You didn’t want to die—not yet. But the pain was unbearable, and for a terrifying moment you truly believed this was it. Maybe death would bring peace, maybe an end to the agony… but no. Fate had other plans.

Raph’s massive arms scooped you up before the darkness could take you. He slung you over his shoulder with ease, his size and strength the only reason you didn’t collapse then and there. You couldn’t fight, couldn’t even move, but it didn’t matter—the battle was over. The Kraang were gone. The ones that weren’t killed had been banished to the Prison Dimension, left to rot forever.

But their minions… they had done a number on you. Tentacles had pierced your plastron—not like Raph’s shoulder shell wound, no. Yours was worse. The strike had gone through your shell, straight through skin, muscle, even bone. Every breath felt like fire in your lungs, and yet somehow, impossibly, you were still alive.

Donnie had patched you up as best as he could, but even his skill couldn’t hide the truth. It was hard for anyone to look at you—at the broken bones, bruises, burns, and scars. Bullet holes marked your body too, the cruel reminder of humans who thought you were siding with the Kraang. You were stitched together like some fragile doll. And though you still breathed, everyone knew the word that haunted the med bay.

Dying.

You stayed in that sterile room day after day, the scent of medicine and bandages thick in the air. The turtles refused to let you waste away alone. Mikey came most often, bursting in with sketches and doodles, his voice bright with hope as he asked how you were feeling, showing you his latest masterpiece. He believed, truly believed, you’d pull through. Raph tried to keep your spirits up too, bringing balloons, stuffed animals, even flowers—awkward but heartfelt attempts to put a smile on what he jokingly called your “crumb sandwich” face. Donnie… Donnie couldn’t bear to stay long. He only came when he needed to check wounds or add another patch, and even then, his hands trembled more than he’d ever admit.

Leo was different. He was hurt too—nothing compared to your injuries, but enough to keep him in the med bay. He stayed close, telling you dumb jokes, forcing a grin whenever you felt yourself slipping. His smiles were for you, not him.

And it wasn’t just them. Casey, stubborn as ever, brought April, Cassandra, and even Sunita when he could. They came armed with chocolates, cards, little trinkets—anything they thought might brighten the heavy air. They laughed, they teased, they tried to bring you normalcy.

Everyone just wanted to see you smile, even if you were fading. Even if every single one of them was terrified of losing you. They were trying. Trying so hard not to let you go.