Archive of Our Own

It's quiet.

The reality of the day’s events had hit them in the chest like a sledgehammer. After their admittedly underwhelming celebratory pizza, the Punk Frogs decided it would be for the best if they headed back to Florida, all things considered. The mutants agreed in earnest, saying their goodbyes to their friends. Mondo had clapped them on the shoulder warmly, hoping to see them again soon. Despite his smiles, there was something brewing behind his eyes. Raphael had told them to send a postcard if they decided to get captured by any other wackos, but the light teasing didn’t really hold the bite nor the enthusiasm it usually did. Donatello had bid them safe travels, smile strained and voice exhausted. Leonardo had reminded them to get in touch with them once they’d arrived home safely, and if the others noticed the desperate lilt to his tone, they didn’t mention it. Michelangelo didn’t say goodbye. In fact, he hadn't said anything at all since they’d first arrived at the pizza parlor. With the absence of their cheerful friends and comfort food, it seems that everything finally began to settle.

They’d all crammed themselves into the turtle van some time ago; Donatello is in the driver’s seat, and he’s gripping at the wheel with enough force to whiten his knuckles, face hard with a foreign intensity. Raphael sits across from him in the passenger’s seat, head resting in hand. His thoughts are a whirlwind, eyebrows furrowed with enough emotion and feeling to drown in as he stares out the window, beak pressed into a tightly closed scowl. Michelangelo has taken to clinging onto Mondo for the duration of the ride home, eyes glazed over as his body shakes with tremors. The gecko holds onto him tightly, cheek pressed to the top of his head. Leonardo sits stock still, back straight and poised, yet eyes glossed over with a misty wetness to them. He’s gripping at Michelangelo's hand so tightly that both shake from the force, and his brother’s bared claws threaten to bite into his skin. Michelangelo clings to the two that much tighter when they hit even the smallest bump in the road, the action reciprocated just as desperately. The air is thick with words unspoken, lest they become too real.

Time seems to pass in a hazy mist, familiar twists and turns they had grown so accustomed to feeling as though they were taking an eternity. The silence does nothing to quell the feeling, instead making it stretch on all the more agonizingly.

“We’re home,” Donatello pipes up. His voice comes out somewhat hoarsely; it cuts through the silence like a hot knife through butter, yet does nothing for the tension their space has accumulated.

Donatello parks the car without another word, removing the keys from the ignition. The expected shuffling and sounds of seatbelts unbuckling feels deafeningly loud amidst the backdrop of nothingness.

Raphael is all but bolting out of the passenger's seat the moment the van is parked and unlocked, already walking in the direction of their lair, hands occasionally flicking to the sai at his belt. He doesn’t turn around; he can’t bring himself to.

Donatello is silent as he exits the van. His fingers are twitching like he’s desperate to fiddle with something, to toil away until his digits were blistered and calloused and raw, busying his hands so he didn’t have to busy his mind. He’s following in Raphael’s footsteps, power walking in the direction of the lair without so much as a second glance toward the others.

Three are left in the van.

Mondo shifts in place, and as he starts to pry Michelangelo off of him he’s met with a panicked whine, the other gripping at his shirt desperately. Leonardo aborts his exit from the backseat instantaneously, sitting back down and squeezing his brother's hand again.

“C’mon man,” Mondo whispers. “Time to go.”

Michelangelo doesn’t respond; he instead lets out the smallest of whimpers again as his friend moves to stand, latching onto the side of his arm all the more tightly. Wordlessly, Leonardo takes his younger brother into his arms instead, gently holding him by the shoulders so the gecko can move.

He bumps their foreheads together, something Michelangelo used to do before he could talk. It was one of the ways he would comfort his brothers in their times of distress, or show affection when he was feeling joy. It was his own way of saying “Hey, I’m here, and I love you so much.”

Leonardo hopes he gets the message.

He lets out a weary sigh, leading Michelangelo out of the van. It seems like the younger of the two just needed somebody to hold onto, because he's already clinging to Leonardo's side like a leech as he sniffles occasionally. It makes the pressure behind the elder's eyes become much harder to ignore.

The sloshing drips and rushing water of the sewers reverberates through the air much louder than normal; at least then there’s something to fill the air.

Halfway back to their home, Leonardo insists Mondo Gecko come stay with them, just to make sure he was safe. Michelangelo agrees fervently, judging by the way he starts to shiver a bit more at the mention of his companion going back alone. The other two turtles don’t even think about objecting, and Mondo does not have the energy to fight them on it. The turtles wouldn’t let him go to his own home anyways, if he’d tried. The thought looms overhead; Mondo had been alone his whole life, and they surely wouldn’t let him be this time. Not now, not ever.

When they arrive back at the lair, nobody really knows what to do with themself.

Donatello scurried off to his lab some time ago, either to mindlessly work on an invention or bring a project into the common area to work on. Raphael had all but stormed off the moment they’d entered the lair, surely intent on expelling whatever pent up aggression he had left. Leonardo had stayed back momentarily, eyeing the remaining two in thought, before retreating into the direction of their training room. He would probably be in there for a while, redoing the same moves over and over until his muscles burned and exhaustion forced him to stop.

Two are now left in the common area. 

Mondo gently leads Michelangelo to sit on the couch with him, the other having not moved an inch since stepping foot through the door. Michelangelo immediately curls up into the gecko’s side as they sit down, taking one of his hands and fidgeting with it. Mondo turns on the television at some point, having since leaned his weight against the turtle as well. If Michelangelo notices the way the gecko trembles slightly, he wouldn’t be able to point it out.

It’s calm for the pair, all things considered, until Michelangelo lets out a keening whine. Suddenly, his breaths are coming out in frantic puffs, and he’s gripping tightly at the gecko’s arm as his claws begin to bare themselves on instinct, tremors wracking his body once again.

