Chapter Text
Three days pass before Raph’s brain begins to unclench.
He eases it out slowly, like massaging a cramped muscle trying to get it to release. Nothing huge yet. No big ideas, no plans for the far future, nothing that’ll be too much - he has to walk again before he can run, and this week has been a lot to handle. He helps Donnie make lists of supplies for repairs to the lair (thankfully the damage isn’t as bad this time around). He lifts and carries things for Mikey - he’s only got the one hand, but given that both of Mikey’s are still injured and shaking, one hand is better than none. He plays games and talks with Leo, the only one still bedridden from his injuries, to keep him from getting too bored and bouncing off the walls. He sits with April as she tries to contact her mom, keeping her company until her mom finally responds and April heads home to see her. He finds small solutions for small problems. He does his best. He helps.
When Donnie insists on doing too much and refuses to take his breaks, he gets Pops to talk him down (Donnie still listens to Pops). When Mikey wants to push through the pain and tremors to try to cook, he gets Casey to be Mikey’s hands in the kitchen (evidently he’d helped Mikey in the future he’d come from and knows how Mikey works). When Leo wants to talk…well, they talk, but not about much (they both know there’s a bigger conversation that needs to be had - they can see it circling beneath the surface like a shark - but neither of them has the strength to face it down yet, so the unspoken agreement to leave it alone for the time being stands. Maybe they’ll approach it when Raph’s arm comes out of its sling and Leo can walk again). When April worries, he calls her and texts her updates so she doesn’t have to choose between being with her mom and being with them, though she still insists on helping them with errands since none of them are mobile enough to go topside.
For now, the lair is quiet, and Raph has opened the fridge in the lull. It’s looking a little empty - they were already due for a grocery run before the Krang invasion, and the upheaval afterwards certainly hasn’t helped any. Casey and April are topside trying to take care of it now; between Casey’s scavenging skills, April’s knowledge of the neighborhood, and their combined unwillingness to take any grief from anyone looking to cause trouble, they should have what it takes to succeed, as long as there’s a bodega somewhere that hasn’t already been turned over or locked down. Raph doesn’t know how calm or crazy people are up there - he hasn’t bothered looking at the news or asking anyone who has. It’s a big problem with no solution, and his brain is still too cramped for that. Even getting groceries is too big a problem for him to help with, but that’s why April and Casey are on it. They’ve got this. He just needs to make sure the fridge and pantry are ready for whatever they bring back.
He’s organizing the fridge, moving its sparse contents to allow for easier loading, and he comes across half a honeydew melon, cut side down, on a plate. It’s Donnie’s favorite; it’ll also need to be stored soon, before it gets mushy enough that Donnie won’t eat it, but they’re out of plastic wrap and they don’t have a tupperware big enough to fit it.
Okay. It’s a small problem. He’s been solving small problems for the past few days. He can fix this.
The easy solution is to cut it into slices so it’ll fit into a tupperware and put it back in the fridge, right? He can’t cut it himself - his arm is still in a sling, and he’s been told in no uncertain terms not to take it out until it’s healed enough, so that’s a non-starter. He can’t keep the melon still and also cut it when he’s only got one working hand.
Okay, so he needs help. He can find someone to help him cut it, right? April and Casey are out - he wants to have this done by the time they’re back, so they don’t have to worry about taking extra steps to fit something else in the fridge. Pops would be his next pick, but Pops has started taking afternoon naps to make up for keeping overnight watch in the medbay; Raph is pretty sure he’s in the middle of one of those right now, and he’s not about to wake him up (Pops needs his rest as much as the rest of them do). Leo is bedridden (and would probably try to play IRL Fruit Ninja again, despite it being banned in the lair). Mikey isn’t an option right now - with his hands shaking the way they are, it’d be dangerous to expect him to hold a knife.
Which leaves Donnie as the solution.
Except Donnie is asleep right now, starfished on a cot in the medbay with Mikey tucked up against his side, finally getting the rest he’d been resisting the past few days. Raph can’t wake him up. Not for a small problem like this. Not when his health is more important.
Raph feels something in him waver, and he swallows hard. Okay, so it’s just Raph for this one. He’s just going to have to be enough somehow. It’s just a small problem. He can take care of this himself.
He digs out a tupperware that should be big enough, and finds the knife he’s most comfortable holding: big, like his hands. He doesn’t know if Mikey would call this the right knife for slicing a melon, but it’s gonna have to work. He’ll figure this out.
He tries putting the blade of the knife on top of the melon and sawing. It rocks the plate back and forth, but the blade doesn’t bite into the melon rind. Okay, not like that.
