Chapter Text
In his head, he’d counted about thirty-minutes exactly; five seconds give or take.
But to him, it felt longer. Far longer. Like the sun had snuck across the sky behind his back. Maybe it did; he was far too focused on the still waters in front of him.
Each car horn blasted like the minute hand tick of a clock. Distant construction faded into white noise, like the foam that framed the ocean’s waves. Occasionally, he’d spot a shadow flit under the surface of the depths, only to realise it was just a fish.
It was the same song and dance.
Silence. The fuzzy kind. Frayed at the edges like a ripped blanket, or torn up like a failed blueprint. It was maddening, almost.
Until—
swoooooooooooooosh
A portal carved itself open above his head, and three turtles along with a slew of water doused him. It snapped closed with a twinkle.
He would have been annoyed if it wasn’t for the relief that pooled in his chest. Without much thought, he rushed to the pile the turtles made on the floor. Leonardo coughed wetly, his beak twisted into a look of pure disgust. The slider wiped his mouth and gave Draxum a shaky thumbs up.
“See…I told you Leon’s got it!” Leonardo boasted weakly. He hacked out more water and fell backwards with a grunt. Draxum’s lips twitched.
Then his face steadied.
“What of the other two? Are they alright?” Draxum questioned curtly. He cast his gaze to the two unconscious boys at Leo’s side. A strange worry gnawed at his chest. A sickly, swampy, feeling curdled like spoilt milk inside him. Donatello’s leg twitched, in a way similar to a dead cricket. His eyes, lidded with drowsiness, peeled open. Okay, so one of them was conscious.
Donatello laid in a semi prone position, expressionless but very much alive. The position his legs were in was unnatural; folded in half with his legs splayed out under him. One of them rested over his head. His battle shell lay in tatters, punctures dotted the shudder-shell frame. Sparks from peaked wires had long since died. He slurred a small “ow”, drawled at the w. Flat as a brick. Then, promptly, he passed out.
So… now they’re both unconscious.
Mikey had retracted fully into his shell. A crack snaked down the crest of his carapace. Leo leaned over his baby brother first. His hands glided down the length of the crack, with a cringe weighed at his lips. Draxum approached the slider’s side, wearily. The rotten feeling worsened.
Leo’s face flashed a myriad of emotions.
Blankness.
Panic.
Fear .
All of it was smoothed over after a moment, with a trembling grin. Too wide. His chest heaved, fingers shook. Though Leo spoke no words, Draxum got the message clear enough. The slider’s next words, deep, hollowed, haunted , somehow rung emptily over Draxum for a moment.
“He’s…not breathing,”
He’s not breathing .
Draxum had done nothing.
And he’s not breathing.
He could not help his sons during the fight.
He’s not breathing—he’s dead.
He couldn’t even save them when they were pulled under the water.
He’s dead.
Draxum snapped back to reality when he heard a dried shunk . Like a sword sliding back into its sheath. Leo flipped Mikey over, expression panicked— petrified . His hands trembled, he shook them, as though to shake something off his hands. “H-how do I, how… how— ”
He sounded desperate. Tears welled up in the slider’s eyes.
Why did Draxum’s eyes burn?
Leo hiccuped. The noise was shredded, thick.
Wait.
CPR!
He isn't going to die on my watch.
Draxum’s gaze flitted to Donatello. The softshell’s breathing was shallow, sluggish and slow. In the time the two had been focused on Mikey, he had woken up again. He didn’t seem entirely there, blackened eyes glazed over and confused. His will turned to steel. Without much thought, his hand found Leo’s shoulder.
“I’ve got this, Leonardo. Check on Donatello. I’ll administer CPR to Mikey,” Draxum’s voice was deep, authoritative. It filled the space in the docks. Left no room for argument. He got the feeling that the fight in Leo had spluttered out. The fear receded, faded, disappeared. Something else filled the space.
Something unfamiliar.
Something familiar.
Determination. Hope.
He clenched his fist.
My son is not dying here.
Leo looked at Donnie and his expression softened somewhat. He tapped his knee, with a tremble that never faded. He fumbled for the medkit Draxum retrieved earlier and took a deep breath. Ten— precious — seconds later, he released it in a puff of condensation. It coiled like a serpent to the air, faded like a whisper. “O-okay, I… yeah , Leon’s got this.”
His voice trembled.
“and…”
He hesitated, just for a moment. Draxum dug his feet into the docks. Something stirred, deep in his chest. A power that cracked like whips. An energy like ozone that electrified his veins.
