatello suspected, they’d met up with April. She was tied up in the nearby chair though if looks could kill, everyone would be lying cold on the floor.

The two other workers were unloading supplies and the larger one looked up. “Hey, Gecko, that doesn’t look like the turtle we caught.”

“Yeah,” his partner spoke up, “Didn’t that one wear an orange mask?”

Of course, the two blockheads had to be observant blockheads. Donatello clenched his jaw but Gecko was on his toes.

“That one went up in smoke. Didn’t I tell you it was a bad idea? You kill one and the others come out like roaches!” He pushed Donatello a bit with the tip of his gun.

April’s eyes watered. “Michelangelo? No…” Her voice broke. “You killed Michelangelo? You monsters!”

“Please quiet her, if you would.” A soft but commanding voice advised and the taller of the two henchmen wrapped a cloth around April’s mouth. Though, it only succeeded in reducing her sobs, not silencing them.

“There’s more of those turtles?” The shorter henchman asked.

The oldest man in the room stood. “Obviously so, you fool.”

This is Mr. X? Donatello found himself scoffing mentally and it took some willpower to not let it show on his face.

A slender, almost skeletal man. Almost no muscle on him.

I could snap him like twig. After what happened to Michelangelo, I should.

“This is dangerous, Gecko. Why would you bring him here?”

Gecko swallowed. “Because I wanted to know what we should do. I mean, he’s a mutant like me and after what we did to his brother, I thought —“

“Is exactly what we must do to him as well. He has already seen too much.” Mr. X looked at Donatello with as much attention as one might pay a fly bothering them in a meeting. “Do you not see the explosive, Gecko? We have much to set in place and I cannot have an unknown mutant in the way.”

Gecko’s pulse quickened. “But…I mean, they’re mutants like me, Mr. X.”

“And that means they’re dangerous, Gecko.”

Fumbling a bit, the lizard mutant fought to keep his mind focused. Isn’t this what he wanted? True answers? “But…I thought you might help them like you…helped me.”

“You were an opportunity, Gecko. Something too precious to pass up. Something I could mold from sewer trash into something glorious. This is not the same. Now, finish this turtle. I already gave the military offering the ransom I asked for. We need to move to phase two and I can’t have lingering loose ends!”

Donatello looked over his shoulder at Gecko. Much as it might hurt, he did have a contingency plan if Gecko turned. A laser gun at his back wasn’t a no win scenario.

Even as it was, Donatello was assessing the room—who was where, the windows, the doors, what probable angles down the mountain…

Gecko lowered his gun.

“I can’t do that, Mr. X. I can’t keep…hurting people!”

Darkness took the man’s eyes. A corruptedness Donatello had seen a few times but he saw the shock in Gecko’s eyes. Not so much disbelief; Gecko was too smart for that. More…a shattered hope.

“I should have known better than to send a boy to do a man’s job.”

With that, the room exploded into chaos.

Mr. X pulled a gun from one of the other lackeys and fired.

“Look out, Donatello!” Gecko pushed the turtle face down, rolled and fired as the second of the two goons made a rush for them.

“Up, Gecko! Aim up!” Donatello shouted, even as he pushed the mutant just slightly to the left. His calculations, if he had estimated the power of the ray guns precisely…

Gecko didn’t argue, just fired.

His ray hit the light fixture above, with the crystal dividing the beam into multiple directions. One ray severed the the securing bolt of the chandelier and the other ricocheted right at the feet of the skinnier henchman.

He tumbled back, landing next to April. And the spunky girl, bless her, slammed her free feet directly into his groin. He went down with a grunt as April squirmed, her hands loosening the ropes with each movement.

“I’ll get ‘em, Mr. X!” The shorter and stouter man lunged forward, probably planning on using his weight to tackle Donatello to the ground.

If said turtle wasn’t a martial artist, it might have worked.

But he simply side stepped, swung his Bo and the man hit the ground with all his weight and momentum, out for the count.

“Donatello, behind you!”

Ducking before even bothering to verify the threat a laser beam shot over the turtle’s head.

Mr. X hissed and took aim again.

But so did Gecko and he was significantly faster.

The beam collided with the gun in Mr. X’s hands, sending it spiraling in a cloud of smoke.

The skinnier man had gathered some of his wits and stumbled forward, intent on joining the fray.

April caught his leg with her own and with his balance knocked off, he fell into the nearby table.

