Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Fan Fiction ❯ 3 Weeks ❯ 12 ( Chapter 12 )

Continuing our story with the elusive Chapter 12. I've planned another special drop by Raphael's department for us, so enjoy (BTW, you seem to have a knack for Raph-predicting, Kallasilya)

 

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money off of this whatsoever. Why? Because I don't own them. In fact, I'm lucky to own a single DVD.

 

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Pain. It was a complicated sensation. He wondered how it was that he couldn't get used to it after so long. Of course, it probably hadn't been as long as it felt like. Time could be tricky like that, when it came to this kind of thing. Seconds, minutes, hours, they no longer held meaning. They were simply words in an overrated vocabulary, one he couldn't summon the ability to use at the moment. The only things left in existence were he, the man, and the knife. It hurt too much to try to notice anything else.

 

A fresh wave of pain rushed forth as something sharp slid across his collarbone, more blood welling up and leaking out of the new wound. Glazed eyes slid down to his plastron, watching it run down and onto his legs, onto the floor, grimly pooling. It moved so slowly, so sluggishly, streaming out of his veins, hitting the air with a cool sting. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows and reflecting dully off of the surface. His heart was pounding against his ribcage frantically, and the turtle wondered if it would find a way to burst from his chest as the knife was pulled out once more. He could feel it, could feel every cut, every movement, and yet he felt oddly…detached. It bit into him again, and he jerked involuntarily, causing the blood to flow out of him faster. There was nothing there to stop its flow. The man shoved his head roughly against the wall, making stars burst before his eyes, which struggled to regain focus and settled on him in a hollow stare.

 

“I know it hurts,” the human said, voice the epitome of calm patience, “but struggling will only draw this out.” His hands were slick, coated in thick red liquid. It left a sticky smear behind as he ran a palm over the turtle's shoulder. The weapon descended again, opening a wound in Raphael's upper arm where he'd stroked it. More blood. He hadn't known he could bleed quite this much. It hurt…His heart beat faster, painful and useless, and he wished it wouldn't pulse so harshly.

 

Part of him idly wondered if this was anything like dissection. It was a more morbid part, formed after years of threats and facing evil scientists. That piece of his mind had always wondered what it would be like, being cut open and examined on a table, with a stranger staring at him. He hadn't expected it would hurt anywhere near this much. And maybe it wouldn't have, the turtle considered. Fortunately, he'd never had to find out on a personal level. What was perhaps neither fortunate nor unfortunate was that he'd never have another such close call.

 

Because at this point he had come to another conclusion, his second in he wasn't sure how long. This man was going to kill him, and it was going to happen soon. The realization came without emotion, without any doubt or, on the same note, without any surety. It hurt too much to feel. In fact, he hadn't been able to feel in a while. At least he was spared from one kind of pain, he reflected hollowly. That was what happened when you were left alone in the dark for so long, with nothing but your own thoughts for company. Anything he had to feel had been felt. Any fear, any anger, any guilt or sadness, it was gone. He felt scraped out and empty. Numbness remained in their places, almost soothing. His family wouldn't be numb, he knew. When they found him (if he was found, if the man didn't bury his remains or burn them), they wouldn't be allowed to be numb. They wouldn't be able to know that he didn't blame them, that he hadn't been afraid. If there were anything to regret, it would be that they'd be left to feel guilty.

 

And he had always been called strong. If his father could see him now…He'd be so disappointed. He had no strength left to call upon, no last reserves of energy or tears or fear, only blank acceptance of what seemed to be inevitable. A wisp of something rose for a moment, perhaps bitterness, perhaps not, but it flowed out of his body like the blood anyway, so it really didn't matter. He'd always been good at being realistic. It wasn't in his nature to shy away from the truth or to sugarcoat things for the sake of somebody's feelings. Doing so had always seemed somehow…dishonorable, in his opinion.

 

Even now, it seemed that way. Why change habits now? It would be foolish to try to convince himself he was being strong in this instant. He was in pain. And he wanted it to stop. His heart continued pounding, and he wanted that to stop, too. Some strength he was showing. If he had any strength left, he'd be screaming. All he was capable of was lying there, useless, being sliced open by a lunatic. Raphael felt a sense of calm descend upon him, the kind that he only found when he was completely at peace with a decision he had made. Another cut, this one just below the one on his collarbone. He drew in a sharp breath; the pain was just as fresh as ever.

 

“Shh…I know it hurts. You won't have to suffer much longer…I promise.”

 

He was not afraid. Not of this man. Not of the knife or the dark or being alone. Not anymore, anyways. He had been at first; that much was true. With nothing but himself and the almost-voices, the ringing in his ears, it would have been hard not to be. The turtle squeezed his eyes shut against the sensation, struggling to turn his head away. Everything was so distant from him now, so hard to remember; hard to place…this wasn't how he had pictured dying. Did it have to be this cold? Things never seemed to go the way he wanted them to, he reminded himself, watching random things play out behind his eyelids, little bits of memory, misplaced words and distractions that were slowly fading out.

 

The man paused for a few moments, running a hand over him again, and he did not have it within him to be repulsed or to shudder or to try to flinch away. All he found was cool apathy. It was just another thing happening, it was simply there and unavoidable. Acceptance…it was a good thing, wasn't it?

 

He was not afraid of pain. He was not afraid of dying.

 

Heart pounding, breaths coming in short shaking rasps, Raphael wished he could have gone out with dignity. He couldn't help thinking it would have been worthwhile to go down fighting.

 

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I'm aware that this is a pretty short one. At least, I think it is. But I only had like, 30-40 words in my lil chapter idea, and it was hard to stretch that out. You know?

 

Thank you guys so much for the reviews, by the way! They just make my day. I think I can see what you mean, blueraven, about the whole `Raph being OOC' thing last chapter. I just wanted to play up the drama lol, and that's how it ended up being. Not to everyone's taste, I'm aware. I'm glad you all seemed to like my Donnie, though! And I will most certainly try my hardest to work in some more Casey Jones. No promises, but I can try. Next chapter will soon be in the works (ooh, unlucky number 13).