Taking a deep breath, the leader in blue paced his way to the laboratory. An uneasy feeling twisted his stomach into knots, hitched with uncertainty.

As he pursed his lips, he withdrew a breath of sewer scented air, preparing for the worst to come. A three-fingered hand was set on the doors distinct handles. Slowly, he opened the doors to his brother's laboratory, ill prepared for the worst. The heavy metallic ring of steel skimming concrete stung the atmosphere harshly and forced the leader to cringe at the noise.

As soon as he entered the laboratory, the first thing that met him was the gross, scent of mortified blood, twisting his gut raw and nauseated. A fire set hold within his stomach, tantalized with his throat, begged him to gag. In a struggling gulp, he forced the vile temptation away.

Quietly, he turned his attention to his pale brother: his dead-looking brother. He acted as if any sudden movement would cause the fragile hearth of his nursing to shatter. He took a few steps towards him, his eyes closely examining the body of his sibling left frail and weak. Half of his right arm was wrapped in a condense gauze that intertwined around his skin. His eyes were closed so peacefully, so eased, they were anguished to no feeling.

Master Splinter stood mending his left side with delicate shifts of his hand, carefully moved from one wound to the next. On the gashes, he nursed were coated glades of crimson that tinted his wounds, noting that an infection had settled in vain.

"How is he?" Leo asked, almost darkly. The eldest barely saw Donatello's chest heaved upwards― he ever so slightly heard his struggled breathing. His weakened lungs could hardly support the supply of air that seeped into his system at each breath.

Mikey was right, he looked terrible. He was beaten, that was for sure, and what matter was worse was that he had endured days of captivity under the Foot Clan. He was probably abused, beaten, starved to malnourishment despite the Shredder's coldness until he was released into the open streets.

The damaged state of his body could only indicate signs of Shredder's work. His head was punctured with three wounds of a signature gauntlet, gruesomely, as if Shredder hadn't done enough to make his brother suffer, as if ending his misery then was too merciful of an act.

To Leonardo's relief, his brother was alive; but that didn't make the condition better. Somehow, it only made him feel worse. His azure eyes turned away, casting to his hotheaded brother in hopes that he was doing better than he was. He wasn't doing well either.

In fact, he was worse. With his emerald green eyes holding an uneasy cringe, he held his body stiff as if any wrong move would cause him to collapse. His face was masked with an expression that tried holding in tears that drew up from the corners of his eyes. His posture slumped grudgingly as all he could do was hold a gaze at his sensei in hopes that his care would bring any silver lining.

For the first time, he was weak- nauseated at the bitter scent of metallic blood. In his hands was the bottle of alcohol that they would use to prevent any other infection from entering the wound. The distasteful scent danced horridly with the metallic musing of blood that came off his brother – his very hands. The sickly odor only made him queasy.

I never thought I would see Raph like this…

The leader's eyes traveled to his Master. He withdrew a breath. "How is he?" He asked, more firmly making his father turn to look at him, wise magnolia eyes meeting his blue ones.

"Donatello was critically injured from the Shredder." Splinter told the obvious, concealing the truth as his eyes turned back to his task, wrapping his son's shoulder securely.

"I-I know that, but… is he going to live?" Leonardo swallowed a lump in his throat, seeing the weariness on his father's eyes, his expression laced with concern.

"Your brother had lost a lot of blood, I am thankful he is still breathing. –But yes, with constant supervision, he will be fine. He's in a fragile state right now, a blessing that Michelangelo was able to find him before he was…" Splinter let his words fall. He did not dare to finish his sentence; there was no need to. With his gaze withdrawing, he closed his eyes momentarily.

Leo stood in uneasy silence, unsure what to say, of what to do. He kicked himself for not learning any medical procedures from Donnie. He could've helped his brother. If he had just listened to him while he had the chance, he could've done more. But he didn't. He just watched as Splinter kept giving orders to Raphael, who was beginning to shake his head.

"I'm sorry Sensei, but I don't feel good." Raph murmured, his guard dropping. He instantly took his free hand and drew it to his beak to cover it from the nauseous scent around him.

Master Splinter only nodded in understanding, "You may leave." He said quietly, his focus set on stitching the wound on Donnie's shoulder.

Raphael's expression perked from his nauseous daze, his voice rose in denial. "But Sensei, I have to stitch his head!" He protested, the nausea forgotten. "I should leave aft-"

"Leonardo will do it." Splinter said, cutting him off. "Rest my son, you've done what you could." Splinter told him, placing a paw on the hothead's tensed shoulder as he gently pushed his son to start walking. Raphael was at first stern at keeping his place although he gave into his father's order seconds later. For once, he didn't want to start up a fight. But that didn't mean he was going to leave so simply.