The explosive device tumbled to the ground and an ominous tick began to sound.

“You fool! You’ve activated the device! It will blow us all away in five minutes!”

Shock and fear rocketed through the room and in that short span of time, Mr. X kicked Gecko in the stomach, pulling the ray gun from his hands. “You. After all I did for you, Gecko. You betray me. I should have known better than to trust sewer trash!”

He leveled the gun to the young mutant, hand on the trigger.

But Donatello was already there.

A swing up and down and a spinning bo. A loud crack resonated through the room when the bones in Mr. X’s lower legs caved under the force of the strike. He collided with the ground, face down.

Without even looking as the only conscious lackey left charged at his back, Donatello dropped to his knees, swept out with his leg and sent his staff colliding into the man’s temple as he fell just past him.

The taller man hit like a rock and went still.

Sheathing his weapon, Donatello stood, crossed the room and freed April from her bonds.

“Thanks, Donatello! I—“

“Let’s get out of here. I have a brother to see. Gecko, can you get those idiots out of here?” He kept his voice monotonous even as he headed for the exit, dragging April as he went.

She stammered, “Michelangelo is alive!?”

“He better be.”

Gecko scooped up the two unconscious men. “Are we just gonna leave—“

“Yes, are you planning on just leaving me here?” Mr. X sat up as best he could, his shattered legs twisted in a contorted, unnatural way.

Donatello stopped, turned around. “Why not? You used Gecko, you used these boys, you’re the reason my brother is suffering, you’re the one that stole that device,” he nodded toward the ticking box, “Shouldn’t we leave you with it?”

“But…aren’t you a hero? A good guy?!”

Donatello turned on his heel, “Technically, I’m a ninja. And ninjas are assassins.”

He kept walking.

The device ticked down again. Slower.

Frantic, the human man crawled to the box, pulling the outer shell apart.

Wires, gears, twisted copper and steel. Which wire? What order?

Minutes became seconds.

Sweat drenched the man’s hands as he shakily reached for one wire. Stopped. Pull the wrong one and instant disintegration. He reached for the red but stopped. The blue. Stopped. Then another.

He was meant to be rich. To rule over a criminal empire he spent years building. Not to be here, unable to move, crawling like scum. Waiting for an explosion he had masterminded to end his life.

Wires, he had to cut the wires, stop the explosive!

Which one, which one, which one?

Three.

Two.

On—

A silver ninja star sliced through the purple wire, silencing the countdown.

For a moment, Mr. X just stared. His heart thundered in his ears. His entire body shook. He saw nothing but those flashing numbers over and over.

Donatello scoffed from the window as he swung down, April on his back. “Lucky for you, I am a good guy. You don’t deserve it, but I do.”

Then, quick as a heartbeat, the turtle was gone.

Chapter Text

Donatello rushed into the office, door slamming shut behind him. “How is he? How is he?”

Raphael turned, “Took you long enough, you stop to—“

“Not the time Raphael.” Leonardo interrupted. “Dr. Goodfellow hasn’t come out yet, Donatello.”

“Out?” Parroting the words, Donatello looked around the room as if some answer would reveal itself. Even as he got his bearings, April and Mondo Gecko came in behind him, repeating, almost verbatim what he had already asked.

“She took him back…for surgery,” Raphael stumbled on the second half.  Surgery was no joke and the way the veterinarian’s face had paled and she'd hadn't even let them say good luck before rushing him into the back... “No answers yet, guys.”

“How long has Dr. Goodfellow been back there with him?” April’s voice was high pitched as she wrung her hands with each passing minute.

Splinter stood from his lotus position on the floor. “By my estimate, it has been a little over an hour and a half.”

The group looked at one another, then at the closed door. No sign of movement came from within. The office was eerily quiet. The sound of their own breathing seemed piercing.

Eventually, April took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs.

Splinter returned to his lotus position.

Leonardo, Raphael, and Donatello huddled together.

Gecko lingered near the wall. He felt entirely out of place and yet couldn’t find it in him to leave. Not without knowing if Michelangelo was okay.

It was the least he could do. It was the minimum he owed him.

Minutes ticked into two hours. Then three. Any attempt at conversation or distraction proved futile as the discussion always rounded back around to Michelangelo. And they had no answer. No idea if—

The creaking of the door opening might as well have been a bomb.

The group of turtles and rat scrambled to their feet and the human woman and gecko mutant lifted their heads, silent pleading within their faces.