“... you got this, too, Draxy,” Leo’s voice was heavy. It sounded as though he’d spilled his heart out, “Save my baby brother, sheepman.”
Then, he turned around and crawled to Donnie’s side. Draxum’s gaze fell back to Mikey. In the distance, he heard a soft hssssss . Most likely, Leo had taken off the shredded remains of Donnie’s shell.
He tried to recite the steps in his head.
Supine position .
Mikey had been turned on his carapace. He was still retracted in his shell. He raised a fist, motion terse. Pink vines shot from the ground and steadied the box turtle, so he did not wobble.
Close enough.
Thirty compressions, one to two hundred compressions per minute. Two breaths in between.
He placed his hands on Mikey’s chest; shoulders positioned directly over his hands. He locked his elbows.
His mind drifted away as he started the compressions.
At first, he was blank.
In the back of his mind, he quietly narrated the steps, the compressions, the breaths.
Then, his mind flashed to comfort. Desperate for a din, a lull. A static film to wrap around him, to make his task almost mindless.
To mask the guilt, the regrets, the woes the worries the—
Donatello had once mentioned, to Raphael, that whenever he was stressed, he recited chemistry facts in his mind. If not that, then biology or engineering. Anything his mind defaulted to, he’d think of. The comfort of familiarity, the embrace of something special, sharpened his mind and pulled him through a task. Through a strife. Through pain.
For some reason, Draxum defaulted to the first time he’d truly interacted with his sons. Before they were mutated, when he’d chosen them. No, not when, after . He’d been making their terrariums, to raise them better. A place to wait where they wouldn’t do anything stupid, get hurt, while he perfected the mutagen.
He remembered the pride that swelled in his chest, when the twin’s tank was complete. He’d put them together due to their similarity in age, and their uniquely close bond. He’d found the two at a stream, the slider stacked atop of the softshell. They’d been abandoned pets, neither species native to New York.
Actually, now that he thought about it, the only one of those turtles who hadn’t been abandoned was Michelangelo. He’d been a newly hatched turtle, about as small as the palm of his hand.
Two breaths. One, two, three, four, five—
He remembered the hours taken for the box turtle’s tank, too. Coconut husk substrate, dapped with beach rocks and driftwood in a vague shape of a hide. He’d laid a banana leaf under a rock-shaped water plate for the turtle and covered the tank with leaves that mimicked trees.
He didn’t understand why he’d put so much work into all their tanks.
They were temporary homes, really. They didn’t need all this work put into them.
But…these…future warriors were kind of cute.
Two breaths. One, two, three, four, five—
By the third day with them, he’d noted common behavioural patterns. The snapper sunned for more hours than the average snapper did. The softshell and slider stacked on top of each other often—one time the softshell had knocked the slider back into the water. The box turtle was the most active. He’d practically bounced off the walls. All of these were very important to his work, yes. He… definitely needed to know about the time the softshell had helped the slider flip back on its feet. Or the time the snapper had gobbled a small basket of strawberries. It certainly assisted his cause when he saw the box turtle attack his own reflection.
Yes, very important warrior things. A warrior’s spirit, yeah, something like that.
Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn’t notice when Mikey’s chest stirred.
Almost is the key word.
He jolted back, ran a hand through his mane. His limbs felt light, feathery, tingles slithering up the tips of his finger. His chest pounded with relief. Draxum let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
Mikey vaulted forward. His breath shuddered, chest heaving. He coughed out water, a whimper laced in each splutter. Draxum stayed by his son’s side, a comforting paw on the lip of the boy’s shell—away from the crack. He rubbed soothing circles along his back. He didn’t quite know what to say—if he had any comforting words—-so he mostly stayed quiet.
After all the water had been expelled from his lungs, the young boy passed out cold. He sighed in relief. Draxum took this time to check up on Leo and Donnie, again.
The two had been talking loudly—well, Leo had been.
Donnie leaned against the slider’s side, back hunched and shoulders relaxed. His back had been wrapped in hasty bandages, arms patched and battle shell cast to the side. “ann’I said ¡ Maldita sea la madre que te pario! And you shoulda seen Señor Hueso’s face!! I didn’t think bones could get pale until I saw it!”
Leo laughed loudly, too loudly. His shoulders were still tense, voice strained somewhat. Donnie didn’t seem to notice. The softshell chuckled, a rust-chipped noise. His voice slurred together, rasped like clogged gears “”Nardo, tha’ has’th same vibes as tha’ uh,,,thhhhin’ you said to Mikey that one time….uh…pickle…head?”
