Gun Wound - Tumblr Posts

Whumptober: Feed A Cold, Starve A Fever

It was getting colder. As the autumn months ended and faded into winter, the chill had gotten worse, and they had been needing to bundle up as much as they safely could and cut back on their time on the surface to avoid accidentally falling into hibernation.

Still, Leonardo sometimes went out solo. Not for long, of course, he wasn’t stupid, just for brisk morning runs or to cool off after an argument. He made sure to put something warm on, he had told Donatello when he found out, who was very concerned about his winter outings.

Now, usually these went well. And sometimes they ended in him throwing himself at a gang harassing some poor person who was just trying to get home from a tiring nine to five job.

Sometimes, that ended in him getting shot in the leg and tied to a fence.

The oldest of the group cackled as Leonardo struggled with the bindings, mocking his situation. Every weapon he had was pushed against the opposite wall, out of his reach, so that he couldn’t cut through the ropes even if he tried. Not just that, anything that was previously warm was thrown into the ground, half soaked in blood and frozen. He could already feel chill, sending shivers down his spine. Shoot.

“Not so tough now, are you?” One of them taunted, having the audacity to saunter closer and rest a gloved hand on his face.

Leonardo smirked, then bit them, hard.

With a sharp cry, they ripped their hand away, rubbing it and swearing under their breath before turning to glare at him.

"Shoulda muzzled the stupid thing too…" They muttered darkly, then tilted their head away from Leo. "C'mon, let's get out of here. If it's still alive when we get back, we'll make sure that it learns its lesson."

They were coming back? His beak wrinkled as they left. He didn't plan on sticking around long enough for them to do anything to him. A chain link fence rattled behind him as he pulled against the wrist ropes. He couldn’t stay there long. The air was chilling more and more as nighttime approached, the dull oranges and midnight blues fading away into black. Leonardo knew what he was risking by staying out too long, they all did. Stupid turtle DNA.

His breath misted in the air in front of him, leaving a small cloud for a moment before it dissipated. That wasn’t a good sign, that was-

There was the first snow of the season, of the month.

Shoot.

He was already getting sluggish, the ice falling off of him as soon as he struggled and kicked. He was getting weak, he wouldn’t be able to make it home, not at this rate, and it was already dark-

There was a thin sheet of snow over him, occasionally disturbed by harsh shivers or sudden, jerky movements. When did that happen? How long had he been there, that it was beginning to gather like that? People’s Christmas lights had already gone up, towards the beginning of December, and were now reflecting on glistening snow, vibrant reds and greens. He knew Michelangelo would like the way it looked. He would have to take him down here when this whole mess was over.

Right, stuck, tied to a fence. He couldn’t risk letting himself be still for too long, who knew how long it would be before he slipped into hibernation. Leonardo tugged again at the ropes before they froze, leaning forward to try and snap them with his body weight, but only succeeded in putting himself in an uncomfortable situation.

Oh, he was really stuck. But he needed to get back to the others, before they started worrying, if they hadn’t already. There was a bullet in his leg anyway, more vibrant red staining the snow, leaving him trembling harder as any left over heat left his body. Struggles began to cease, sleep tugging at his mind and trying to pull his eyelids shut.

A voice in the back of his mind called for him to rest, to close his eyes and not wake up until Spring. Leonardo really wished that his instinct would shut up for two minutes and let him be aware of his situation so that he could figure a way out.

But nooo, nothing could be easy for him, could it?

He was still slipping, he was still losing the ability to think and remember. Remember that he needed to stay awake and get home, that he had been shot and he might not be able to keep going if he closed his eyes, that he was risking not waking up. He hadn’t been abandoned there, he hadn’t.

He hadn’t been abandoned, so maybe he could close his eyes for just a bit…

%%%

“What the- Don, he’s over here!”

“Oh my- Leo! Shoot, what were you thinking? You idiot!”

“Is he okay?”