The other reptile shifts them upright immediately, splaying Michelangelo’s hand out flat on his chest as he takes in deep, exaggerated breaths, trying to coax Michelangelo into doing so with him. He bumps their foreheads together in an effort to ground him, murmuring reassurances. Michelangelo just grips him tighter, whines catching in his throat as he fights to take in air until his breathing finally begins to even. Mondo still shakes. Aside from the movie playing, it’s silent.

They pretend to watch the television, again; at least then things feel somewhat normal.

Leonardo is on his way to the training room, the need to train buzzing underneath his skin like hot pulsating electricity. The weight of his katanas gliding through the air grounds him, and as he slices through his surroundings it’s like he was slicing through whatever was clouding his mind. 

That’s when he sees his brother.

Raphael is pacing back and forth, clenching and unclenching his fists so tightly that they shake with unspent energy. His hands occasionally shoot towards the sai at his belt, no doubt that he came here to release some of his own antsiness, too. His brows are knit together tightly, chipped teeth digging into his lower lip as he fights through whatever emotional storm had been brewing underneath the surface since this whole disaster started. He looks moments away from completely breaking down.

Leonardo moves into Raphael's path, effectively halting his pacing, and Raphael shoots him a look that could kill; it'd have worked, if he didn't know any better.

Leonardo knows much better.

He places a gentle hand on the other's shoulder, meeting his eyes. There's so much swimming behind them, and it makes him feel like he’s drowning that much more.

That’s all it takes. Raphael buries his face into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around the eldest without a second thought or snarky quip. Leonardo holds on all the more tightly, and his brother just makes himself smaller. Neither know how long they stand there for; Raphael is the first to pull away, and all Leonardo knows is that it’s much before he’s ready to let go. The younger takes in a shaky breath, and Leonardo is leading them both back into the common area without so much as a word.

Donatello is frustrated. Usually, the whirring beeps and mechanical cold of his inventions would be comforting, but right now his mind can’t help but trail back to the compliance cuffs his brothers had been forced to wear. Something about the tools in his lab makes a heavy feeling settle into his stomach; he shuffled through at least five works in progress by now, and he’s been re-writing the same exact formula for who knows how long, at this point. Every time it feels like he's reigning in his attention, he thinks back to the blinding pink glow and fearful looks on his brother’s faces as their autonomy was stripped away. He swallows, hoping it washes away the sick feeling crawling its way up his throat. 

It doesn't.

It’s soon apparent that separating is not an option. Everyone silently agrees to congregate in the living room, hovering closely around one another as they attempt to occupy themselves once more.

Mondo is at the corner of the couch, leg bouncing restlessly as he replays the same level of Michelangelo's handheld video game for what feels like the hundredth time in a row, the other peeking over his shoulder. Usually, this works for him; he'll play a game, or skate, or jam out to some music, and the world will quiet. The thoughts swirling around in his mind will lessen, and he'll be able to push them down. Not this time, though. Something about today feels too wrong, too close, too familiar, and he finds himself giving up on the game to stare blankly at the television again. 

Raphael makes his way towards the opposite end of the loveseat, restlessly twirling a sai in one hand. He and Mondo exchange a solemn look; it doesn't take long for Raphael to realize what transpired in his absence. Without question, he sits himself down in his brother’s space, arms open. Instantly, Michelangelo leans against his chest, curling himself up into a snug little ball as if second nature. Raphael just wraps his arms around him and squeezes, pressing his beak to the top of his head. He tries not to think about how the last time they’d been in close contact, his brother had been forced to hurt him. He squeezes tighter. 

Michelangelo still hasn't spoken. Occasionally, he whimpers from his spot on the couch and his breathing devolves back into uneven gasps, but the gentle touches from his loved ones would be just enough to calm him somewhat. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, thoughts and feelings and memories swirling around in his head nonstop as he struggles to process everything that happened. It’s just too much, and all his brain can do is turn itself off as it tries to make sense of everything. He buries his face further into Raphael’s chest with a whine, the other compressing him reassuringly. 

Donatello takes to fiddling with whatever random bits and bobs he could find lying around his lab, parts and tools laying scattered across the ground of the common room in organized chaos. He's been trying to re-wire the same exact spot on his project for almost ten minutes now, but his hands are too shaky and unsteady for any kind of precise work. Everyone knows that doesn't matter to him, of course, he just needs to keep them moving. He leans his shell against Raphael’s legs, hoping the contact does something.

Leonardo is in a similar position, if the way he's been restlessly drumming his fingers on the hardcover of his novel since he sat down with it says anything. He's sitting cross-legged on the carpet next to Donatello, and his eyes are unfocused as he skims over the same page, not processing any of the words he's half-reading. It is apparent he desperately wants to be moving; doing katas, sparring, practicing with his swords, anything. Instead, he continues to thrum his fingers against his book, rocking back and forth near-imperceptibly.

At some point, the rest follow suit and inch their way onto the floor, sitting closely next to one another. Their distractions have been a mere bandaid on the gaping wound of events prior, tensions growing more palpable as the moments pass. All of them can feel it, the weight of everything. The silence is becoming unbearable.

A voice cuts through the air.

“Fellas,” Leonardo starts, tone holding absolutely none of the optimistic cheer it normally does.  “I uh, I think we should probably talk about what happened, right?”

There’s no response. A collective glance is passed around, wordlessly.

“What even is there to talk about?" Raphael eventually asks, shifting his legs. His usual snark is dampened, and the look on his face says he knows exactly what they should be talking about, that he himself has so much to say.

Leonardo knows this well, and sighs wearily. 

"Come on, Raphael. We-" he pauses to take a breath- "I know we've been through some wacky things in our time, but this? It's different this time. I think you know that." 