“Puto cabeza es escabeche?” Leo supplied, voice fond. Donnie laughed lightly, and shoved his twin. The action seemed weak, but Leo pretended to be shoved. Probably to conserve the softshell’s pride.
“Leonardo,” Draxum called quietly. Every once and awhile, his gaze would flick back to Mikey worriedly. Leo turned around, an arm snaked around Donnie’s shoulder. Draxum had to wonder if that was for Donnie’s support, or Leo’s comfort.
Probably a mix of both.
“Oh—uh—yeah? I-Is Mikey okay? He’s okay, right?” Leo’s voice was quick, almost clipped. Eagerness served to mask the dread that shadowed his tone. His fingers drummed against the stone, foot tip-tapping on the ground nervously. Draxum attempted a reassuring smile. Something told him his face looked more akin to a grimace.
“Yes, he is,” Draxum kept his voice steady, an attempt not to make the relief show. Leo, on the other hand, had no such qualms. Strangely, he started laughing—the relieved kind, manic and unhinged. Donnie looked up at him drowsily, confusion written on his face. Ah, a concussion then. “I would check over his shell, though. I cannot promise I did not damage it further.”
Leo’s relieved laughter tapered off. He hesitated for a moment, before he unlooped his arm from Donnie’s neck and scuttled to Mikey’s side. Draxum nodded approvingly. His gaze couldn’t leave the rise and fall of Mikey’s chest.
He’s breathing.
Alive.
“How is Donatello, by the way?” Draxum leaned at Donnie’s side. He couldn’t help but notice that Donatello’s eyes were dilated, dazed and non-comprehending. His reaction time was poor, too. He only started to follow Draxum after a minute of the sheep man’s presence.
“Concussion, multiple abrasions and a minor avulsion wound on his carapace; both that need to be stitched and patched, I’d recommend bed rest, and bruising along the eyes and elbows. Oh, and that discolouration on his plastron is dirt, not bruising, it just looks weird don’t worry I thought the same thing,” Leo rambled, his voice somewhat distracted. He leaned back from Mikey with a sigh. Relief, pure and definite. “We’re gonna need the resin for Mikey, though.”
“I have resin somewhere, I assume,” Draxum noted automatically. He’d kept the bottles of resin and fibreglass patches in his lab since he’d acquired the turtles. He only really had to use the patches and resin once, since the turtles weren’t prone to injury. Well, correction. They were , but he’d taken measures to make sure his future warriors did not get killed.
“You have epoxy resin?” Leo questioned, temporarily distracted. He shook his head and hauled Mikey into his arms, nonchalantly. “Uh, nevermind, go help Dee, Draxy, you know he’s out of it when he doesn’t argue about his independence.”
Draxum, without hesitation, crouched by Donnie’s side. He looped the boy’s limp arm around his neck, and wrapped his other arm around Donnie’s waist. To keep him steady. Donnie grumbled lowly under his breath, but made no protest.
Leo held up Mikey like a sauce platter. He used his free hand to unsheath his ōdachi with a flourish. He sliced a clean cut through the air. A portal blinked open in its wake. Deftly, the young slider resheathed it with a shhhhhiiiink! and adjusted his grip on Mikey’s shell. He took a moment, still, expression oddly focused. Then, a smile broke through on his face—a small one, like the flitters of dawn light on a cloudy morning.
“C’mon Draxy!” Leo sing-songed. He hopped from one foot to the other. “Let’s drop .”
He vaulted into the portal with a giddy laugh. He seemed oddly happy. Draxum followed at a far slower pace; having to keep up with a concussed Donatello was surprisingly difficult. As seconds passed, his posture slouched more, breath even–if not a bit husky.
He adjusted his hold and guided the softshell into the portal.
————————
I wish I never saw the sunshine,
I wish I never saw the sunshine,
And if I never saw the sunshine, baby,
Then maybe…
Then maybe…
Soft music wove warmly through the basketball court. It was night, starless. The moon hung like a half open eye, sleepy and weary. Yellowed street lamp light danced intimately with the soft spools of moonlight, like a tapestry. A light drizzle dusted the air, a fog hung like a veil. Draxum’s hastily shambled human clothes, a white sports tank and dark purple basketball shorts—clung to his fur by the burrs, not uncomfortably.
