Renaissance

III

Heph's P.O.V

My head feels like the bottom of a lake; murky and dark, swimming with bones and lost time. When I come to, goosebumps ripple over my arms from the cold and a sharp pounding starts in the front of my head. A groan floats past my lips and shortly after I hear glass clinking together and hushed voices. I tense up, keeping my eyes closed but now I think I'm squinting them shut.

Where am I? The hospital? Is that Eterna clinking around? Wait, how would she already be at the hospital?...How long have I been asleep?!
My eyes strain against the soft light, studying the unfamiliar ceiling with passive confusion as I hear the same hushed voice.

"You're awake! Good. Does anything hurt? You were concussed but I think I got that under control." I recognize it as the voice from the other night; the softer one. I have so many goddamn questions and I'm pretty sure that's not Eterna.

I slowly sit up, my back popping from the...table I had been laying on. Looking around, I notice anatomy charts of various types on the wall to my left, lit up by strange purple lava lamp looking things where the light is coming from. To my right, there's a small archway, lit up by another light in a different room, I guess.

I feel like a flea under a microscope in here. The science equipment sends nervous shivers down my spine and the objects floating around in jars do nothing to calm me. There's no sign of the voice until it speaks again.

"I'm sorry my lab is so uncomfortable. We don't normally get visitors. Like, ever." I snort softly, knuckling eye crusties away from my still stinging eyes and turn towards the voice with an answer.

"It's okay but, this is getting," I look up at the source of the voice and freeze, "weird." I don't know how to even describe what I'm looking at. It's not bad, per se. Just...I think I found the Area 51 aliens.

The...purple-masked...giant turtle...holds his hands up in surrender and cracks a gap-toothed smile that seems just as nervous as I am.

"Please don't scream! My name is Donatello, you hit your head and my brothers found you and brought you here."

I take a second to respond. My head still humming painfully like a microwave full of bees. I look around again, taking in my surroundings...and the smell. Of course, any sane person would clap their hands over their mouth and nose and start having a cow about the stench.

But taking account of the fact I had previously hit my head, and still recovering from what was probably a concussion, I took another sniff and nonchalantly asked if I was in the sewers. To which this Donatello guy nods. I think I'm okay with this. The headache raging through my skull and the nausea churning in my stomach make it hard to complain.

My face must have said it all because Donatello hands me a bucket and with a sour note in his tone he urged me not to retch on his floor. So, the contents--or lack thereof--of my stomach are emptied into the bucket. The soiled object is then taken from me and replaced with a glass of water.

"Do you remember your name?" He tilts his head, his voice low and patient with me as he waits for me to finish taking a sip out of the glass.

"It's Hephaestion." I cringe at my own name. I've never liked it much, it's such a mouthful. I don't know what my parents were thinking when they named me, but now I'm stuck with it. I don't think they're really going to mind. I mean, Donatello is named after an Italian renaissance artist.

My brain takes this moment to remind me of my precious baby boi, Giotto.

"Giotto! Please--did your, Uh, brothers find him?!" The turtle man blinks rapidly, slapping a damp cloth across my forehead while he shoves some ibuprofen into my hands. I hurriedly stick them into my mouth and swallow them with a drink.