"I've stitched my own wounds before, I can do Donnie's, Sensei let me –"

"Enough!" Splinter stopped him bitterly, and Raph quieted. "Raphael, it will be no good if you are sick, my son. The head is the most difficult, Leonardo will do it." He said, almost emotionless. "Rest." He demanded, and Raph didn't want to anger his father more and left the lab with hesitation.
______________________

Leo perked his head upwards, his expression solemn as he stared at Don's body. It was almost lifeless. "Sensei, I can't stitch Donnie's head, what if I mess up?" He asked, almost as if he was afraid. He didn't think he could handle this. His voice began to shake as insecurity rose within him. He couldn't possibly stitch a limb, definitely not a head. It was too fragile of a member for him to even dabble with. It was everything that Donnie was.

"My son, we are not doctors. We all make mistakes, and the stitching does not have to be perfect, it only has to close the wound." Splinter didn't need to look up, he grabbed the white gauze and began to wrap it around his shoulder. He then placed a paw on Donnie's forehead, as if he was feeling for any sign of life, before he began gently rolling the fragile turtle on his stomach.

Leo took a glance at the wound on Donnie's head. His expression tipped into a near scowl as he set sights on the fresh blood that coated over the dried. He could see the hallowed whites of bone, cracked, as if it were a plate shattered into pieces. "I never stitch any limbs before, so stitching a head… I don't want Don to wake up and seeing gaps of small holes from my mistakes." Leo whispered, wishing he could just cover the wound on the head like it was never there. But it wasn't that simple.

"You were always afraid of making a mistake, my son. But I promise you, Leonardo, the wound simply has to close, it does not have to be perfect." Splinter placed a paw on Leonardo's shoulder, "Your brother would be thankful to see that you have helped him." The old rat added turned around, holding onto a small needle with thread loosely hanging from its silver base. Leo stared at it with hesitation before he took the needle from his father's grip, clutching it with trembling hands.

He looked as Splinter applied and dabbed alcohol onto the head's wound, cleaning out the blood around it. Leonardo took a big gulp. He knew that if they were humans, Don would've been sent to the hospital with professionals caring for his wounds. They would be able to fix the broken skull; they could fix the trauma on his head. His brother would've been okay. But he wasn't a doctor- he didn't have a PHD or a single degree. Leo only knew the basics of medical care, but his father was relying on him…

Licking his lips, the leader hovered himself over his brother with a steady gaze to his head. Shaking, he pricked the needle placidly into the skin. He grimaced at how easily the needle entered. Leo pulled the needle carefully and kept a watchful eye on the wound as two flaps of skin drew to a close. He was doing it. Leo brought the needle back and coursed it into his skin, a cringe coming to his expression when he noticed the uneven angle of the prickle and pulled it out once more. He looked to see his progress.

There was a small hole in the stitching- a mistake that he created. He chose to ignore it- he had to ignore it. He continued onwards, prick by prick he continued with the monotonous pattern with his body tensed into focus. He took the task with fragile diligence that he dare not break. He could handle training runs around the whole Westside, rigorous battles that lasted for hours, but this one mere task of stitching a wound- it drove him into exhaustion. He didn't know why. He felt himself sweating but all he could do was cast the thought aside.

With one last pull, Leo watched the last of his sowing draw to a close. Leonardo wiped off the beads of sweat dribbled with his forearm, securing the last of the stitches with a knot. He pulled the needle from the thread and placed it back onto the silver tray that sat by him.

"I'm done, Sensei." Leo took a glance at his finished product and cringed. This was worse than he thought. The wound was securely closed, but it was a mess. Often, he could spot tiny holes that kept the wound revealed from its sewing. The pattern he had set on the stitching was uneven and scattered from place to place, unclean. He messed up. It was too late to fix it now. But he closed the wound, right? It was all that mattered right now, despite of the dent of awkward sowing on his head…

"Very good, my son." Splinter's eyes peered to Donatello's shell, cracked in different areas and making it look like a mess of patterns and cracks. A cracked shell wasn't a good one. All Master Splinter could do was use Epoxy and hope for the best –but his head… The rat prayed that Donatello retained no serious brain damage, no problems when he woke up.

"When Donatello awakes, you or your brothers will have to stay with him until he is okay once again. I will be meditating" Splinter told him, washing his hands placidly to relieve it of the blood that stained it.

"Hai Sensei." Leo whispered, staring at Don one final time, as if he was never going to see his brother again.