Dr. Goodfellow was still wearing her surgical scrubs, and they were smeared with blood. Concern painted her face but with that concern was hope. Relief, even?

She looked tired. Worn and frazzled a bit. Naturally. As skilled as she was, Michelangelo was a friend, her apprentice. The fact she had taken things so in stride when her own heart must have been ablaze was a testament to her skills.

“Dr. Goodfellow?” Splinter sounded so much older. So less strong than he usually did. The previous few hours had drained that from him. The ninja master was gone and only the father remained. “How is my son?”

She smiled and it was like a weight had been pulled off everyone in the room. “He’s doing just fine, Master Splinter. It was a bad shell injury, no doubt there but I’ve managed to repair it with resin and fiberglass. Will likely need to be sanded down once it fully sets but it should heal fine.”

The other three turtles nearly hit the floor, so heavily did they exhale with relief.

“Pretty bad leg injury and arm but I’ve set them and casted them. A few weeks and those will be just fine.” A light smile “Maybe faster with his mutated blood.”

“What about his knee?” Donatello asked. “The burn…”

“Looked worse than it was,” She admitted. “A few bits were third degree that I had to remove but it was mostly second. Probably owes that thick skin of his for doing its job.”

Leonardo spoke, his voice shaking more than a tree in a rainstorm. “Can we see him?”

The veterinarian nodded. “He’s still coming out of the anesthesia and because of the extent of that shell injury, I have him on some pretty powerful pain medication. But I’m sure he’d love to see his family.”

Waving them to follow, she led them into a small recovery room. She'd made a pallet on the floor where Michelangelo was currently lying on his belly. Large white strips--no doubt to set the resin—decorated his shell but it was back to a healthy round shape.

Michelangelo turned his head, glazed and more than a little confused “Huh?” His voice slurred, dragging the syllables over rocks.

Dr. Goodfellow knelt, “Hello, Michelangelo. How are you feeling?”

“…groovy.” He laughed, but with a half snort as he lay his chin down into the blankets. “Fabuloso, Doc.”

She lightly smiled, “Good. Your family is here to see you.”

The turtle blinked. “My family?”

“Yes, my son.” Splinter crossed the room, kneeling next to the pallet, gently rubbing the boy’s head. “We're all here, as is your friend, Mondo Gecko.”

The turtle blinked a moment, resting into the warm palm of the rat sensei. “You're my dad, right?”

“…of course.”

“Cool. You seem righteous.”

Raphael turned to the veterinarian. “Uh, did he hit his head, too? I mean, harder than usual.”

Dr. Goodfellow chuckled. “Like I said, still coming off the anesthesia and on some pretty heavy medication.”

“Not too heavy for me, Doc.” Michelangelo grinned. “I’m a turtle. I gotta carry a shell all the time!”

Reaching up with his good hand, Michelangelo rapped on the tip of his shell, giggling. Then gave a low “Ow….” when the vibration aggravated the injury.

Donatello shook his head, “Not like you have much of a choice.”

“Heey,” Drawing out the word, Michelangelo pouted. “Don't tell me what to do. If I wanna take it off, I will, Dude.”

Chuckling a bit, Leonardo said, sitting down next to his brother’s head, “Well, let's not worry about that now. Are you feeling better?”

“Was I feeling bad?” Genuine inquiry doted Michelangelo’s blue eyes.

“‘Bout as bad as you can get,” Raphael clutched his brother’s hand, trying to convince himself it was his brother shaking, not him. “Got blown up with a truck.”

“Blown up?” Tears filled the boy’s eyes. “Then you're all dead?!”

Sobbing. Hysterical crying. Blubbering, face a mess of tears and mucus.

“Dead?” Donatello scooted closer and gingerly pulled his brother into a hug. “How did you come to that conclusion?

“Cause if I got blown up, I’d be dead and you guys are here so you hafta be dead!” Tears stained the boy’s face and he buried into Donatello’s shoulder. “I don’t want you to be dead!”

Biting his lip to keep from laughing, Raphael inquired, “You’re not upset you might be dead?”

A pause, hesitation, “I don’t wanna be dead!”

Dr. Goodfellow chuckled, “Maybe you need a little more rest. I promise things will not look as bleak once you wake up.” As she spoke, she gently pushed a dosage of medication into the turtle’s open IV port.

“Can you die again?” Michelangelo asked, though his voice was already starting to slur somewhat.