Silence settles over them, once broken tension blanketing the room so thickly it was suffocating.

None of them look at each other. 

Raphael clenches his fists. "You know, I hate it when you're right," he quips. His words aren’t as biting as they usually are. 

Leonardo just looks at him, and Raphael sighs, relenting.

"Alright, so those guys were completely insane. But-'' he gulps- "It's fine now, they’re dealt with. Case closed, end of story, right?" 

There's something so desperate in the way he asks this, and it is evident that he's trying to convince himself rather than his brother. It makes the eldest deflate further, if that’s even possible.

“Raphael,” he murmurs, and it’s an exhausted kind of gentleness none of them are used to hearing. “You and Donatello were the ones running around all day to save us.”

It’s a general statement, but the implications are there. Donatello is very deliberately not looking at either of them. Raphael squirms underneath his brother’s gaze, then stops himself to roll his eyes half-heartedly.

“Okay, but you were the ones who were captured!” he says, wildly gesturing to the three opposite him. “Shouldn’t you be-”

“-I was scared,” Michelangelo blurts. It comes out sounding all wrong; his voice is croaky and warbling and so incredibly small and it’s just so unlike him.

There’s a pause as Michelangelo stops to collect his thoughts. The rest look on patiently, Leonardo softly laying a hand on his shoulder in encouragement. 

"I-" he stammers, gaze flitting rapidly. "I didn't know what to- to do. I didn't-" 

He pauses for another moment, trying again to dig through whatever was making words so difficult for him. He balls his hands up in his lap.

"When we like, got caught, I didn't- I gave up. I-" he shakes a fist around, fighting to get out the words he wants to, and Leonardo just looks at him softly, rubbing his shoulder. Mondo thumps his head against Michelangelo's lightly.

"Do you need help?" Leonardo asks. His expression oozes patience, and it’s undeniably comforting. 

Michelangelo just nods, shortly. His brother slides a hand down his arm, squeezing at one of his closed fists, and Michelangelo hooks their fingers together shakily.

Leonardo closes his eyes, collecting himself, and when he opens them again there’s this intensity behind them that looks so out of place on him.

"Okay," he breathes. "Well, you see, uhm…" 

It’s strange to them seeing Leonardo flounder about like this; he’s normally so eloquent, even under duress. It settles something uneasy in their chests.

He exhales shortly. 

"I think what Michelangelo is trying to say is that he couldn’t bear to fight it any longer," Leonardo offers. “Even though we had just gotten captured, he didn’t see a point in trying to escape.”

He looks to his brother for confirmation. The orange clad turtle just nods shortly again, squeezing his hand in agreement. 

"But why?" Donatello questions. His voice holds none of the genuine curiosity it normally does; he just sounds exhausted. 

Michelangelo thinks back to being trapped in that cage with his brother, electric bars glowing dangerously. Leonardo had been desperate to try to break them out, but Michelangelo just shut him down. Wake up and smell the pizza, he’d spat.

"The cuffs," he whispers.

The air settles heavily, and they avoid each other’s gazes.

"I-" Leonardo says, voice suddenly overflowing with so much emotion, "I tried to get us out of there, I really did. I tried to- to stop myself from doing all of the things I did, but I couldn't. It was like watching my body move on its own and-" he cuts himself off to suck in a breath. Michelangelo squeezes his hand, again.

Leonardo can remember the look on Raphael’s face as they were forced to hold him down. It was an amalgam of so many things, but the one that stood out the most was fear.

Raphael had struggled against their grip, the cuffs forcing them to hold him down even more roughly, and they found themselves hoping desperately that they wouldn’t draw their weapons. Dude, stop squirming, Michelangelo had begged. Please, I don’t wanna hurt you. Stay still.

“It was really scary,” he admits, tentatively. “Being controlled like that? I wanted to stop myself so badly, but I- I couldn’t.”

Mondo shifts uncomfortably as he stares at his hands, and Michelangelo suddenly elbows Leonardo in the plastron. It’s done lightly.

“Wasn’t your fault, dude,” he mumbles.

Raphael scoffs. “Yeah, seriously, Leonardo. Do you really think we blame you for any of that?”

Leonardo sighs, rubbing his brow; it’s all the response he offers. Raphael squints at him, but decides to drop it. For now, at least.

“Between those totally freaky cuff things and all of the wackola brainwashing that was going on, I just didn’t see a point in fighting,” Michelangelo says, wringing his hands. 

“You can say that again,” Raphael mutters. There’s a faint trace of some sort of hurt behind his words, and Donatello shoots him an unreadable look. He flicks at Raphael’s arm in mild annoyance, then rests his hand there, rubbing gentle circles. Donatello does not comment on how his brother leans into the touch much more greedily than usual.

A sigh resounds from Michelangelo, and it is much too exhausted sounding to fit him in any capacity. He takes in a breath, holding it for a moment before he exhales. 

“Mondo got caught,” he drones, “and my brain totally checked out after that. I saw him there and I just- I dunno.”

Mondo has enough courtesy to smile sheepishly, pulling his head away from the turtle’s to face him.

“That was, uh, sort of on purpose,” he admits. “It was part of the plan to get you guys back, you know? I was the bait.”

Michelangelo’s eyes blow wide, and he whips his head around to face the gecko.

“What?” he croaks, and suddenly there is that all-consuming panic on his face again. “Dude, you- you got caught on purpose?”

By the time he’s gotten the last of his words out, his breathing is already becoming ragged again, and he’s gripping the sides of his head in his hands so tightly that his claws are threatening to bite into the skin. Mondo rests a gentle hand on his carapace as Raphael leans over, ready to hold his brother if need be. He’s somewhat reminiscent of an attack dog, and Donatello gives his arm a gentle squeeze to get him to settle. Both of them look vaguely guilty.

