Summary: A chase gone awry leaves two brothers stranded in the snow. Unashamedly h/c. Rated for language and mild description of injuries.
A/N: Combining two of my favourite things… Raph/Don interaction, and h/c; unashamedly so. I also realize that turtles are cold blooded creatures and I'm actually not really sure if they'd even have body heat, but I guess they'd be warmer than snow. Rated for language, implied violence/injury etc. Constructive reviews most welcome.
I don't own any of the following characters etc.
Raphael found that the curse was the first rational thought that he could muster; feeling that it very nearly adequately summed up his throbbing headache and pulsating, aching knee and shoulder. It also went a ways to beginning to put words to what he remembered of the crash.
He could still see the blinding light of a missile as it flew up the road towards them, the explosion ripping through the front of the Battle Shell. He could still smell burning metal and rubber, could taste blood in his mouth from where he had knocked his jaw against the dashboard, and vaguely knew chances were he wasn't merely remembering those things.
He saw himself making a last minute dive to cover Donatello as the truck whirled and spun towards the cliff side, and abruptly realized he needed to get his eyes open.
But that was evidentially going to be easier said than done. He heard himself groan faintly, as the full extent of the pain emanating through his body started to crash down upon him.
He forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath, and nearly gagged at the still very much potent stench of burnt rubber. If nothing else, it helped him to scrabble his way back into consciousness, and with a painful effort he forced his eyes open.
At first all he could see was black, and gradually realized that he was slumped across the driver's seat; head buried in the cotton seat cover. He angled his head up, hissing at the bolt of pain that darted through his neck, and found himself staring out into snow covered, tree spotted fields.
The door. The door was missing. Blinking, he waited for his vision to clear, and realized that the entire front side panel of the van had been ripped away. He squinted as a cold gust of air blew at his face, and wondered dimly where exactly they were. Still somewhere on the highway, no doubt, but he hadn't been paying a whole lot of attention to the road in the minutes leading up to the explosion. Perhaps Don had; he'd always been one of those rare individuals with multi-tasking abilities.
He jerked upright, almost instantly regretting the move but quickly abandoned a groggy stream of curses for the more pressing need to find his brother. He forced himself to sit up, wincing every moment of the way, and looked around himself.
The Battle Shell was absolutely trashed. Thick spider web cracks covered what remained of the front windshield, and smoke still coiled upwards from the twisted remnants of the front bonnet and engine. The passenger seat was still remarkably in tact, but Raphael could see the rock ledge beyond the foggy window would no doubt be holding the door closed tight.
Moving carefully to look behind him, the interior of the van was also more or less in tact, but the contents of the cabinets and containers had spilled out across the floor, creating a dangerous looking cluster of electrical wires, spare metal, and tools. No turtles.
He ignored the fear that settled heavily in his gut and turned back to the gaping hole at his side, peering out into the darkness that was quickly turning into a blizzard.
"Donnie," he called, hating the way his voice rasped and protested at being used, and he winced as he leant forwards, poking his head out into the night to scan the immediate surroundings. No sign of his brother, but there was even more metal and glass and ash covering the snow banks.
No answer. He paused to take a quick inventory of his own injuries, and came to the rapid and hasty conclusion that there was nothing life threatening, before climbing to his unsteady feet and dropping down to the icy ground.
It struck him that the scene looked almost post-apocalyptic. Stuck out in the wilderness as they had been in the first place, the destruction surrounding him looked decidedly eerie in the dim, snowy landscape.
He was drawn towards the faint light emanating from beyond a rise just beyond the Battle Shell, and he padded over slowly, gingerly; surmising that he had probably wrenched his knee at some point during the chaos.
Peering over the edge of the rocky drop, he sucked in a breath. At least he didn't have to worry about the thugs they'd been chasing.
All that was left of their vehicle was a slowly burning rubble of rubber and spare metal, spreading around and consuming what little shrubbery could be found on the cliff floor. Luckily the surrounding forest land was too far away for a fire to be any real concern, and all too soon the flames was fading away to nothing. It occurred to him that he would probably need the heat soon, already starting to shiver in the winter air, but knew there was little he could do about it short of climbing down to the wreckage.
Still no sign of Donatello.
"Shit," he muttered uselessly. "Donnie? Donatello!"
His voice was very nearly entirely carried away by a gust of freezing wind, and he slumped; fear and pain vying for dominance. He squinted against the stinging snow, searching for a sign of life, anywhere, anything.
As he ambled back towards the trashed vehicle, he felt his heart skip a beat as he suddenly spotted a dark smudge on the snow beyond the rear wheels. He lurched into a painful, limping run, undecided as to what he wanted to find. Growing closer, he realized with sickening clarity that the motionless form before him truly was his hurt brother, half buried in the snow.
Raphael dropped to his knees, ignoring the pain that shot up his thigh at the impact, and thoughtlessly pulled Donatello into a sitting position and out from under a thick dusting of snow. His brother groaned piteously at the movement, and Raph cursed himself quietly, wishing he'd had the presence of mind to check him for injuries before touching him.
Still, Don just sank back in his arms and curled weakly into him, screwing up his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut.
"Donnie? Can ya hear me?"
He swallowed, casting his gaze over his brother's body concernedly. He appeared to be whole save for general bruising, and one arm that was bent at a crazy, unnatural angle. He was also freezing, and Raph felt a keen sense of helplessness, especially after the loss of the fire.
"Donnie, come on bro, wake up," he urged, shaking him gently. "Open your eyes, Don, say something."
"… ow," offered Donatello weakly, and Raphael sighed, partially relieved. He watched as his brother shuddered and slowly forced his eyes open; glazed gaze not really focusing on anything in particular. "R-raph?"
"Yeah, it's me," he supplied, rapping his hand gently against his plastron. "And I don't know about you, but I'm feeling all funed out."
Don blinked at him, before letting his eyes slip closed once again.
"No no, buddy, stop that," he frowned, giving him another cautious shake. "It's too cold to sleep bro. You hurting anywhere?"
Don sighed, and Raph heard his breath hitch, and a weak cough.
"I know. We'll get you warmed up, but first you gotta tell me where you hurt." First aid was definitely not his forte but he knew he didn't want to move his brother further if he'd hurt his back or something… Then again, he could hardly leave him curled up in the snow. He was already starting to feel sluggish and drowsy, and he hadn't been buried in the stuff for God knows how long.
"Arm," muttered Don at length, shivering violently.
"Yeah, I think you've broken it, bro," affirmed Raph, wincing at the appendage in question. "You look pretty whole other than that. You remember what happened?"
"This w-was…" began Donatello, teeth chattering, and he broke off in a wince. Raph tightened his grip gently, trying to be reassuring but not quite sure how to go about it.
"This was what?"
"Sup-supposed to be a… fun week away," he managed, smirking weakly. Raph laughed at the unexpected comment, relief flooding through him at his brother's apparent tenuous but stable grip on coherance.
"Yeah. Yeah I know. We turtles don't know the meaning of downtime."