“Knowing you, you’d do it just to give everyone a heart attack.” Raphael grasped his brother’s hand. At least as much as he dared without hurting him. “Death hasn’t gotten the drop on us yet though.”

Pointing up, Michelangelo muttered something about the roof being unguarded.

“I’ll stay with you.” Came the sarcastic turtle’s immediate retort. “Think anyone is getting the drop on me?”

An exaggerated shake of the head and any further talk lacked any resemblance of logic. Sleep followed soon after and the surfer turtle turned into the cushions with a deep exhale.

Lightly laughing, Raphael shook his head. “He is never living this down.”

“Raphael.” Splinter’s voice carried weight and sincerity. “Your brother is the most vulnerable he has ever been. I will not have you using it against him.”

The red banded turtle nodded. “I know, Sensei. I wouldn’t really. It’s just…laughing helps.”

Eyes softening, Splinter nodded. “…I know, my son. But your brother is alive.”

An awkward silence but then Donatello stroked their baby brother’s head. Even asleep, he leaned into it. So trusting.

“Is he past the danger point, Dr. Goodfellow?” Leonardo finally asked, still watching his brother as if he would be swept away by a harsh wind.

“I suspect so.” The doctor addressed the whole group. “He won’t wake up for a few more hours but I suspect he’ll be much more with it when he does wake up. I think it’s safe for you all to take a walk, get something to eat.”

No one rose. No one wanted to leave.

Dr. Goodfellow smiled. “I promise, he's going to be fine. Don't let him wake up to a family that isn't taking care of themselves, okay?”

Mondo Gecko cleared his throat. “Well, uh, as long as he’s gonna be okay, I should…I should probably go.” He turned, feet grinding into the tile. “Tell him I said bye.”

“Gecko, wait!” Standing, Leonardo called after him and after a moment’s pause, gave chase.

April offered a squeeze to the rat sensei’s  shoulder. “I need to get back to the station. But you call me the minute you need anything.”

“Of course. Your devotion is appreciated, April.” Splinter gave her a low bow of appreciation. The reporter knelt and gave Michelangelo a light kiss on the temple before heading for the door.

The red banded turtle settled next to his brother, stance both rigid and relaxed all at once. He kept one eye constantly on his brother’s slumbering form.

Splinter saw it in Raphael—the desire to speak, the desire to connect with his brother. He’d always been his most private pupil, not wanting to speak about his emotions in the open. But if Michelangelo was asleep, he would feel more at ease. More willing to process the exhaustive fear rolling off him in waves.

He would give him that opportunity.

The rat stood, stretching lightly.  “I do suspect that a light walk will loosen the aches in my joints. And a relaxed body helps ease into a calm mind.”

Donatello stood awkwardly, torn between wanting to stay and wanting to leave. The rapid fire events of the last few hours felt like bombs exploding behind his eyes. He was frazzled and worn and frightened and relieved all at once—

“Donatello.”

Pulled by his father’s call, the purple clad turtle asked, “Master Splinter?”

“I could use some company. Come. Perhaps we can obtain some photos of the animals in the zoo. It would be a welcome gift for your brother when he awakes. You have your night vision tools, do you not?”

Donatello knew a “come with me” unspoken order when he heard it. “Of course. Good idea, I bet we can grab some good photos of his favorite ones.”

OOO

“Gecko, wait, please!”

Leonardo caught up to the lizard mutant fairly quickly, though he thought a lot of that might be due to the emptiness of the zoo. The hours really had ticked away.

Mondo was rigid and even he turned, dustrss colored his face. “Look, I just wanted to make sure Michelangelo would be fine and now I know so…no reason for me to stick around.”

Closing the distance between them, Leonardo clasped the lizard’s shoulder. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?” something akin to an incredulous guffaw escaped Mondo’s mouth. “For what? It's my fault he ended up like that!”

“I'd say it was more Mr. X’s fault.”

The lizard mutant laughed again, one of utter confusion. “That makes three of you who think that. Why are you so willing to forgive me? I still had a part in it. I wouldn't forgive me. I don't forgive me.”

“Self-forgiveness is always harder and we're our own worst critic.” The blue-banded turtle smiled. “Trust me, I speak from experience. But you helped us get Michelangelo here. You helped save his life, Gecko!”

“Doesn’t undo the fact I helped endanger it in the first place.” came the sullen answer.