“Hey, hey,” Leonardo soothes, resting a hand on his brother’s cheek. “Deep breaths, okay?”

Michelangelo manages a short nod, and they sit there for a few minutes. Mondo rubs small circles into his carapace, Leonardo guiding his breathing. It takes a moment, but Michelangelo calms down just as quickly as he began panicking.

He exhales shakily. 

“Man,” Michelangelo huffs, body still noticeably shaking, “Leonardo pulls enough of that self sacrificing mumbo jumbo for all of us combined. I don’t need that from you. Especially you, dude, you hear? You-” his next breaths are deliberate, and it is evident he is desperately trying not to spiral again- “you had no idea what was gonna happen, dude! We could've ended up being like, experimented on! Or chopped up into gnarly little pieces or something!” he babbles, shaking his hands around wildly.

“Yeah, exactly,” Mondo deadpans. Leonardo gives him a look that is nothing short of concerned and absolutely horrified. We’ll talk about this later, his face practically screams.

Michelangelo shoots the gecko a half-hearted glare, then drops his head back into his hands, having talked himself out at this point. Mondo just awkwardly pats his head in apology.

Raphael’s eyes trail back to his brother in blue; he has this odd sort of look on his face as he rocks back and forth slightly. He narrows his eyes. Raphael knows that look.

“Lee,” he says. “I can practically hear your thoughts from where I’m sitting, buddy. Mind sharing with the class?”

Leonardo seems to snap out of his stupor, for a moment. 

“Hm?” he blinks. “Oh, it’s nothing, Raphael. I’m alright!” He attempts to smile reassuringly. It doesn’t work.

Raphael squints at him twice as hard as he did before, huffing out a dramatic sigh. It’s only half for show.

“Alright my tail,” he states, locking eyes with his brother. “Come on, what is it?”

The smile Leonardo had plastered onto his face falls just as quickly as it appeared, and he looks down at the ground, eyes swimming.

“I-” He stills for a moment, heaving a shaky sigh. 

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I should have tried harder.”

Suddenly, they’re back to unbearable quiet. Something breaks.

Donatello’s entire body tenses, and he’s clutching at his knees so hard that it has to hurt. Raphael’s face melts from mildly annoyed to complete and utter rage in a matter of seconds and his hands are now shaking and he just can’t keep it in anymore-

“Oh, please!” He spits, and the sudden shouting causes Mondo to flinch hard and his brother in orange to cover his ears from where he sits but he just can't stop himself. “Some mutant-hating psycho kidnaps you and somehow it’s your fault?”

He whips his head up to face their leader. “Give me a break! You had no idea what was going to happen!”

Leonardo shakes his head lightly, eyes downcast. “I’m supposed to keep you guys safe,” he whispers. “I should have-”

“Should have what, Leonardo?” he barks, shoulders shaking with pent up rage and frustration and worry. “Read his mind? Predicted the future?”

“I just-”

“-I was going to kill that Dirk guy," Raphael blurts. “I would have done it, I-“ his hands are balled into shaking fists, and the look on his face holds so much feeling- “I was ready to kill somebody for you! And here you are, being a total idiot and blaming yourself for everything!” 

He deflates suddenly, shoulders sinking as he drops his head.

“I hate them so much,” he mourns, and his face is morphing from anger to anguish right before their eyes. “The humans. For everything they’ve done to us. I would kill for any of you a hundred times over if it meant freaks like that never laid a hand on any of you ever again. I need you to know that.” The last bit is uttered so softly, and his shoulders are heaving as he catches his breath.

It’s quiet.

Michelangelo is looking at him with big, wet eyes, and Mondo looks at the ground, mouth pressed into a thin line. Donatello still hasn’t moved.

Leonardo blinks rapidly. “You never should have had to consider that in the first place,” he whimpers.

Donatello’s head shoots up to face him, and his expression is absolutely wild with so much pent up emotion he looks like he’s about to burst at the seams.

“Yeah, he shouldn't have had to consider murdering somebody, but you know what? I wish I’d let Raphael kill both of those wackos respectively.”

Said turtle turns to face him, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly agape in his surprise. Donatello had been the one that actively held him back from marching right into Vernon’s office and throttling him for all of the anti-mutant propaganda he had partaken in. Donatello had been the one to come up with the idea to work with Dirk Savage. Donatello, who was normally so incredibly impulsive, had been the one to calm him down again when his anger and fear turned into a primal need for blood to be spilled.  

“Their plan would have worked, Leonardo!” Donatello blurts, knuckles white as he grips his legs even harder. “It would have worked, because that Howard guy knew how much humans hate us! Heck, he was a mutant, too! He took advantage of their bigotry for his own gain, because he knew they would do just about anything to get rid of us!”

He’s rambling, now, and he can’t bring himself to stop all of the words he’s been keeping inside from falling out of his mouth.

“Vernon even agreed,” he spits. “And yeah, sure, that guy’s already a slimeball, but we’ve worked with him! We’ve saved him! And we’re still just-“

He sucks in a breath, abruptly.

“You are not responsible for any of that,” he utters. “None of us are.”

And there it is; the one thing nobody wanted to acknowledge, laid out like cards facing up on a table. Humans want us dead.  

It’s something all of them had known deep down, but never dared to say aloud. It’s something the turtles had realized the first time a gun had been pointed at them, it’s something Mondo had realized after years of abuse at the hands of the person who was meant to protect and care for him. It’s something they all had realized as they’d sneak around in disguises and creep about in the shadows of their big city, fearing a wrong turn or interaction gone south. Be nice, be kind, be courteous, show them that you deserve the right to live. Humans want them dead.  

They were only teenagers, and yet before every outing they would wonder if it would be their last. It's not fair, and most importantly, it's not their fault.