He flips the melon over, puts the knife straight across it so it touches two edges, and tries sawing that way; all that does is make the melon rock instead of the plate. Pushing straight down causes the melon to shoot out from under the knife; he’s lucky it only goes a few inches and not over the edge of the counter. (Donnie definitely won’t eat the melon if he knows it’s been on the floor; it’s one of the things he’s picky about.)
He puts the melon back on the plate, cut side down, and stabs the knife point-first into the tallest part of the rind. The knife goes through; the problem is, when he tries to pull it down through the rind, it won’t go - it just rocks the melon onto its side again.
He rights it and tries again; same result.
He growls and grabs the knife handle, shaking it in an attempt to dislodge the knife from the melon. No dice - it’s stuck in there. He shakes it harder; same result.
He moves his injured arm, unthinkingly and a little desperately, and stops when he feels it twinge. He can’t do that. He can’t use his other hand to stabilize the melon, he can’t get the knife out, it’s a small simple stupid problem and he’s stuck -
He can feel his breathing speed up, rough and frustrated through his nose, as he tries shaking the knife again and still can’t dislodge it.
He lets go of the knife and slams his hand on the counter with a loud bang . This is stupid . It’s a simple problem and he can’t fix it and now the knife is stuck and it’s stupid and he can’t do it -
He feels the thing that had wavered inside him earlier slip and unravel. That’s not good- he’s poked enough holes in clothes in his life to know just how quickly something can unravel with one loose thread and one quick pull, and now the unraveling is happening inside of him - he reaches for the loose end, desperate to stop it, and it slips through his fingers and is lost-
His unbandaged good eye blurs, and he gasps sharply- Casey said he wasn’t infected- he should be fine- what’s happening -
He feels a tear slide down his cheek.
Oh.
He knows what’s happening now, but that doesn’t make him feel better.
He squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself to stop crying . It’s just a little problem-
One he can’t solve. One stupid little problem that he can’t fix.
He clamps his hand over his eyes, trying and failing to stop the tears from falling and get his hitching breathing under control. Get it together. Stop crying . He needs to fix this problem and get the fridge ready for groceries. It’s just a little problem. It’s just a small thing he can’t fix- he can’t solve it- this is stupid- this is so, so stupid- and crying about it is stupid- it’s all stupid- he’s stupid- and he can’t stop crying -
“Red? Are you alright?”
He gasps and stiffens - he hadn’t heard Pops come into the kitchen, but he’s here now, and Raph is crying over a stupid problem with a stupid melon, and he scrubs at his eyes with his hand but he can’t stop -
“Red. It’s okay.” He hears Pops hop onto the counter next to him and feels the tap on his shell. “Sit down.” He sniffs and sinks down to the floor, leaning his shell against the cabinets. He feels the gentle hand rubbing the top of his head, and he drops his hand and tilts his head, leaning his cheek into his dad’s side. Pops wraps his arms around Raph’s head and trails his tail over Raph’s neck and shoulders, humming softly as Raph leans against his dad and cries.
Raph doesn’t know how long it takes - it takes too long - but the tears finally dry up, and he’s left tired and sniffling, face pressed into his dad’s side. Pops presses a paper towel to Raph’s cheek, drying tear tracks and letting him take his time to calm down. “Sorry, Pops,” Raph finally manages, trying not to wince at the way his voice cracks right in the middle of his words.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Pops says simply, gently stroking the top of Raph’s head, the way he had when Raph was little.
Raph sniffs again and leans into the touch, trying to put his finger on why Pops’ words hit wrong. He’s…he’s supposed to be better, isn’t he? His brothers all got hurt when he was supposed to be protecting them (nevermind that the Krang were an overpowering, nearly invincible enemy). He nearly killed Leo himself (nevermind that he’d gotten captured making sure Leo was safe, and that he’d do it again to keep his brother - all of his brothers - out of the Krang’s clutches). They’d nearly lost Leo for good (nevermind that the sacrifice play was the only one left and Leo was the only one left to make it, as Raph was doing his best to keep Mikey and Donnie alive). He couldn’t solve any of the big problems and it was a miracle they all survived, and now he can’t even solve the stupid little problems-
“I’m s’posed to be helping,” is what he manages, in a voice so small and tired it takes him by surprise.
“You are supposed to be resting ,” Pops counters firmly.
“But I’m-” Raph’s breath hitches, and he tries again. “I couldn’t do anything.” Pops has to understand, right? Raph knows what his Oldest Brother duties are - he knows what he’s supposed to do - and he couldn’t manage it, and now everyone’s hurt and they nearly died , and- and Pops gets that, right? He’s gotta know.
“You’ve done more than enough.”