“Gecko.” Leonardo’s voice was firm but not unkind. “Mr. X used you. Plain and simple. It's so hard to admit you were a victim but you were. How could you know something if you were never taught it?”

“That's what Donatello said,” Gecko muttered. “And…Michelangelo, too.”

“But you still figured out the right thing to do. And you knew that would put yourself in danger. You did it anyway.”

A hefty sigh. “Michelangelo is still so broken...”

“But he's alive.”

A low laugh, small but sure. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

Leonardo suddenly grasped the mutant’s shoulders and looked into his eyes with such intensity that it was impossible to look away. Not out of fear but out of some alien sense. Like, this turtle that barely knew him was going to make everything alright.

Like the comfort he had longed so often for on lonely nights in that big manor was suddenly right there in front of him, saying I'm here now.

“Gecko. It. Was. Not. Your. Fault. Not you being tricked, not Michelangelo’s accident. None of it.” A bright, luring sense of safety all but bled from Leonardo's eyes.  “So let us help you.”

“Me?” Confusion colored the lizard mutant’s voice. “Help me?”

“Well, I suspect you aren't going back to thieving, right and Mr. X’s old place isn't an option, right?” Logic and compassion settled in the turtle’s words.

“No. I can't keep doing that. Not anymore.” Gevoo folded his arms tight. “Figured I'd go back to the sewers. Was where I started.”

“And that's where we can help you. We know the sewers, Gecko. More importantly, we've learned to survive in them.”

Stepping back, just a bit, the turtle still kept his hands firm on the lizard’s shoulders, “You helped save our brother’s life. Let us help you build a new one.”

OOO

After the third exhibit, Donatello was folding up his night vision camera, making a remark about finally getting a picture of the stubborn owl that Michelangelo had dubbed ‘Ollie’ on their previous visits, when Splinter spoke.

“My son, what lies heavy on your spirit? It is not just your brother’s condition. What else troubles you?”

Heaving a sigh, Donatello shook his head, “I figured that was why you asked me to come with you.”

“Not entirely.” The rat sensei protested. “I truly did wish to get some air and having company is always preferable when the soul has been rattled.”

“Well, consider me rattled.” The two continued down the path as they spoke, with Donatello stopping every so often when a photo opportunity presented itself.

“As anyone would be, my turtle.” Splinter’s voice was calm, that solid anchor that carried them through anything.  “As I was. We are very lucky.”

“I haven't felt that helpless in years, Master. Just…seeing Michelangelo in so much pain and I couldn't even look at it. I thought I would be sick if I did. I couldn't …” His voice went weak, crackling.

The rat gently wrapped a hand on his son’s wrist. “There is no shame in your fear, my son.”

“I'm supposed to be someone he can lean on, Sensei. And when he needed me the most, I choked. If Leonardo hadn't been there…”

“You would have done all you could,” Splinter interrupted. “And Leonardo was there. Just like you have been there when they needed your expertise. You and your brothers thrive together, Donatello, and where one of you may falter, the other lifts.”

Squeezing his palms tight, the turtle gave a shuddery exhale. “Sensei, he was in so much pain. He was bleeding so much and there wasn't anything I could do about it. All I could do was hold him.”

“And that told him that he was not alone.” Splinter took his son’s hands, steadied them. “That told him even through the hysteria of pain that he was loved. That is a tremendous gift, my son. It may well have been the strength he needed to hold on until Dr. Goodfellow could--”

“I hated Mr. X, Sensei.” Face contorted, the turtle’s voice all but burned. “It was his fault. He tricked and used Gecko. He ordered the burglaries. He did all of it!”

Recognizing an emotional explosion when he heard one, Splinter kept a firm grip on Donatello’s hands but said nothing.

“Michelangelo almost dying was his fault. And I wanted him to suffer, Father.” The use of the familial title was not lost. “I wanted him to die.”

Again, Splinter merely gave a nod of acknowledgment.

“And I almost did! I was so ready to just…just let the explosion take him out. Figured good riddance!”

“But you did not.”

“…no.” Shaking his head, the genius turtle stumbled, almost fell to his knees. “But not because I didn't still want it. But I knew...if Michelangelo found out I gave up my morals for him...”

A half smile, a sad chuckle. “Well, I couldn't do that.”

Splinter considered his answer. “Anger is a powerful emotion, my son. But it so easily can fuel revenge, a desire for vengeance, to make others suffer as we have. More so when connected to a loved one. There has been many a time where I have had to push down the desire for revenge myself.”