A choked whine breaks the silence.

“Stupid,” Raphael whimpers. “You are so stupid, you know that?” 

It’s at this moment that he finally seems to break, because tears are spilling from his eyes faster than he can even attempt to stop them, and Donatello just rests a hand on his shell, rubbing gentle circles as his own silent tears begin to fall. Michelangelo is bawling, now, and from the looks of it he’s been crying for some time. By the time a sob finally escapes his brother in red, he’s already flinging himself into his arms.

Leonardo just sits there, eyes big and wet and filled with so much and all that work he’s done to hold himself together for the others completely crumbles as he lets out a hiccuping sob, fat tears rolling down his face in watery globs.

“You guys,” he weeps. He opens and closes his mouth a few times like he wants to say something more, like he can will away all the hurt and fear just by saying words of comfort; he can’t, of course, so he just snaps his mouth closed as he lets out another sob.

“Would you just can it already and get over here?” Donatello says thickly, and it doesn’t really hold the snark nor the authority he probably wants it to.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Leonardo lunges his way across what little amount of space was keeping them apart, practically scooping his brothers up into his arms, and he holds them like they’re the most important things in the entire world because they’re his entire world and he would do just about anything for them. As they sob, he presses a kiss to the tops of their heads, and they’re an absolute weeping mess of limbs and tears and emotions spilling out all at once.

“I love you guys,” he stutters. Michelangelo bumps his head against his chin, and even though he’s lost his words again Leonardo can feel the “I love you too” deep within his bones.

“Love you too, moron,” Raphael blubbers.

“Love you too,” Donatello weeps. 

“… Idiot,” he tacks on for good measure.

Leonardo just lets out a watery chuckle at how lovingly he’s being insulted, resting his head against his brothers.

Apparently, Michelangelo has a lot of love to give, too, because he butts his head against Raphael’s cheek this time; presumably a bit too hard, if the squawk he receives is anything to go by. 

“Ow,” Raphael sobs. “Hey, watch that thick skull of yours, pal!” 

Michelangelo, bless him, giggles wetly at this, and Raphael will absolutely count that as a little victory, thank you very much. Michelangelo bumps his head against his brother's face again, much more gently. Not hard enough to crack his jaw open, this time.

“There you go,” Raphael snivels. “See? No need for violence.” 

It's Donatello’s turn to bark out a laugh at the absurdity of that statement, all things considered, and Raphael just snickers a bit drunkenly at his reaction.

Raphael looks down at his brother in orange.

“Love you too, Angie,” he finally responds.

Angie. Raphael had been the one to give Michelangelo the nickname when they were much younger. Leonardo smiles softly, opting to not mention how sweet he thinks it is.

Mondo sits a little ways away, fidgeting with his hands as he ignores the wetness pricking at his own eyes. He looks at the ground, blinking, and as the desire to cry and be held and be comforted with the others rears its head, he does his best to squish it down. He'll be okay. He always is. 

Michelangelo somehow seems to sense his friend’s inner turmoil, because he pokes his head out from the sniffling mass of brothers he’s buried under and squints at him. He points to the gecko as he nestles his head back down, tapping Raphael to get his attention.

“You too, bud,” Raphael translates, glancing towards the other mutant. “Get in here!”

Mondo just blinks. Slowly, he scoots his way over to the four crying blobs, sitting awkwardly with half-extended arms as he tries to figure out what exactly to do with himself. Michelangelo reaches his hand back and pulls him by the shirt sleeve.

Tentatively, Mondo wraps his arms around the four, tail curling around them protectively as he rests his head against Michelangelo’s. They know the exact moment he lets go of whatever was holding him back, because he completely relaxes his weight against them and lets out a sigh. Mondo has always been a bit closed off, which is wholly unsurprising considering his entire childhood. It’s especially apparent he's been feeling a bit out of place throughout this whole conversation. 

He gulps.

“It,” Mondo starts, unsure. “Being controlled. It uh, reminded me of before I met you guys.” 

Before. When he’d been forced to commit crimes for Mister X. He was very young when it first started. Validation, affection, praise, all of the things a child needs to thrive hinged on one condition alone; do his dirty work. Lie, steal, hurt others, do whatever it was that he demanded. Mondo couldn’t say no, no matter how guilty it made him feel. How could you say no to your only parental figure? How could you say no when that was the only time you’d receive any semblance of love?

It’s not much, but that’s the most he’s ever opened up to them. They can’t help but feel a little proud.

Mondo allows himself to melt into the warmth, if only marginally. As the wetness behind his eyes becomes even harder to ignore, he blinks a bit more than he normally would.

It’s quiet as they hold each other, and not the kind of deafening silence that plagued them before; the occasional sniffle and hitched breath could be heard as they all began to settle down, and they sit like that until an ache starts in their arms and numbness settles into their legs. Reluctantly, they pull away. Leonardo wipes away their tears with his thumbs in turn, smushing their cheeks a bit more than necessary in the process.

They take a moment to soak each other in. By all accounts, they are a hot mess: all five look like they could comfortably sleep for twenty years, Mondo seems like he just ran several marathons, and the turtles’ eyes are puffy and red from the intense crying they all partook in. Their masks hang around their necks, having been pulled down on account of being absolutely soaked. Raphael in particular is looking quite snotty.

Donatello snorts.

“Gee,” he muses. “You are one ugly crier, aren't you?” He’s still sniffling and wiping at his own eyes as he says this.

Raphael gapes. “Hey, being rude is my bit!” he snaps, whipping his head around as he fans at his face. That mischievous grin of his is beginning to return.

He sucks his teeth.

“Besides,” Raphael adds, “if we’re talking ugly criers, Michelangelo takes the cake on that one.”

