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Donatello woke up coughing and teary-eyed. Dust filled his lungs and vision as he struggled to sit up. The pounding in his skull nearly made him fall back down, and his hand flew to the back of his head. His stomach dropped when his fingers came back sticky and red, though he didn’t seem to be bleeding too much. The dust probably congealed with the blood to stop the bleeding. His ears rang painfully loud from the explosion, and his leg ached from under the mass of rubble. Donnie quickly pushed the concrete away to examine his leg. It was too dark to get a good look at it, but it appeared intact. It didn’t hurt that much and no bones seemed to be protruding anywhere, so Donatello told himself it was fine. There were more pressing matters, like where were his brothers? Raphael and Leonardo were on the roof right before the explosion, so they were probably safe, but Michelangelo was with him. Mikey!
Donnie scrambled to his feet and used a large chunk of concrete to stay upright. He glanced around and saw his bo staff, but there was no sight of his brother. He retrieved his weapon, which was miraculously still intact. He just had to find his brother, though deep down, he knew there was a chance Mikey might be a corpse under all the rubble. Even if that was the case, he reminded himself he couldn’t just leave him there. There was no way he would leave his brother behind. What if the Kraang got a hold of him? Or the cops? The police would surely find him, and then all sorts of questions would start popping up. No, Donatello needed to find his brother, and he wasn’t leaving until he did.
“Mikey?” he wheezed. The dust still floating in the air tickled his throat, which wasn’t helping his stinging eyes at all. He felt like he would fall over any second as blood roared through his head.
“Mikey!” His voice came out quiet and gravelly. Shell, no one would be able to hear him above the ringing. Taking a deeper breath only made him cough harder and his eyes burn more. He could barely see from how teary his eyes were. Donatello was about to call out again, but then he heard it.
“Donnie?” It was quiet, but it was definitely Michelangelo.
“Mikey! Where are you?” Donnie started to move towards where he heard his name. He kept tripping over chunks of concrete and rebar, but nothing was going to get between him and his brother.
“Help! I-I’m stuck,” Mikey whimpered. Donnie barely heard it, and his heart clenched at the obvious pain his brother was in. As if to make matters worse, people were no doubt on their way to investigate, which meant he didn’t have much time to free his brother.
“Wait, I see you,” Mikey coughed. Donatello whipped around and searched the rubble for any sign of his brother. He saw green out of the corner of his eye, and rushed over to Mikey’s side. His right arm was weakly pushing up on a chunk of rubble that seemed to cover his entire left side. Donatello helped pull the concrete off of him, but there was a larger piece still pinning his left arm down.
“Are you okay?” he asked. There was a gash on Michelangelo’s forehead, but the bleeding had thankfully stopped. His legs were scraped up where he tugged them out from under a piece of debris, but he seemed fine.
“Never better,” Mikey grimaced. He tried to pull his left arm out, but pain shot up from where it was trapped, and he let out a loud whimper. “Though my arm’s kinda stuck.” He sent Donnie a pained look as he coughed.
“Don’t worry,” Donnie assured him, though he wasn’t sure if he was saying it to calm himself down or Mikey. “I think I can move that.” He worked his fingers under the slab of concrete and tried to lift it, but it wouldn’t budge. Michelangelo’s heart sank as Donnie struggled against the rock. Both turtles found themselves wishing Raphael was there, though they were glad that he wasn’t.
“Okay, lemme try something,” Donatello mumbled, grabbing his bo staff and a smaller piece of concrete. He nudged the piece of rubble closer and fit his bo staff under the concrete trapping Mikey.
“See? If I use this piece of rubble as a fulcrum, I create a first class lever since the applied force and the load are on opposite ends. This should allow me to lift a heavier load,” he explained proudly. Mikey gave him a weak smile.
“That’s great, Dee. Uh...no offense, but could you try usin’ it now?” he asked. Oh, right.
“Yeah, sorry,” Donnie mumbled, pressing down on his end of the bo staff. The slab of concrete started to lift, but before it made it very far, Michelangelo’s scream cut through the air.
“Shell! I’m so sorry!” Donnie yelped, easing back on his bo staff. Mikey gripped his left arm in pain as tears mixed with the grime on his face.
“Ah, it’s...like...in my arm,” he panted. The color drained from Donnie’s face.
“What?”
“I-I think there’s somethin’ in my arm.” Donatello walked around the concrete and looked under. Sure enough, a piece of rebar pierced Mikey’s left arm to the ground. The growing puddle of blood and the sight of the rusted metal embedded in his brother made bile rise up in his throat.
“Oh, shell,” Donnie croaked. Mikey caught his eye and grimaced.
“It’s bad,” he stated, far too calm for someone bleeding out and whose arm was crushed.
“Your arm is, uh, pierced by rebar,” Donnie mumbled quietly, though his brother seemed to hear it. Michelangelo sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Can you get it out?” That was the million-dollar question. Donnie was no surgeon. He liked to play doctor, and he could stitch up pretty nasty wounds, but this was way out of his league. To make matters worse, police sirens started up in the distance. Cops were definitely on their way to investigate the explosion.
“Shell, Donnie, get outta here,” Mikey whimpered. Donatello whipped around to face his brother, a mix of anger and confusion making his throat close up.