Pops’ tone is gentle, and it just sets Raph off again, because how does he not get it? Why does Raph have to explain all the ways he failed? “No, I didn’t .” His voice breaks and he pushes through anyway, because it’s not the first time he’s pushed through brokenness to finish what needs to be done. It hurts, but it always does. That’s not new. “I’m supposed to protect them, an’ I didn’t, an’ now everyone’s hurt and we nearly- Leo nearly-”
“ Raphael .” Pops’ hand stills on his head and Raph falls silent, sniffling miserably and trying hard to hold back another wave of tears. He’d thought he was all out, but nope, somehow his body has found more. Great.
He both hears and feels his dad sigh, and his hand starts stroking Raph’s head again. “The Krang are an insurmountable enemy,” Pops starts. “It was all my ancestors could do to seal them away when they first arrived; to ask more of you would be unfair, when you are all still so young. And yet at the end of the day, the Krang are sealed away again, and you are all alive and all still here. I would call that a victory.”
“But-” Raph tries, and is silenced when Pops taps the side of his head - gently, but with enough emphasis to get his point across.
“Your brothers filled me in on the parts I did not see,” he says, and Raph winces. The parts where he hurt Leo. The parts where he left him alone against Krang Prime. The parts where he failed his brothers. Those parts.
“They told me how hard you fought to free yourself from the Krang’s control,” Pops continues, and Raph’s breath hitches. What? “How you worked to come back to them. How you protected them once you were freed. How they would not have been able to save Blue if you hadn’t been there, helping them.” Pops pauses for a moment as Raph feels the words slowly start to sink in, and then drives the point home. “You would all have died at one point or another without the help and support you provided to each other. You may not have been able to do everything , but that doesn’t mean you didn’t do anything .”
Raph sniffles again, a fresh wave of tears threatening to fall. He’d wanted to protect his brothers - he always had, and still does. He’d wanted to keep them from getting hurt at all , nevermind hurt this badly , but-
But he’d protected Leo, and that had kept Leo safe enough to think and plan and fight back. He’d protected Mikey and Donnie, and that had let them open the portal to get Leo out of the Prison Dimension. It hadn’t been enough to keep them completely safe, but maybe-
“You sure that’s enough?” His voice is still quiet when he speaks up. Pops had just told him the answer - he shouldn’t be scared of it changing so quickly, but-
Pops smiles warmly down at him. “You know your brothers. What would they say if you asked them?”
He rolls the question around in his brain, and partially cramped as it is, it still gives him the answers easily. He knows his brothers, possibly better than he knows himself. “Mikey’d give me a hug. Donnie’d call me a dum-dum for doubting it. And Leo’d-”
A week ago, Leo would have laughed off the question, said something to rile Raph up and make it clear he wasn’t taking this leader thing seriously, and it’d be every frustration of the past few months repeated and built on yet again.
But now-
“Leo’d tell me he gets it. And…that it’s okay.” The words are slow, but deep down Raph knows they’re true. “...and then he’d probably make a joke about it.”
Pops laughs and pats Raph’s head. “See? You do know your brothers.” The laughter dies down, and Pops returns to stroking Raph’s head. “You have carried this family long enough, Raphael. Your brothers know you will support them no matter what; it’s okay for you to lean on them as well, when you need it. You all work best as a team and succeed as a team, and you know that. You don’t need to put them on your back anymore.”
He’s right, and Raph knows he’s right. It’s still good to hear it again, though. His lip quirks up over his snaggletooth in a crooked smile. “Aw, but Mikey likes rides.”
Pops taps Raph’s head again with a huff, and Raph knows that joke would’ve earned him a whack if he hadn’t already been injured. “It’s a metaphor , Red.”
“I know, I know.” The smile stays on Raph’s face as Pops grumbles, dropping into something a little more sincere. “Thanks, Pops. I think I need to do some leanin’ right now.”
“Of course.” Pops smiles and pats Raph’s head, and Raph sighs, closing his eyes.
He opens them once, quiet and muzzy, to see Pops on a stepstool, deftly slicing the half-melon into bite-sized pieces. Pops gives him a smile. “Don’t worry, Red; it’s taken care of.” Raph manages a quiet murmur and closes his eyes again.
He opens them again to find his head resting on a pillow and the sliced melon gone from the counter, replaced by Pops supervising Casey unloading groceries from bags and April loading them into the fridge and cabinets. Evidently Raph hadn’t had more tears; he’d just been tired. Huh.
He straightens up and brings his hand to his neck to rub the kink out of it, letting the pillow fall to the floor. April grins at him from over the fridge door. “How you doin’, big guy?”
“We didn’t wake you up, did we?” Casey says, wrist-deep in a half-unloaded bag and concerned.
