Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Fan Fiction ❯ 3 Weeks ❯ 9 ( Chapter 9 )

Chapter 9, here we are! I looked at my plans, and it called for more Raph. Halfway through writing this chapter, I misplaced the paper...So yeah...Sorry.

 

Disclaimer: I don't own the turtles (bad for me, good for them, I guess)

 

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Darkness, he'd learned, was a suffocating force. It was a constant companion, pressing in on his senses, leaving him stranded on a cold concrete plane of existence with no idea of what lay beyond. He sucked in a ragged breath, the air going down his throat like shards of glass, a dry rasp in the silence. It hurt to breathe. The last time he'd tried to speak, the pain was intense enough to make him dry heave. As he breathed, he could feel the darkness entering his mouth, invading his lungs, his heart, like hordes of many-legged insects. It seemed to squirm, a tangible being intent on killing him, seeping into his pores, leaking into his eyes like the darkest ink. The fact that he couldn't see it didn't matter: it was still there, flooding over his skin like water, overriding all other perceptions, creeping into the very core of his being. It was still there, and he would still die in it.

 

Or perhaps he was dead already. The thought did not bring with it the jolt of panic and disbelief that it might have once. All he had left was cold, silent darkness and his own spiralling thoughts. Were it not for the fact that he breathed, his mind might have accepted the answer. As it was, he drew in another lungful of broken glass, choking on the liquid-like darkness invading his life. He drifted constantly, never sure whether he was awake or sleeping, never truly in one place or the other. Both only brought the same nothingness. In truth, there was a fear that if he chose, he wouldn't be able to change his mind and go back.

 

His limbs had become numb to the cold by now. It radiated from the cement of the floor beneath him, through his chains from the wall they were attached to, lingered in the very air around his body. The silence only seemed to make it colder, as little sense as he knew the thought to make. Silence reminded him that he was alone, and being alone made it that much easier to feel the dull sting of his prison.

 

Sometimes, he would hold his breath and listen. Sometimes, he was too afraid of what he might hear. If there was another in there, they were dead. Above all else, he knew that the dead could not speak. Knowing didn't stop the whispers, hovering just beyond reach, the production of his imagination in this strange purgatory. He couldn't discern the words, constant in the background, white noise that served no purpose whatsoever. They brought with them pictures of eyes, glassy and empty and dead, staring out into the darkness from nameless faces he couldn't make out, still screaming, desperate to see and be seen once more. It made him wonder if his face looked the same, if his eyes were just as empty after staring into nothingness for so long. Would he look just as afraid, just as drained, when the darkness finally drowned him as well?

 

A sudden sound penetrated the silence, unfamiliar and quiet and impossibly real, and he tilted his head towards the unexpected disturbance. The dull, heavy scraping of a door on concrete. Soft thumps indicating footsteps coming closer, breaths that weren't his own, that came in hushed panting before the strike of a match. A small yellow flame sprang to life, making him turn his face away, eyes squinting. The light flickered for a moment, then grew, and his vision adjusted to take in the figure of a man, shuffling in his direction, away from the freshly lit candle. His clothes were wrinkled and stained, the same ones he had been wearing God only knew how long ago when his prisoner had bitten him. Bright, glassy eyes looked at him from beneath a mess of hair, fevered and contrasting the strange look on his face. It almost looked like pity. Kneeling down, his hand, red and somewhat swollen, settled upon the green knee. The turtle was too tired to kick him away, resulting in a mere twitch of the ankle in his direction. He sighed.

 

“You understand it now, don't you, boy?” He asked softly, voice somewhat cold, hand stroking. “You had to learn, to understand, and this was the only way to tell you.” The prisoner's head tilted to the side in confusion, bringing a flash of something unidentifiable into the previously pitying gaze. “You're still here. Don't you understand it yet? I left, didn't come back, stayed away, and you're still here.”

 

The turtle considered his words, trying to hear what he was saying with them. Had he expected something else upon his return? Chains weren't easy to break on the best of days, and there hadn't been a good day in a long time. His eyes travelled distantly over the room, distracted and withdrawn. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, all concrete around him, grey and immobile and heavy. Just behind the man was the door, made of heavy wood, dark and almost foreboding looking in the candlelight. It had been left open, held there by something the man dragged in behind him. Another sigh, impatient and long-suffering, and the man elaborated on his point.

