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From TMNT-tuesday prompt 130= first line.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. For some reason, the simple knife wound he had stitched had grown and bubbled to a strange aqua color. Having to check Mike often to treat this didn’t actually help. Of course, Leonardo reinvented fretting and Raphael felt only scared witless about this and shut down any discussions. Mike, unsurprisingly, just kept milking the situation. In addition, it seemed even Donatello felt stumped about what could cause this reaction in a wound and why the healing skin started changing color, occasionally on the same day as they watched.
Donatello hadn’t been in the dojo for two weeks trying to investigate this unusual color and actually starting to sorely miss his one-on-one time with Leonardo. Mikey didn’t show signs of fever, or intense pain- unless of course, Raphael stayed close by and nursemaiding. The sensation he could describe being simply a mild burning, maybe tingling. Donatello in turn, felt reluctant to reopen the wound and excise any useable muscle if this simply proved only an unusual scar tissue. Mike needed his forearms as well cared for as possible with his continued mastery of nenbushi. Now, after a lifetime of swinging his nunchaku, the dull throb after a simple practice session frightened them all.
The night before, Donatello caught Raphael and Leonardo in deep discussion. Raphael’s face starting to get drawn to the point that Michelangelo had made extra effort to be bouncy around the Lair that night. Then, Mikey simply had given up mid-pillow fight with a wince as he clutched at the odd blue-tinged skin on his right arm, the area too sensitive to continue. Raphie had packed him in bed with some ice cream and cuddling, then came down to curl up on the couch in a distraught ball. Only Leo’s long skill with the temperamental turtle able to get him to talk about his concerns so he wouldn’t spend another sleepless night and the following day without stomach settled enough to eat even cereal. Hiding around the corner from their mates, Donatello resolved to bully Michelangelo into exploratory surgery. None of them could continue with these questions and even if none of them voiced the concern that he could possibly have missed something in his original treatment of the wound, the thought weighed heavily on Donatello.
A few hours later, Leo made certain to join Don and Mike in the small med-bay, assuring Raphie wouldn’t be in the middle hovering over his mate and involved in giving blood if needed. Leo felt much more able to handle his own mate playing vampire on him, than watching his brother fret over his, and had arranged for Casey to play some old wrestling videos from early classics. None of the videos actually held Raph’s attention for a full match as Donnie carefully followed the foot ninja’s slice and investigated deep between the bones in Mikey’s forearm.
His only reward for the pair of anxious eyes and Mike’s drowsy observation came at the very point of the blade’s effort. A small mass of deep blue encapsulated tissue that Donatello hurried to reassure both had to be far older than the true battles they ever had with the Foot. Removing the inflamed cyst Mike's body overreacted to could now finally allow the wound to heal properly and practically eliminate the aches and pains Michelangelo had felt recently. Somehow, after studiously ignoring it for so long, the small nick in the cyst from the foot soldier’s strike had reactivated the bodily rejection of a dry mass inside the pocket of tissue. Even stranger, the small capsule shaped bundle of fiber inside only produced a dark dye without signs of actually being toxic at all.
Donatello poked at the small item, as Leo and Mike looked over his shoulder at the odd cause of their concerns. Mike sporting a new bandage over the properly resealed wound and rapidly recovering from the lightly woozy sensation. “I really can’t understand how you got a fiber marker point in your arm, Mikey. Just this is beyond bizarre and really, it had to have happened when you were very young! I mean, I know you and Raphael fought over everything to do with coloring but… just how!?!”
Mike shrugged, anesthesia out of his system, but not fully mobile yet. “Dude, Raphie got me to forgive him for stealing my art stuff when we started dating. I remember him coming after me with a marker cuz he liked to watch me run and scream but nothing specific like that comes to mind.” His words did nothing to slow the look of calculation on Donatello’s face. Michelangelo sunk into deep thought trying to dredge up old memories of childhood injuries, unsurprised to draw a blank by the time Donatello spoke up again.
“Well, let me have Leo give you a bit of blood to get you on your feet again faster and start an IV antibiotic. That way I know the stupid marker nib won’t be a lingering problem. Rest maybe 20 minutes and I'll be finished with what I need to do.” He efficiently set up the IV lines and then quickly settled his two brothers with instructions to leave everything alone until the infuser had finished with the antibiotic. Mike actually getting his arm strapped in to help prevent him from fidgeting and upsetting the touchy transfuser.
“Uh, Leo? The practice blades you set aside for me are still in the second cabinet, right?” At Leo’s curious nod, he explained better. “I just need to do something to settle my nerves. I really hadn’t expected anything like this and have a lot of excess energy to run off if Mike is just fine. Maybe Raphael will feel like a bit of practice to unwind as well,” Donatello’s voice came out tight with the obvious over-tone of irritation. The pair of twin sympathetic pats in return spoke of the same issues built up from the lingering anxiety out of both of his immobilized brother’s. They settled in to wait as Don left as quietly as possible to avoid attracting attention from the pair in front of the TV’s before he could gather the needed tools to burn off steam.
Mike suddenly gasped in the restful silence that followed Don’s mutely intense departure. “I remember! I fell off the top bunk bed and all my art stuff out with me in my orange blanket. That’s why Dad started me on the ‘chucks in the first place, to get my arm limber again. He had to dig half a black marker out of my arm! I bet we all forgot that little thing. You and Raph came up with better injuries than I ever did.”
Leo’s nostalgic nod, quickly turned to concern for startled shouts out in the main room near the TV’s. Casey’s surprised voice carrying easily into the medbay. “Holy Jehoshaphat, Don! I thought you left the swords to your… Leo!” The final panicked yelp coincided with the sound of a quickly cleared table. Mike and Leo’s eyes met and both snapped back to the securely taped medical encumbrances Don had placed just before leaving.
“Wasn’t that also the week Don got obsessed with an advanced math book?” Fumbling with the transfusion IV, Leo’s eyes quickly turned on the open door, “Donnie! He’s innocent!”
“Whoa! Don! That was my beer!” Raphael’s mildly inebriated voice sounded still stuck in slow motion and yet the situation finally settled in with an eerie silence from Casey. “Uh, Donnie, is there somet’in you wanna bring up?” The timorous tone from Raphael pressed both to speed the work of their fingers; certain this was the real intent by their resident genius with every strip of intervening tape.
Finally, disentangled from the movement hampering items, Leo lurched out of the chair and helped Mike scramble away from his own delays. Tape left in tatters and IV tubing horribly tangled on the floor, both hurried for the door, straining lungs to gain attention and simply baying, “Raphie, run!”