Leo dribbled his basketball with a flourish. Each pound cracked like a fork of lightning. His eyes were narrowed with focus, a sly at-ease grin curled his beak. He wove around Mikey and spiked the ball in Raph’s direction. He snatched it with ease. The snapper whipped around and dunked it in the net. The backboard’s hinges squealed in protest. Raph landed back on the blacktop with a thud.
“ That’s how Raph does it! Like a boss! ” he boasted proudly and pounded his chest. Leo laughed and punched his brother lightly on the shoulder. As they chittered excitedly, the music floated like a computer screen’s tinny hum.
“Ayo, the city’s heart be flutter with stutterin’ sounds
Gutter music for silver lining class tumblin’ down
Town, we breathin’ memory black
Watercolourist we steadily rap”
Mikey puffed his cheeks in a pout, arms crossed. Ever since the incident, he’d recovered quite smoothly. It almost seemed like a distant nightmare, a whisper in an eerie night. Now he’d donned a bright orange hoodie, that he dusted off. “No fair! I ain’t been on the court in ages, an ‘m out of practice!”
Leo wrapped his younger brother in a one armed hug. A smug grin passed his face, beak tugged all the way up in a grin that turned his eyes to crescents. “Oh dear Michelangelo, all’s fair in basketball and war!”
Just for added emphasis, he poked Mikey’s cheeks.
“Now see me personally—” Mikey started, only to get cut off when Leo pulled him into a headlock. “L-Leo! I’ll sick Donnie on yo’ass!”
Draxum’s mouth ran before he could check it. “Language!”
Luckily, he was ignored.
"What's he gonna do? crumble in my general direction?"
“When I heal, Leo, so help me the only one crumbling will be you!” Donnie called from his bench. Unlike Mikey, his recovery had been far slower. His shell was padded and freshly wrapped with gauze and stiffened with a brace. He sat with his legs crossed under himself, one hand scrolling absently through his cellular device and the other on Mikey’s refurbished boombox.
When his activities had been restricted, he had upgraded Mikey’s boombox. Apparently that was the explosives the two had talked about at the docks. It didn’t take the softshell long to create new tapes for the Box turtle, including “Until the Sun Dies”. Draxum had to admit, that song had a certain… vibe to it, as the kids would say.
“I’m blessin’ rhymes in this section without question,
No doubt, so we reppin’ the beautiful thang,
Black Magic, beautiful string,
Pushin’ the Fakevinyl ropes with the beautiful strings,
”
“So guys, this is upsetting and sudden news, but it actually seems like I’ve lost a brother—” Leo feigned hurt in his voice, the back of his hand against his forehead. Donnie rolled his eyes fondly. Mikey and Raph snickered. “It's okay, at least Raph is on my side."
“I’m in a silly mood right now, Leonardo, and I feel like your punishment for that slight should be death,” Donnie shot back flatly. The tilt in his lips betrayed his otherwise dry tone. Leo didn’t seem bothered by the threat. Amusement danced in the slider’s blackened eyes.
“It’s okay Dontron, I get it, you’re jealous—” Leo feigned slicking back invisible hair. “—I don’t blame you, I’d be jealous of m— Ow! ”
Mikey wacked Leo upside the head with a deadpan frown. Leo glared at the boy, who merely reciprocated with an innocent smile. “Whatever do you think I did, dearest brother?”
Leo rubbed the back of his head with a near cartoonish-looking disgruntled expression. Donnie and Raph laughed raucously at their brother’s suffering. Draxum stifled a laugh behind his hand. At least he had class.
“Do you boys do this every week?” Draxum questioned after a relaxed quiet had settled. In the week that lead up to today, the boys had gone to the court the moment Mikey had been good enough. Sometimes they invited April or Cassandra, some nights they would be too busy. They’d even hustled that Sunita girl into playing one night.
That’d been…an interesting night.
Mikey climbed up Raph’s back and settled comfortably on his shoulders. “Of course we do! It's like training!”
“Playin’ baskets is how we met April,” Raph added with a grin. It was endearing, almost, when his tooth seemed to stick out far more than it usually did. Objective observation, of course.
The song from earlier ended. Donatello popped the tape out and pushed a new one in. It was an old song, one that Draxum didn’t recognise.
“To be quite frank, it serves as..an interesting mode of physical therapy after having to sit and do nothing for weeks,” Donnie grumped. The other three hadn’t allowed him to play, since his back was still healing. Raph rolled his eyes at the younger’s antics.
“You say ‘dat like you ain’t the worst player outta all’a us,” Raph retorted, with no real ire behind his tone. Donnie hugged Mikey’s boombox absently, an expression of feigned offence. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mikey cut him off.