“No! I’m not leaving you!” he declared. He looked desperately around for any tools he could use, but there seemed to be nothing. All he had was a bo staff and some shurikens. And his brain that decided to stop working all of a sudden. Shell, why couldn’t he just think?
“Cut it off.” Donnie’s blood turned to ice in his veins. Did Mikey really just say that? The thought had briefly crossed his mind, but he was quick to shoot it down. He was no doctor, no matter how much he learned. There was no way he could safely amputate an arm, especially under these conditions. There had to be another way.
“No, I can think of something,” Donnie rambled, “There’s gotta be something. I could...no, that won’t work. Shell, just gimme a second.” At this point he was nervously pacing, eyes darting around to find something, anything that could possible help. The sirens steadily getting closer were definitely not helping at all. Shell, this was bad. This was really bad, and he had no clue what to do.
“Donnie, just cut it off,” Michelangelo repeated.
“I am not amputating your arm! I have no training, and...and this is a horrible environment to even attempt somethi‒”
“I’ll be fine, Dee. I’ll be just like that surfer girl who got bitten by a shark,” Mikey assured him. Donnie stared incredulously at his brother. His brother who was way too calm for someone asking for their arm to be amputated. His brother who was looking at him with so much trust in his eyes, like he was completely confident in Donatello’s ability to get him out of here. Donnie wanted to believe him so badly, he really did. He would do anything to get Mikey to safety, but they were running out of options. The sirens were getting louder by the second, and amputation was starting to look like the only way. Holy shell. Donnie couldn’t just saw his brother’s arm off. The thought was sickening, but Mikey looked so serious and calm staring up at him. Donatello couldn’t hurt his brother, but it was either that or get captured, and he would rather die than let someone get ahold of his family.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” he declared, probably more to assure himself than anything. Michelangelo nodded up at him and gave him a weak smile. Donnie couldn’t believe Mikey was the one having to reassure him. He wasn’t the one trapped under a chunk of concrete, but he felt like he was dying. He wished he could be half as strong as his little brother as he quickly used his wrappings as a makeshift tourniquet on Mikey’s upper arm. He cringed at the thought of using an unsuitable, germ-ridden knife in an unsterile environment. Unfortunately, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and right now, Donnie was begging whatever being might be out there to let Mikey get out of this in mostly one piece.
“Okay, I’m gonna do it,” he announced. At this point, he couldn’t hear the sirens over the blood rushing in his head, and he had no idea if he should be thankful for that. Mikey squeezed his hand and grinned.
“I trust you, Donnie,” he murmured before biting down on the handle of his nunchucks and squeezing his eyes shut in preparation for the pain to come. Donatello steeled himself, gripping Mikey’s arm and his knife tightly before plunging the blade into his skin. A heart-wrenching wail tore from Michelangelo’s throat as he tried to squirm away from the knife. The scream made Donnie’s chest ache because wow, his nunchucks did not muffle the sound at all. Mikey tensed and strained against Donnie’s hold as he continued to cry out, trembling on the dirty ground.
Focus, Donatello reminded himself, trying to shut out all the horrible noises falling out of Mikey’s mouth. He struggled to maintain his hold on his squirming brothers arm while he continued to cut into flesh. He kept sawing into his arm even as the drip of blood turned into a pulsing pool surrounding them. It made his grip slip, and Donnie was a little surprised at how sticky yet slippery Mikey’s blood was. It seemed to solidify in the dirt and squelch under the squirming turtle. The makeshift tourniquet appeared to do absolutely nothing as the blood kept flowing out of the growing gash in Michelangelo’s arm, and Donnie’s stomach lurched at the painful warmth steadily staining his skin red. He chanced a glance at his brother and immediately wished he hadn’t. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he looked like he was in utter agony, jerking around and sobbing. It crushed Donatello to know he was the source of his brother’s pain. He was the one tearing through nerves and muscle and veins. He was the one whose name was being chanted between wet wheezes. Donnie took a moment to calm his shaking hand and blink the blurriness out of his vision. After all, he’d do more harm than good, especially if he couldn’t see past the tears clinging to his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mikey. I’m so sorry,” he cried, pressing down even more to speed up the process. Shell, it was so hard to concentrate when Michelangelo was so loud. Then as if someone flipped a switch, the wails cut off. Donnie risked a glance and realized his brother had passed out. At least he found a way to escape the pain a little.
“Almost there,” he gritted out, vision blurring again from the tears reappearing in his eyes. The background music of police sirens and the memory of Mikey’s cries echoing in his skull reached a painful crescendo as he cut away the last piece of skin. With a sickening crack, Donatello finally severed the final tie between Mikey and his left arm. The bloody knife clattered against the wet rubble as Donnie urgently unwrapped his own arms and used the bandages in an attempt to stop the endless bleeding. The stump of Mikey’s left arm immediately stained the bandages red, making Donnie tear his eyes away from the damage to empty the contents of his stomach next to the drying puddle of blood. He grimaced at the bitter taste in his mouth and checked his brother’s face. He felt a little relief that Michelangelo wasn’t awake for the full thing. It was painful enough removing the limb. He couldn’t imagine how horrible it felt to be the one cut apart.
The slamming of car doors brought Donatello back to reality. He gathered up his limp brother and ran as fast as he could from the scene, screams still bouncing around his head as the world turned red and blue. By the time the police found the pool of blood and Mikey’s forgotten arm, the two turtles were long gone.