“No, Mikey. From the looks of it, he’s fallen asleep, which means he might be hibernating right now, pretty much. He’s also really hot, so he’s definitely sick from the cold, considering how long he had to have been out here for this much snow to gather. It’s like a blanket! Not to mention the bullet wound in his leg.”

“That little- What was he thinking?”

“I don’t know Raph, but we need to get him home now, before he freezes. Grab his things. Mikey, you’ll help me get him down, I need to keep a close eye on him anyway.”

%%%

That idiot.

What was he thinking, heading out that early for a morning run? What if he had been left out in the open and somebody had seen him? They knew the risks of getting seen by a human. They would be taken, most likely experimented on, and then dissected to see what made them go “tick”. Medical experimentation was not always done… Ethically.

Still, despite his worries, his brother was there, laying on that couch in a basking spot with a blanket, alive (although much less than well) and safe, for the most part. As safe as they could get. All they needed to do was get him out of hibernation, then see about his sickness afterwards.

The heat might have been too much. He was already feverish from staying out in the cold for God knows how long, and his temperature was rising by the minute. Raphael wasn’t comfortable with leaving him there for long, considering how warm his older brother was getting.

Then, by some kind of miracle, he woke up. Leonardo started slow, blinking sleepily and looking around, dazed. He struggled with the blanket for a second, but managed to remove it without Raphael’s help. Still, Raphael watched him for a long minute, making sure that he didn’t need help with anything. Was that weird, to just watch him? He didn’t think it was, they did that plenty.

“Don, he’s awake,” Raphael called and scooched just a tad closer even as Leonardo coughed into his elbow. To heck with sickness, he didn’t care.

Closer, now, he could tell that the older of the two was shivering, even though he felt as though he were burning to the touch.

Fantastic, he really was sick.

Donatello came running, immediately looking Leonardo over and grabbing his cheeks in his hands, despite the quiet protests. After a long moment, he moved Leonardo out of the heated spot on the couch, into somewhere much cooler, and set the blanket beside him. Offering it, but not forcing it on him.

Leonardo trembled and coughed again. “How’d you find me, anyway?”

“There’s a tracker in your phone, Leo. There’s a tracker in everybody’s phone.”

“Oh.”

They left it at that, Donatello curling up next to Leonardo, before finally asking:

“What were you thinking? I’ve told you time and time again, we shouldn’t go up as much when it’s cold out!”

Leonardo sneezed, and said nothing, head dipped in shame. Donatello wrinkled his beak, preparing to further his talk, but decided not to at the last minute.

Raphael bit his tongue to keep back a laugh. Leonardo, of all people, getting lectured? He never thought he would live to see the day, but there he was.

%%%

Later that night, Donatello discharged Leonardo to his own room. Told him to call him if he needed anything at all, and that he planned on checking on the bullet wound in the morning.

Leonardo, being Leonardo, agreed.

%%%

“This is your fault, Leo!”

No, he- He thought he left those fears, long ago. He thought that after the mushrooms, it would be over!

“You failed us!”

He- He didn’t. He didn’t. He didn’t. Right? Right?

Still, Raphael stood above him, hollow eyes that would haunt anyone, a blade pushed between the cracks in Leonardo’s plastron. His bloody plastron, he noticed. They were definitely a gory sight, bleeding from almost everywhere, looking akin to zombies, and that was-

Not his blood.

Theirs.

Not his, theirs. Their blood, coating his scales, on his hands, everywhere, tinging the air copper. Something he never wanted to be around again.

And he wanted to cry. He wanted so badly to scream at them that he was trying his best, he couldn’t do everything, but he knew, he knew: They were right. It was his job to keep them safe, as their brother and leader.