Said turtle just gawks at him, pointing to himself in apparent offense. He squints in a way that shows he really means business.

Mondo nods in agreement. “He really told you, huh?” 

To that, the turtle in orange lets out a little puff of laughter, Leonardo rolling his eyes in loving exasperation.

The leader holds up his hands in a mock-placating gesture.

“Now now, settle down, boys,” he says, eyes flicking between brothers. “It’s not a competition!”

Raphael smirks victoriously, turning up his beak in triumph. “Leave it to Leonardo to be such a sensible young turtle!”

Leonardo drops his “responsible leader” expression to one of pure evil in an instant.  

“…But if it was,'' he says, tapping his chin in fake thought. “Raphael would win.”

The turtle in red’s face morphs into a look of complete and utter betrayal. 

“Way to kick a turtle when he’s already down,” he grumbles.

Michelangelo just waves at his brothers, taking a bow. Apparently, being dubbed “Not The Ugliest Crier” has designated bragging rights. Raphael just rolls his eyes dramatically, sticking out his tongue for good measure. Michelangelo smiles angelically at him in response, fluttering his eyelids.

Donatello grins wryly. “Well Raphael, I hate to say I told you so, but-”

Raphael’s jaw hits the floor. “-You? Hate saying I told you so? Since when?”  

“Hey, this isn’t about me!”

Mondo and Michelangelo have at this point completely broken down into stifled giggles, elbowing each other at random intervals to get the other to be quiet, and Leonardo is left sitting there watching fondly as his brothers argue. At some point they devolve into name calling, and he just pinches the bridge of his snout as their language becomes more and more colorful, mouth quirked into a little smile. Those two are sure to send him into cardiac arrest one day.

Eventually, the play fighting settles, and they’re all left a little breathless from either giggles or cussing the other out. They lean against each other as if their bones are made of jelly.

It’s quiet.

Without warning, Michelangelo shoots up from his spot on the ground, power-walking to the bedrooms with determination. The others just stare at him somewhat perplexed as he does so, until he returns with a mountain of blankets, pillows, and plushies all precariously stacked in his arms. He ambles his way back to the others, unceremoniously dropping everything on the floor in a heap.

Raphael blinks. "What, are you redecorating?" he snarks, voice still croaky from all the crying he did.

"Dude, don't pretend like you don't know exactly what I'm thinking," he responds, crossing his arms. Nobody comments on his spontaneous ability to speak again.

Leonardo sniffles. "A cuddle pile?" he asks, eyes big and hopeful. "It's been quite a long time since we've done that, hasn't it?"

"No duh," the orange-clad turtle responds. "After that primo disaster, I would say a major cuddle sesh is in order.”

The others contemplate this information for a moment.

"Hm," Donatello ponders. "You know guys, I think he's right."

Leonardo bobs his head in agreement. "I think so too." 

Raphael is decidedly not looking at anyone, which earns a slightly peeved glare from the turtle in blue.

He raises his hands. "Hey, I didn't say no," he defends.

"Well you didn't say yes, either," Donatello points out. Just to be annoying, probably.

Raphael sucks his teeth. "Oh, well excuse me," he drawls. "What do you want, a written apology?”

Everyone just blinks at him, and he deflates, letting out a tired sigh.

"...Yeah," he murmurs, poking his fingers together. "Okay, yeah, I would like that."

Leonardo smiles at him fondly. Raphael just purses his mouth in embarrassment.

Somebody then clears their throat awkwardly, and they turn in the direction of the noise.

"Uh," Mondo pipes up. "That sounds real nice and all, but-" he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, "I don't wanna intrude on family stuff or anything like that."

The turtles just squint at him, practically boring holes into his face with their gigantic eyes.

"Dude," Michelangelo starts. Apparently he's too at a loss for words with that one, because he doesn't say anything more.

Leonardo just cocks his head, confused.

"Don't be silly, Mondo. You're just as much of family as the rest of us," he states.

The gecko gulps. "Oh.” 

"Yeah!" Raphael interjects. "Get used to it, buddy. You think we're that easy to get rid of?"

Mondo chuckles wetly. "Yeah, I uh, I guess not," he responds. He’s blinking quickly again, and stares directly at the floor as he picks the skin around his fingers.

Donatello just blinks harder. "Gee, well of course you're family," he adds. "Us mutants have to stick together, you know."

He pauses in thought.

"Well, aside from the ones with nefarious schemes of world domination," he clarifies. "Those guys can buzz off."

Mondo just chuckles again, and as tears finally begin to spill from the corners of his eyes, Michelangelo is right back at his side, wrapping him in a big hug. Leonardo rests a hand atop of the other reptile's with a patient smile, and that's when he finally unravels, restrained sobs pouring from his mouth as he buries his face into his best friend’s chest. Michelangelo just holds him that much tighter, and as Leonardo thumbs gentle circles into his hand the rest sit patiently as he cries out everything he’s been holding in all day, probably even longer.

"Love ya, dude," Michelangelo murmurs.

"Love you too," he whimpers.

Eventually, he pulls away again, and Michelangelo just wipes away his tears, Leonardo still looking on with that ever-patient smile as he squeezes the gecko's hand comfortingly. It nearly sends him into another crying fit, but instead of bawling again, he just sniffles pathetically once his friends finish doting on him. They all give Mondo some space to recover. Michelangelo hums lightly to fill the quiet, still hugging his pal against his chest. Leonardo is suddenly very invested in looking at the blank television as he clasps Mondo's hand lightly. Donatello is averting his eyes, too, pretending that the pattern on their carpet is indeed very interesting. They all know how difficult that level of vulnerability must have been for him. For not the first time today, they feel a swell of pride in their friend.

Raphael, however, takes this as an opportunity to express his pride through his own love language; being obnoxious.