Surprised, Donatello’s eyes widened. “You?”

“Of course!” Splinter gently touched his son’s cheek. “After my mutation, I carried quite a lot of anger for a long time. And every time you all return from a battle disheartened or injured, that spark of revenge reignited, if only for a short time.”

“How do you…how do we not let it eat us alive?”

“By focusing not on what we have lost but what we have gained. Perhaps we did not like the path through which it was obtained, but that does not mean what we have found has any less value. Our skills. Our knowledge. Our family.” Here, Splinter smiled. “And just as Michelangelo helped you hold to your morals, my son, you all help me hold to mine.”

“Then…I didn't dishonor you? By coming so close—”

“Hamato Donatello, nothing you or your brothers could ever do would ever dishonor me. You helped save our friend Mondo Gecko. You helped save April. You helped your brothers get Michelangelo to Dr. Goodfellow. You brought the villain to justice.”

Splinter pushed himself up a bit, gently pulled Donatello forward and laid a kiss yo his head. “I am so proud of you. All of you. Never forget that.”

Smile widening a bit, Donatello said, “We should try to get some of the wolves’ pictures for Michelangelo. I think he'd like that.”

“Indeed, my son. Indeed.”

OOO

The hours seemed so long.

Granted, there wasn't too much to do but it was so unnatural for quiet to exist with Michelangelo in the room. Even if they were watching a movie, his commentary was always going.

So, the even and steady breathing and nothing else was starting to work on Raphael’s nerves.

But he wouldn't leave. He said he wouldn't. And Michelangelo might wake back up at any time and he’d probably be more with it so…

Well, whenever any if his brothers were sick or hurt, one thing the red banded turtle could do was entertain.

“You know, Michelangelo, I've been coming up with some new material. I bet the House of Ha Ha would give me another chance. Wanna hear some of them?”

Michelangelo exhaled evenly and Raphael stroked his head.

“Sure you do...okay, what do you call a fish that promotes healthy bones?” He pauses for effect then grinned. “An orthopedic sturgeon.”

Michelangelo slept on.

“No? Well, the next one is better anyway. How is my wallet like an onion? Every time I open it, I cry!”

Raphael laughed, just to fill the silence. “And I've got some I made just for the others. Like, how do you like this for Leonardo? What do you call a dog who meditates? Aware wolf.”

Leaning back, Raphael kept his hand resting on his brother’s head. “I think that fits for him.  Donatello is harder. Had to do research to come up with any. But I think I've got one: In 1905, Albert Einstein published a theory about space. And it was about time.”

The quiet was deafening.

“Look, I know it's not my best work but you kind of caught me off guard here. Wasn't expecting you to pull a T1000 stunt.” A laugh, a forced one. “You're lucky you lived through it.”

Turning his sight down to his brother—bandaged, broken, bloody—Raphael’s voice caught. “You're damn lucky. You can't keep doing this. Your job is to come home!”

Hands shaking, the normally sarcastic turtle said, “You’re supposed to be groaning at my corny jokes, complaining you need a pizza and being my pain in the shell little brother. Not…this.”

Kneeling his head down, Raphael rested their foreheads together for a moment.

He could still see it. The blood, the twisted metal, the broken shell.

He could still hear it. The screams. The pleas. The broken chirps when words were no longer sufficient.

He could still smell it. The gas. The fire. The blood. Oh, so much blood.

But his brother was alive. He was here. Right now.

Quivering, trembling, Raphael pulled back just enough to relish in the truth: his brother wasn't bleeding anymore. He wasn't screaming. That tore flesh and bone had been cinched back together.

He was alive.

Raphael wasn't exactly the most openly emotional turtle. More because emotions made him feel vulnerable and he didn't like that feeling as opposed to anything else.

But this…

He pressed his lips to his brother’s head, just lightly. Just enough to register it was real and true and this wasn't him trying to convince himself the worst hadn't happened.

“You're…here.” He stammered. “You're here. I'm here—you’re not…”

Warmth brushed Raphael’s cheeks and it took him a minute to register it was from his eyes. Tears.

Crying. He was crying. He almost never cried.

But his brother could have died. If they hadn't had the good fortune of knowing Dr. Goodfellow, he would have died.

Pride be damned. His brother was alive.

Raphael wrapped his arms as tight around his brother as he could manage and he wept.