“By the way Barry~, did’ja wanna join us for family movie night?” Mikey singsonged Draxum’s name cheerily. Draxum sighed tiredly. Nothing says “making Splinter happy” like going to his kids’ movie nights. Lou is going to love that.
“Papá would not enjoy that one, Angelo,” Donnie added dryly, as though he’d read Draxum’s mind. Damn this kid and his lack of filter . There wasn’t as much heat behind that thought as he’d hoped there might be.
“But Barry is family! ” Mikey pleaded. He clasped his hands together against his upper lip and pouted pleadingly. “ Pleeeeeeeaaaaaseee?? ”
“Oh no it's the look ,” Leo groaned. He turned away before he could fall victim. “You’re on your own, Big guy.”
“Me?!” Raph exclaimed, aghast. Donnie had also turned away, suddenly very interested in the new tape he’d created. Draxum couldn’t decide whether or not he should be confused or horrified. “Uh…uhm..”
Raph twiddled his thumbs nervously. He couldn’t stare directly into Michelangelo’s eyes. “Uhm… fffffine . You can invite Drax–oof!”
Mikey tackled the snapper in a crushing hug. Raph smiled fondly. Draxum, however, was not as entertained.
“ Draxum would prefer if you four did not speak of him like he is not right in front of you ,” He groused lowly. He folded his arms, tossed a leg over the other. His ear twitched. Despite that, regrettably, he did not feel as much irritation as he thought he should feel.
“Hey! What did Raph say about talking in the third person!” Raph shot back, as though he were a parent admonishing a child. Though his eyes were narrowed, a finger brandished like a knife, there was no real ill will behind his words.
“What?”
“Draxy~ will you join us? We’ll be watching King o’ Monsters this time! April and Don managed to get it to play on the projector!” Mikey bounced in place and patted Raph’s shell excitedly. He shot Draxum the same look he shot Raph and—
Oh.
So..he should have been terrified, actually.
“....Fine.” He grumbled at length. Mikey cheered excitedly and rolled onto his back.
“We WIN these, baby!” Mikey whopped excitedly. Leo snickered.
“That right there, Sheepman, is his secret weapon—I’m sure if he tried hard enough he could’a gotten ‘ol shreddy to put on that collar and imprison himself!” Mikey theatrically waved off Leo’s comment with an ‘awww shucks!’.
“Now Don, put on some jams! “Yikes” by SWIM works!” Mikey leapt off of Raph’s back and snatched the basketball from Leo’s hand. He clutched it between two hands with a sharp grin.
Leo rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms. “Oh it's on hermanito. ”
“Ayo! Who you callin’ little , chico!” Mikey shouted with a competitve lilt. He stood up to Leo, who threw up his arms in mock surrender, but the grin on his face was anything but apologetic. Donnie slid in the tape with a passive grin, leaned back and casual.
“
Yikes,
Think we gon’ call this “yikes”,
A hundred percent,
Of my time has been spent,
On my grind, I pretent,
That I’m fine ‘cause I win,”
It didn’t take years worth of knowing them for Draxum to know, they were in for a long night.
————————
When they got back to the lair, the sun peaked out from the city’s jagged skyline. Raph carried Donatello on his back, the softshell fast asleep. Leo and Mikey slunk not too far behind, both looking as though they’d been wrung through. Draxum was left to carry this… baskéball . He will never personally understand why these children loved baskéball so much.
They piled into the living room, where Lou had hunkered down to watch one of his infomercials. The rat turned around to greet his sons as they walked in. He did not greet Draxum. That’s fine, I suppose I deserve that still .
Mikey slung himself over the recliner’s back and snatched the remote from Splinter’s hand. Fondly. Lou rolled his eyes. He’d let his son steal the remote, Draxum noted. Mikey turned to Leo, feigning something serious. It fell flat. “Leo, get as many blankets as possible, Raph get the stuffies—”
“Who’s gonna get the snacks? Donnie’s asleep!” Raph asked and pointed to the softshell snoozing on his back. It seemed waking the boy up wasn’t an option oft considered. Mikey’s gaze fell onto Draxum.
Slowly, a smile turned the box turtle’s lips.
“What?”
Mikey grabbed Draxum’s hand and raised his. “Barry can get the snacks!”
“I can do what now?” Draxum raised a brow. Even Splinter peeled his eyes away from the show to shoot his boys a confused look. The rat’s tail twitched. Agitated.