He sniffs, brushing away a not-so-fake tear.

"Aw, well isn’t that just the sweetest thing!” he coos, clasping his hands together as he bats his non-existent eyelashes. “It's enough to make a grown turtle cry.”

He smirks widely at the collective groan he receives in response, and boy, is that sound music to his ears.

“You’re not grown,” Donatello deadpans.

Raphael gasps in mock offense. “Woah there, pal! Are you implying that I’m immature?!” He lets out a scoff. “I’ll have you know-“ 

Raphael abruptly cuts himself off with a giggle upon noticing that Michelangelo seems to be getting a bit misty eyed again at all of the affection he's been partaking in, judging by how his hums are warbling a bit as he smushes his friend's cheeks in his hands. Ha. What a dork.

His face must be a dead giveaway for what he’s thinking, because he can hear somebody suck their teeth in exasperation.

“Raphael!” Leonardo chastises.

“I rest my case,” Donatello says, flicking Raphael between the eyes.

Apparently, Michelangelo was finished using Mondo as a stress ball, because he tentatively lowers his hands so the gecko can pull away to rub at his eyes. He settles his weight against Leonardo, this time, who wraps an arm around his shoulders. Mondo glances in the general direction of Raphael and Donatello.

“...So,” he sniffles, expression unreadable. “Where do I place?”

They all give him a perplexed look.

“Uh, place in what, dude?” Michelangelo asks, head cocked in curiosity.

Mondo blinks. “Why, the ugly crying contest, obviously.” 

His mouth is wobbling a little at the edges like he’s trying his hardest to not break out into a fit of laughter; it’s honestly a pretty impressive performance.

The four turtles just mirror his own blinking, trying to process that statement. Michelangelo bangs his head against the other’s chin, and only then does a laugh bubble out of his chest. Donatello just puts his face in his hands, groaning, and Leonardo shakes his head, that same lovingly exasperated expression on his face once more. Raphael tries his hardest to pretend to be normal about it, but he can only ignore an immaculately set up joke for so long.

“You don’t place,” he says, crossing his arms. “That was the least ugly crying I’ve seen in my entire life! Talk about boring!”

Leonardo’s eyes blow wide as he slaps a hand over his mouth and wow is he really good at pretending to be scandalized. Donatello just groans again, but he’s smiling despite his sass.

“Wow,” Michelangelo says. He shakes his head like a disapproving mother, patting the gecko’s shoulder supportively. 

Mondo gasps, splaying a hand across his chest. “Aw, c’mon man, you wound me!” he says as he throws his head back, not missing the eye-roll he receives from Michelangelo. “Don’t I at least get an honorable mention?”

The red-clad turtle just taps his chin as if in thought, then sighs defeatedly. 

“Yeah, sure pal, whatever. You get an honorable mention.”

Mondo beams.

Michelangelo is still patting his arm, and at this point it more so resembles somebody trying to burp a baby than anything. He smiles big and bright.

“It’s okay, bud, you’re still a winner in my book any day!” he chirps.

Raphael’s grin is shit-eating. “So you’re saying he’s ugly?”

The orange clad turtle whips around to face him, shooting absolute daggers.

“Dude!” he squeaks, “Quit putting words in my mouth, wouldja?!”

Mondo just waves a hand dismissively. “Eh, I’ll take the loss,” he says. 

His expression turns smug.

“Raphael is the obvious winner, anyways. It’s no biggie.”

Donatello barks out a cackle, throwing his head back as he laughs, Leonardo giggling in shock as he covers his mouth with his hands. Raphael can do nothing except sit there and gape at the reptile that just desecrated his ego in his own home.

“You were a righteous hot mess,” Michelangelo adds, pouring salt into the wound.

Raphael just squawks, mouth opening and closing as he struggles to come up with a defense for himself. “Why you- you’re so-” 

He stills, a dark smile creeping across his face.

“Mondo, buddy, my best pal, my brother in mutagen,” he drones. “Come over here, would you? I’m just oozing with love to share, yes I am!” His arms are opened dangerously, and he really looks like an attack dog now.

They all still, exchanging a glance.

“Well, it was nice knowing you,” Donatello acknowledges.

Mondo shrugs, hauling himself off from Leonardo’s side as he makes his way to his presumed demise. “It’s been fun, guys,” he says. “Aside from the murdery goons and all that junk.”

Raphael’s fingers are twitching in anticipation. 

“Pick a God and pray,” he grits, unable to hide his amused smirk, and once Mondo is vaguely in his personal space he practically lunges at him, capturing him in a noogie. He slaps the gecko’s hat off for good measure.

Michelangelo sniffles, flicking away a pretend tear. “Poor Mondo! He was so young... so radical...”

After a few moments of roughhousing, Raphael seems to decide Mondo has endured enough punishment, because he pushes him away with a light shove. Mondo scampers back over to the others, draping himself across Michelangelo's shoulders like a wounded animal.

“Be grateful that I didn't bite you,” Raphael says flatly.

Michelangelo wrinkles his beak at him. “Dude… grody,” he comments.

Raphael snorts. “Oh! That’s rich coming from you, mister ‘I-Bit-Everyone-Until-I-Was-Thirteen.’”

“No fair,” Michelangelo pouts, “I like, couldn't talk til then!”

“Still! Recent history,” Raphael defends.

“Oh yeah? Well I’ll make you recent history,” he fires back.

Donatello groans loudly, rolling his eyes to the sky. “Geeze, what a cornball!”

Mondo nods. “A total dweeb,” he agrees.