“Uh- I’m good. And no, I think I woulda woken up anyway. How long was I out?”
“Long enough.” Pops waves a hand, dismissing the question. “Look - April and Future Boy found my favorite frozen burritos!”
Right - Raph still has no idea how things look topside. (He’s still waking up, if he’s going to be honest with himself.) “That’s great, Pops.” And then, to April: “How’re things on the street?”
“ Crazy ,” she says, waving a water bottle in emphasis before shoving it into the fridge. “Things are great on one block - real helpful, super polite, the works - and then three blocks down there’s a fistfight over garlic bread. People are wildin ’ out there. Hockey stick chainsaw over here sure did get us through.”
Casey grins, and it’s somehow softer than Raph had expected. “I never had to actually use it.” A beat. “Well, just once on that door.”
“Yeah, but the intimidation factor came in handy .”
Casey shrugs, head tilting with a slight smile - it’s a gesture of acknowledgement and downplaying a compliment because that compliment is a fact, and it is utterly Leo in a way that slaps against Raph’s brain and drips down without sinking in, like an egg thrown against a wall. He’s still boggling as Casey finishes unloading the bag and heads over to him, expression becoming thoughtful as he looks Raph up and down. He nods, then promptly sits himself down in Raph’s lap, leaning against his plastron.
Raph blinks, then smiles - he’s not awake enough to follow the train of thought, but he still knows exactly what to do - and wraps his arm around Casey, hugging him tightly. “Thanks for helpin’ April out. Sounds like you two make a good team.”
“Mm-hmm.” He can barely see Casey’s smile, but he can hear it, and that’s good enough.
“...he lives here now, don’t he.”
“He does. Yet another teenager under my roof.” The grousing from Pops is good-natured, at least; Raph’s pretty sure Pops would hunt Casey down and drag him back if he tried to leave now.
April snorts. “C’mon, Splints, like you weren’t gonna keep him anyway.” She glances back at the unloaded groceries - “Oh, hey!” - snaps her fingers, and fishes something out of the pile. “Got you a present, big guy! Check ‘em out.” She brandishes the box, and Raph can feel his expression light up as he catches sight of it.
“ Valentine Tastee Cakes! ” He is squealing in delight and he does not care who knows it. “How’d you find ‘em? It’s March!” The pink-frosted heart shaped cakes tended to disappear from stores by the end of February, and they hadn’t found any on their previous grocery run - he’d thought he was out of luck until next year.
April smirks in triumph. “Found a bodega that still had a box and knew we had to get them for you.” She tears the box open and tosses one of the plastic-wrapped cakes his way.
“Commander fought a guy,” Casey says proudly, snagging the tossed cake out of midair without looking. He flips it over a few times, then splits the wrapping along the seam.
April snorts. “When Bob the stoner saves the world from aliens, he can have the last box of tastee cakes.”
“That sounds like a terrible movie,” Pops says with a grin, rooting around in the groceries on the counter for…something Raph can’t see. He yelps when April smacks his hand, giving her an affronted glare as she goes back to putting groceries away.
“Maybe so bad it’s good?” Raph’s not sure he’d watch it, but someone probably would. Casey offers him the unwrapped cake, and he smiles. “Try it, Casey. See if you like it.”
Casey looks up at him, studying his expression for- Raph’s not sure what, but for something . Food hadn’t been easy to come by in the apocalypse - maybe sharing is a bigger deal than he thinks. “Are you sure? They’re yours.”
“Yeah, Raph’s sure.”
Casey gives him another long look before breaking off a piece and popping it in his mouth. He chews twice before his expression goes rigid with surprise and slowly slides into a wince as he swallows. He hands the rest of the cake to Raph. “You can finish it.”
“Didn’t like it, huh?” April grins like a cat as Raph pops the rest of the cake in his mouth and chews delightedly.
Casey keeps his mouth shut, leaving Pops room to interject. “I don’t know how anyone could eat those cakes. They taste like wax and Red Dye #40.”
Casey sighs in relief, probably happy to have someone on his side, April laughs, and Raph gives a good-natured one-shoulder shrug. “More for Raph.”
“They’re all yours, Red.” Pops smiles at him and Raph smiles back, feeling a few of the knots ease out of his brain. He’s still not fully recovered yet - none of his family is - but he doesn’t have to be. He knows he can lean on his family until he’s ready to solve the bigger problems again, in the same way they know they can lean on him. For now, he’s got kitchen naps, and snack cakes, and friends willing to fight a guy to get him those snack cakes, and he’s having a hard time thinking of anything more he could ask for in this moment.
For now, he’s okay, and that’s good enough for him.