Mikey wrapped an arm around Draxum’s neck. The young boy had to stand on his tippy-toes to reach his shoulders. Even then, that was just barely enough. “You can get the snacks for the cuddle pile! I’ll set up the movie, too! We can’t watch a movie without snacks, Barry!”
Without another word, the three turtles shot out to complete their tasks. Donatello still snoozing on Raphael’s back. Draxum was left to flounder. Where the hell was their kitchen? Why was he the one to gather snacks?
“The kitchen is two rooms down that hallway,” Splinter directed flatly, his tail pointed in the direction for emphasis. They met eyes. A mutual understanding passed between them, something quiet and relenting.
"Thank you," Draxum mumbled with a nod. He scratched the back of his head nervously. Splinter gave him the smallest most bare smiles, before turning back to his show. A tension uncoiled from his chest, like ice thawing before spring.
———————
He ended up getting whatever he could spot, without a clear direction. When he returned to the living room, the turtles had already hunkered down. Donatello had woken up, and nestled himself between Mikey and Leo, back against Raph’s chest. A large purple weighted blanket had been wrapped around their shoulders, like a very poorly wrapped burrito.
They’d also been drowned with stuffed animals—dogs, bears, unicorns and dragons, to name a few—and Raph in particular seemed very content in this development.
Mikey whipped around as Draxum entered, shoving Donatello to the side. “Barry!!! We were waiting for you—what’cha get?”
“uh…I did not know what to get, I just grabbed whatever I saw,” Draxum admitted stiffly. To his surprise, the box turtle didn’t seem too disappointed. His smile seemed to grow, actually.
“Perfect! Then let’s get it baby! I’ve been waitin’ to see Godzilla; King of Monsters for ever !” Mikey nestled himself back against Donnie’s side, and under Raph’s arm. He patted his thighs, bounced in place with pure excitement.
A fond smile drew Draxum’s lip, entirely unbidden.
“Godzilla? What, pray tell, is that,” Draxum asked, if only to entertain the young turtle. He laid the snacks down on their laps and sat some ways away from them. Donnie kicked back and popped open a bag of Doritos. The spicy kind.
“Scoff, how does he not know about Godzilla?” Donnie commented to no one in particular, with a breeze about his tone. Raph smacked Donnie upside the head lightly. The softshell rubbed where his brother had hit him, without a hint of regret. Leo leaned against Donnie’s side.
“Well I suggest, we have a watch party of every movie—”
“Are you aware of how many Godzilla movies there are because—”
Leo clamped Donnie’s beak shut. He looked his brother dead in the eyes, with a sly grin. “Do it, no balls.”
A frown etched itself on Donatello’s features, a deep and exaggerated one. “I hate you times however many nerves are in my spinal cord.”
“Okay, nerd, how many is that? Like. five?”
“Thirteen million.”
“I didn’t realise you can count that high, puta.”
"I--you--didn't--why I--"
Mikey perked up. “What does puta mean?”
Donnie and Leo exchanged a horrified look, withering slightly under Raph’s glare. Draxum had to admit, he was curious himself. Leo gulped and mimed tugging at his collar. “W-well, Miguel, it’s what you call someone when you think they’re wonderfu–oof!”
Raph smacked Leo upside the head with a sandal. Draxum didn’t remember the snapper ever picking it up. Mikey smiled brightly. “Okay!”
Mikey breathed in, ready to say something, but Leo snatched the sandal from Raph's hand and chucked it at the boy's head. "ah ah ah no! the movie is starting!"
That wasn't necessarily true, of course. Draxum got the distinct impression Leo was only saying that to stop Mikey from speaking, though.
Draxum watched the four bicker. If anyone ever asked his past self how he’d imagined his warriors, fourteen years from their creation, he’d never imagine this. He would say that they’d be ruthless killers. Heartless. Able to slay a man without a second thought.
Maybe this was better. His preferred outcome.
It was nice, too. No more fighting, no more violence. Just…settling down, and..living for himself. Did he even know how to do that?
Donatello rambled idly about something Draxum couldn’t quite catch. He rubbed the bandages around his middle and stretched himself across Leo and Raph’s laps, face firmly planted in the ground. Leo had crossed his legs, leaned back into Raph’s arm, who had a secure hold on the slider and a teddy bear. Mikey, swaddled in an orange blanket, had stretched himself across Raph’s shell. A large purple weighted blanket had been thrown over the snapper, large enough that it was cast across the other three, as well.
He didn’t, of course. Know how to live for himself. But he did know that he had four sons who could teach him. One step at a time.