Leonardo watches on silently as the rest continue to banter, exchanging laughs and jabs and playful swats until they’re left breathless and slightly winded. As he glances around, he can see Michelangelo’s eyes slowly beginning to slide shut, his weight leaning heavily against the gecko beside him. The others aren’t faring any better; Raphael and Donatello, while at this point are debating very heatedly about whether or not water is wet, seem absolutely spent. They wear heavy bags under their eyes, postures seeming to slouch more as time passes. Mondo, despite grinning at their antics, stares at the ground with half-lidded eyes, nestling his weight against Michelangelo. They're exhausted, and as Leonardo soaks all of them in, he can’t help but notice just how tired he feels, too.

He clears his throat. 

“Uh, you guys?” He says, and it’s the most tired he’s sounded all night. “Not to interrupt this ah, family bonding, but I think it’s about time we settled down, don’t you?”

They stop, at that moment; take in his words, take in each other, and the weight of their exhaustion suddenly comes crashing down on them like a building toppling over. They’ve been dead on their feet all day, running on nothing but adrenaline and fumes and god knows what else. They must’ve gotten caught up in the excitement of it all again, in a different way. The gentle coaxing is all that it takes to notice, and they can’t help but silently feel grateful for their fearless leader always managing to reign them back in, somehow.

It's quiet. 

Michelangelo puts a finger to his chin, eyes drooping. 

“What’re we doin’ again?” he mumbles. His voice is all gravelly; at least now it isn’t because of fear.

Raphael huffs, slowly rolling his eyes. “A cuddle pile? Which was your idea, dimbo.”

Michelangelo blinks slowly. “Oh. Right.” 

He’s resting his head against the gecko’s shoulder even more heavily now, and he looks about ready to pass out.

Leonardo seems to notice this fully well, given the fact that he’s leaning over to tap him on the cheek softly. He decides to not move his hand away. 

The younger just cracks his eyes open for a few moments, alerting him of his attention.

“Now, would you guys mind helping me get everything in place?” he asks, rising to his feet. He takes a quick glance around just to make sure everyone is still fully conscious.

Raphael and Donatello let out a noncommittal grunt of acknowledgement from where they’re bonelessly leaning against each other, and Mondo offers a thumbs up as his blinking seems to become slower by the second.

“Tubuloso idea, mon frere,” Michelangelo slurs. He doesn’t make any move whatsoever to get up, though, so Mondo just scrubs a hand over his face and shakes him, lifting them both to stand. It takes a moment for Michelangelo to remove his head from the other’s shoulder, but he gets there eventually.

They make surprisingly quick work of gathering everything. Blankets and pillows are spread out on the ground in a large nest, stuffed animals and plushies nestled within nearly every corner. At some point, the lights are dimmed, and Michelangelo inserts a random VHS tape, turning on the television. A kaiju film, apparently.

By the time they’ve just finished, everyone is all but unconscious where they stand. Michelangelo is completely leaning his weight against Mondo again, and the gecko is wrapping his arms around him loosely to make sure he doesn't fall flat on his snout. Donatello and Raphael just stand there looking slightly bewildered, their respective stuffed animals dangerously close to falling out of their hands. Leonardo watches them all blearily from where he’s beginning to feel a haze wash over him, and he sways slightly as he attempts to blink the sleep from his eyes.

Before Michelangelo conks out on his shoulder, Mondo rouses him enough to lead him in the direction of the nest. Michelangelo unceremoniously flops onto his belly like a starfish, looking at the others with half-lidded eyes. The gecko shuffles into the pile of blankets, leaning his back against the couch. Michelangelo crawls forward enough so that his friend can scoop him into his arms, sighing sleepily as he relaxes his weight into the embrace. Raphael blinks. He must realize that he can lay down now, because he shakes himself out of his stupor and shuffles into the nest, settling next to his brother in orange. Well, he tries to, but said turtle is sprawled out like he’ll die if he doesn’t take up as much space as physically possible.

“Move over, weirdo,” he mutters, shaking Michelangelo obnoxiously. 

Michelangelo sighs longsufferingly at his brother, but still shifts so his legs are tucked more snugly against his body. Raphael plops down on his left, slinging an arm over his brother’s shell, and Mondo instinctively wraps his tail around them both. Donatello ambles his way into the pile, laying down on Michelangelo’s other side. He’s about to rest his head against Michelangelo’s leg when his brother wriggles his way out of Mondo and Raphael's grip, inching towards him until their noses are almost touching. He bumps their foreheads together with a chuff, and Donatello lets out a fond snort as he grins faintly. Michelangelo shimmies away to shove his face back into the crook of Mondo’s neck, and Raphael slings an arm over him again. Once he settles, Donatello finally rests his head against Michelangelo’s leg. 

Leonardo takes a second to drink it all in, eyes sagging shut. If he could, he would stand in this moment forever, but the tantalizing pull of sleep is dragging him down with no remorse. He sighs and collapses against Donatello, face squishing against his plastron in the process. He limply wraps his arms around him, Donatello doing the same. He peeks his eyes open when he hears a faint slap and subsequent "ouch." Michelangelo flails his hand in search of him, mumbling an apology to Donatello. The turtle in blue reaches his arm out and captures his younger brother’s hand in his, threading their fingers together. He stills, and they both settle once more. Leonardo must really be exhausted, because he lets out a soft chirrup. His brothers chorus back unwaveringly, and it settles something warm within his stomach as he smiles. They all melt into the shared warmth, stuffed animals long forgotten in favor of snuggling close against one another.

It’s quiet.

As they lay there, they can’t help but get lost in everything: the faint murmur of the television, the warmth enveloping them whole, the soft breathing and gentle heartbeats of one another, the closeness and safety that was a balm on all things painful and hopeless, all of it. Something else settles into the air, then, something warm, something safe, something so comforting and full of love they wish they could drown in the feeling forever as they slowly drift off into a much needed rest. Tomorrow is a new day, and one that they would tackle together. 

Together. They do have a place in this world, and it exists right here with each other.