Dimly, watching his brothers move the way they are, Mike is coming to the realization that he's going to be the one to look after them and start warming this place up so they don't all end up sleeping for days. The prospect isn't a pleasing one, and for a moment he wonders how much harm it would do to just find a soft surface to collapse on and let fate do whatever it wants to them, but he also doesn't really like the idea of being happened upon by some freak hunter or scientist and torn to pieces without even waking up. They could just kick the door down and none of them would even twitch...walk right over and drag them out, freeze them, slice them open like Bishop had tr-
Mike gives his head a firm shake. Even half-frozen, his brain could still do this to him. It sucks. So he reluctantly drags himself over to the door, locks it and deadbolts it before shoving a chair beneath the knob for good measure. The window they just used also gets locked, the curtains drawn, and he stumbles into the kitchen to turn on the oven. Hopefully some of the heat would waft into the living room after some time, if he leaves the door open...
What else? ...blankets. Yeah. There were some in the bedroom and hall closet the last time he checked. With arms and legs that feel like lead -cold lead- Michelangelo gathers armloads of blankets and shuffles back into the living room. He hands one to Leonardo before flapping the other out and attempting to tuck it around Raphael with numb fingers, only really succeeding halfway. With any luck, Raph will wake up and finish the job himself. He's just too tired, now.
Leo's observation brings him back out of that hazy half-awareness he'd slipped into though, and he gives his head another shake. "We all got 'em, Leo. You too; look." He circles around his brother to give his wings a gentle tug when something catches his eye.
It doesn't sink in right away; it has to fight through the cold and the dreams first, but thankfully the point is sharp enough to drive itself home. A huge, ugly scar, a piece of Leonardo's carapace ripped clear off as if someone had dug a claw into his shell and just pried. The shock of it takes even longer to settle in, but once it does Mike chokes a startled cry in his throat and puts both hands on his brother's shell, checking for further injury. "Wh-what happened- Leo, your shell...!"
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Mike gives his head a firm shake. Even half-frozen, his brain could still do this to him. It sucks. So he reluctantly drags himself over to the door, locks it and deadbolts it before shoving a chair beneath the knob for good measure. The window they just used also gets locked, the curtains drawn, and he stumbles into the kitchen to turn on the oven. Hopefully some of the heat would waft into the living room after some time, if he leaves the door open...
What else? ...blankets. Yeah. There were some in the bedroom and hall closet the last time he checked. With arms and legs that feel like lead -cold lead- Michelangelo gathers armloads of blankets and shuffles back into the living room. He hands one to Leonardo before flapping the other out and attempting to tuck it around Raphael with numb fingers, only really succeeding halfway. With any luck, Raph will wake up and finish the job himself. He's just too tired, now.
Leo's observation brings him back out of that hazy half-awareness he'd slipped into though, and he gives his head another shake. "We all got 'em, Leo. You too; look." He circles around his brother to give his wings a gentle tug when something catches his eye.
It doesn't sink in right away; it has to fight through the cold and the dreams first, but thankfully the point is sharp enough to drive itself home. A huge, ugly scar, a piece of Leonardo's carapace ripped clear off as if someone had dug a claw into his shell and just pried. The shock of it takes even longer to settle in, but once it does Mike chokes a startled cry in his throat and puts both hands on his brother's shell, checking for further injury. "Wh-what happened- Leo, your shell...!"