So when Raphael pushed the sword into his torso, Leonardo did not cry or beg for mercy. He only screamed as the burning pain laced its way into his very being, tearing his atoms apart, hot coals in his body-

Leonardo had dreamed screaming, he woke up screaming, hand over his plastron, still feeling that agony, that splitting agony that coursed through him and-

The shoji slid open, his family raced in- He disappointed them, they were going to hurt him, they were going to kill him-

Leonardo rolled out of bed, dizzy as it made him, and grabbed his katana, screaming at them.

“Stay back!” he stumbled, fell back, and was distantly aware that he could have accidentally cut himself. That wasn’t important though, what was was staying alive.

“Hey, what the-” Raphael said- Leaning forward, a weapon in his hand, black eyes, disappointed, bloody. He was angry, Leonardo couldn’t stop seeing it-

“What’s wrong with him, Don?” Michelangelo said. He sounded afraid, afraid of Leonardo but Leonardo should have been afraid of them, as wrong as it felt.

“I- I think it’s a fever dream?” Donatello moved forward, reaching out to grab him.

No, they all moved forward, he was going to die, going to die in that tiny space and it was his fault, his fault, his fault-

He had a sword, to Mikey’s face, to the baby’s face, and still Michelangelo pleaded, voice soft from a bad attempt at soothing him. At his sides, Raphael and Donatello had circled around his sides to grab him, should the need arise, because he was about to hurt one of his own.

“Oh,” Leonardo whispered as he dropped the sword, the clatter of metal against concrete too loud in his ears, “Oh my God. I’m so sorry-”

They didn’t say anything at first. Good, he didn’t want or deserve the condolences, but then-

"You're alright now, Leo. It was just a dream, nothing more, you don’t have to apologize if you just put the sword down."

They still were worried for him, even after he tried to hurt them? What if he tried it again? What if the dreams came back? He would disappoint them, when they put so much faith in him-

Leonardo faintly remembers letting go of the other katana that he still had at his side. He’d grabbed both in his panic, just in case one got away from him. The world was spinning, now, and that’s not something the world was supposed to do.

“No, no, I was-” he paused to cough, a harsh, wracking cough that made his chest hurt and it felt like there was sandpaper in his lungs, “-I was going to hurt you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

He cut off, not because of his own guilt. There was something amiss, the world was still spinning, and that wasn’t good, he should probably say something.

Raphael reached out.

Leonardo said something.

“Bucket-”

Thankfully, they realized rather quickly what he meant, and there was a bucket in front of him. Pretty much completely empty, he ended up dry heaving, coughing afterwards. It still hurt, in his chest, his plastron, his whole torso, actually. But at least now the room wasn’t tipping, even though they were all still looking at him like he was dying.

“Sorry…” He mumbled again, pushing it away and leaning back. The room felt suffocating with four people in it although there was barely anything to make it feel cluttered, so much open space that there shouldn’t have been any crowding at all.

“Mikey,” Donatello finally started, “Make him some tea. The peppermint stuff, we’re just gonna- Leave, for now-”

“NO!” The answer was sudden and Leonardo hated it, but he didn’t want to be alone, not just then. “No,” He corrected, “Please, don’t leave.” He thought he had escaped those fears a long time ago, but the truth was that they never left. They only faded over time, became less vivid so that when he woke up he never remembered them. Now, he was sick and most likely delirious. They were almost lucid. Almost.

Donatello shifted nervously. “Alright, the couch it is, I guess.”

Leonardo nodded and hopped onto his feet. Raphael grabbed his arm when he got unsteady, and the blue-banded turtle had to force himself not to pull away or start screaming. This was not one of his dreams. He was awake, they were all alive, he hadn’t disappointed anyone yet.

They moved slowly, allowing him to limp and favor his injured leg, so that shortly after getting to the couch, Michelangelo had popped out of the kitchen, holding a warm cup of tea. It was promptly shoved into Leonardo’s hands as the youngest wormed between the two oldest, snuggling between them. Each started doing their own thing, not entirely what to do or say after that event, but that was fine by Leonardo, as long as he had them there with him and knowing that they were safe and alive.