OOO

The atmosphere three hours later was decisively more enthusiastic and optimistic.

The group had gathered around Michelangelo, with Gecko much more receptive than before. Splinter and Donatello shared the photos they had obtained of the animals and Leonardo had even gone out and brought back Chinese food.

They were partially through the meal when a low groan escaped Michelangelo.

Immediately, containers were set aside and Raphael (who had refused to leave his brother’s side) asked, almost afraid of the answer, “Michelangelo?”

Woozy, drained eyes opened and slowly tracked the room. “Dudes? Wh-what happened?”

“You were gravely injured, my son.” Splinter’s voice rang like a bell in the night. “You have been recovering from surgery at Dr. Goodfellow’s.”

“How are you feeling?” Leonardo gently grasped his brother’s hand.

For a moment, Michelangelo considered. Everything was blurry, unclear and his memory was spotty. But the throbbing in his back was certainly noticeable.

“Uh, like a burnt pizza.”

His brothers gave those shuddery laughs that meant you were so relieved, there wasn't enough energy for anything else. Raphael gave him a light noogie to the head.

“You also look like one.”

Michelangelo grinned at the affection though a wince bled through his face.

“Are you in pain?” Donatello asked. “I can adjust the pain medication drip.”

“No, I’ll be okay--Gecko! You're here, Dude?”

The lizard smiled. “Yeah. You were right, Michelangelo. The thieving and stuff…it wasn't me.”

“Knew you were a good Dude.”

“Well,” Leonardo chimed in, “Gecko is going to stay with us for a bit until we can help him find a Lair of his own.”

“Totally righteous! Our first sewer neighbor!”

Donatello tutted under his breath a bit, “Time for that later. First, you’ve got to heal.”

“How bad is it, amigos?” A lot of the vigor slipped from the turtle’s voice. “I kinda feel like a mummy so…”

“Well, you're going to look like it for a bit.” Leonardo settled a bit closer, gently clasping his brother’s shoulder. “We’ll help you. You have an arm and leg that have to heal and your shell needs to set.”

“So… I did crack it?”

“As Donatello is gracefully put it, ‘like an egg,” Raphael quipped.

Michelangelo paled slightly.

“But,” Splinter intervened. “We are most blessed that Dr. Goodfellow was able to repair it.”

“She did?”

“I did.”

Dr. Goodfellow entered the room, significantly brighter than a few hours ago. “Luckily, your brothers got you here fast. I'll need to sand down and perfect the resin a little but you should heal no problem.”

She knelt next to him, gently turning him to examine the wounds.

“Great. They haven't moved and I don't see any sign of infection. Want you on some antibiotics, just to be safe.” She added, “And I want you here at least through tomorrow so I can keep an eye on you.”

Smiling, Michelangelo said, “Thanks, Dudette. You're a truly awesome Doc.”

She chuckled. “You're biased, Michelangelo.”

“Doesn't mean I'm not right, though!”

Shaking her head, she addressed the room. “I'll be glad to bring in some more cots for all of you.”

Splinter gave a half-bow, “Thank you, Doctor. Much obliged.”

Blinking, the youngest turtle stammered, “Oh. Just cause I have to stay here doesn't mean you Dudes do—”

“As if we’re going anywhere.” Raphael scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“We almost lost you, Michelangelo.” Leonardo’s eyes were heavy. “It was...it wasn't so sure you were going to wake up for a bit there.”

“What Leonardo means is we aren't letting you out of our sight for a while.” Donatello smiled. “Be prepared for overprotective smothering.”

Despite what he knew that sometimes meant, the warmth of the idea--of so many people here that just cared about him—it washed away so much fear.

Raphael had been crying. He could see it on his face. Actually, they'd all been crying. Even Master Splinter.

“Sorry, I scared all of you so much…”

Splinter chuckled, that warm, loving laugh he had. “Oh, my son, none of this was your fault. We are fortunate that we have so many loved ones that could help us. Old and new.” He added with a smile to Mondo Gecko. “You are still with us and for that, I am eternally grateful.”

“Looks like you're stuck with us, Turtle.” Mondo Gecko offered. Hesitant but still filled with affection.

True affection.

Michelangelo savored it then lifted his good arm, “Hugs!”

Amid laughter, hidden tears, and Raphael’s “man, you're sappy”, the collection of turtle, rat, lizard and human were glad to indulge.

After all, they were a family. Families did that.