 

“Nobody came for you. Nobody even looked. Your owner, their family, their friends, they all left you in the streets to suffer without looking back once. You're still here,” he stressed firmly, sounding almost eager to get his point across. It made sense on some level, his captive supposed. No one had come for him. He hadn't been in the presence of any others in such a long time...Why was that? He had a family. He had a name. The thought was something he clung to like a child holds a beloved stuffed animal. They would find him here. They would come for him, because that was what families did.

 

“People can be so cruel to animals...Even now, you don't see it. Because they were all you knew. They leave you without a second thought, and you're still so loyal. That kind of loyalty hurts pets like you, doesn't it?” The man whispered, words almost a parody of a distant memory. “Just look at you. So faithful...Such a good boy...Poor thing. Making yourself sick like this.”

 

The turtle felt the beginnings of anger trying to wash through him, only to feel the same anger die out as quickly as it had started. This man didn't understand...He pulled his thoughts closer to himself, wishing he could turn away. He had a family. He had a name. They were coming for him. Right?

 

Even as the thoughts occurred, he found himself replaying his older brother's last words in his head, stuck on repeat like a scratched record. He'd been so angry...Would he even want him back? Of course he would, part of his mind argued vehemently. Of course he would...Because he hadn't meant it. Even though Leo pretty much never said things he didn't mean...He hadn't meant it. He loved his entire family, even when they were arguing. They would be coming. They had to be, because if they didn't, he'd be stuck here until he choked in the darkness and died. And it didn't matter what had been said, no one in their family would allow another to die that kind of death. The turtle didn't want to know how long he'd be left here if they didn't come.

 

The man was staring at him intently, as though searching for something only he could see. It was disturbing to be the object of such scrutiny under any gaze, but the given situation increased his unease tenfold. A cold hand continued stroking, lightly, distractedly, as though the gesture were second nature to him. His mouth was turned down again, that same thoughtful frown he'd worn last time. He nodded to himself slowly, reaching some kind of decision.

 

“I understand, you know. You miss them, because they were probably all you knew. Just another display of how cruel they can be. You don't see it yet, because you've made yourself sick. Or maybe they're the ones who made you sick. And they just abandoned you... Shameful. Such a beautiful creature, and they left you out there, alone, and so sick, too. But you don't need to worry. Because I think I know how to make you better.”

 

He turned around abruptly, dragging whatever he'd brought with him further into the room. His face was the picture of determination and pride as he pulled the small box to his side. It wasn't anything special to the prisoner's eyes. A plain cardboard box that didn't even look heavy or difficult to lift. Eyes glinting, he opened it and rummaged around, pulling out several items. The turtle's breath hitched slightly as he caught a glimpse of metal. The man looked almost apologetic now, almost uncertain and he hesitated for a moment. But it was gone in a flash, replaced by a smile he meant to be reassuring.

 

The captive looked at him with widening eyes, unsure if what he was seeing was even really there. A small knife glinted in the fire's glow, casting eerie reflective patterns on the ceiling as the man moved forward. He struggled to lash out, to flinch away, to kick or to speak, anything that might distract the man for a little while. As though reading his mind, the man's eyes narrowed and he shifted suddenly, straddling the limp legs to hold them in place, glaring heatedly.

 

“Yes...I think I can make you better.”

 

The turtle drew in a sharp breath as the first incision was made. It hurt, so much more than he had expected it would. Blood...He could feel it seeping out of him, fast and warm and sticky and wet and painful. The smell, coppery and thick, invaded the air, made him want to gag. He had a family. He had a name. The thought repeated in his mind like a desperate mantra, shaky as he tried to pull his thoughts away from the knife in his plastron.

 

He had a family. They would come for him.

 

He had a name. They all had names. Halfway through his “treatment,” he wasn't entirely sure he could remember what they were.

 

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There you have it, chapter 9 of the story. It's going to come together soon, worry not. As soon as I remember where I put that stupid paper...It wouldn't be stupid if I hadn't lost it.

 

What did you think? Reviews are a request, not a demand, as ever. And dudes, the snacks are still out there for ya.