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Raph hated stomachaches.
He got them a lot; for a while when he was little, he got three or four a week. Dad was worried about his gastrointestinal-something-or-another, and snuck him out for checkups with medical books they would find in the library. They would go out for hours at a time, in the rain or the snow or however the weather in New York City wanted to ruin their lives that particular day.
Nothing worked.
And when it wouldn’t work, Dad would get in this upset mood that he said wasn’t directed at Raph, but when he would sit and read big medical books with Raph for hours and find some weird new thing they would try for about a week and, lo and behold, it wouldn’t fucking work and Dad would just sigh and be upset and Raph just knew. Knew Dad was upset with him, because his stomach was all sorts of fucked up and they couldn’t fix it, and Raph was just a problem that he couldn’t figure out.
God, it pissed him off.
He tried, too! He did all of the things Dad told him to do, drinking tea, meditating, everything. But it never worked, because sometimes his stomach would hurt after arguing with Leo and then he couldn’t eat, because when he fought with Leo it stuck with him for the rest of the day. And he would try, he really would, he would sit at the table and avoid eye contact with Leo just so that he could eat something. He didn’t want to starve. But it would taste nasty or bland, and his stomach would just churn and he felt like it was all going to come back up again in one big, gross mass that would squirm or some shit. So he wouldn’t eat.
If he felt really nasty after a fight, he would dare to blame Leo for all of his problems with his stomach and eating. It would make complete sense; Leo always got up on his high, bossy horse, always telling Raph what to do and what to say and doing the smallest, littlest things that shouldn’t tick Raph off so much but they do. Seriously, what did he think he was accomplishing when he would shush Raph for being too loud, or telling him that the way he was reading comics was wrong? It literally wasn’t a big deal at all!
Oh, and don’t get him started on Leo scolding them. Who did he think he was? Dad? Dad literally didn’t care about half of the ‘rules’ Leo was so obsessed with following. He had been caught in Dad’s room plenty of times, and Dad would remind him not to go in there, but if Raph found an artifact Dad would sit down on the floor beside him and tell him stories. If Don and Mike were there, too, he would ask for their artifacts. It literally wasn’t a big deal. But Leo? Acting like the damn world was going to end or something.
It was just so weird. It would be fine, too, if Leo didn’t stick his snout into every little thing Raph did. He didn’t have to let Leo know every single second of every single day what he was doing. They were fourteen, practically adults. Raph could do what he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it. And it would work! On the days Leo didn’t bother him, he wouldn’t get a stomachache. He would feel calm, for once in his life.
But then the next day would come and there Leo goes, nagging Raph about doing something ‘the right way’ because you know Leo. Whenever he was in the room, he was always right. It was always things that didn’t matter, too. Just weird stuff that rubbed Leo the wrong way- all stuff that would help Raph do what he needed to do.
Leo was just annoying. Not in the funny, little brother way Mike was, when he would steal all of Raph’s left socks or say something so dumb it activated Raph’s fight or flight. No, Leo was annoying in the ‘I’m-right-you’re-wrong-shut-up-I-know-best-I’m-the-oldest’ type of way, the kind that would make Raph try to avoid him at any and all costs. That’s what he was doing right now- hiding away in the dojo and working on the katas and moves Dad had taught them.
But, the thing about living in the sewers? You can’t avoid bossy older brothers.
“Don’t hold your sais like that.”
“Why not? It’s easier.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s easier, it’s wrong.”
And there it was.
“Who says it’s wrong? It works for me.”
“Because it is. Here, let me just show you-”
“No, Leo, seriously, it’s fine-”
“Stop arguing and let me help-”
“Who says I’m arguing? I’m just having a conversation with you!”
“You’re not listening!”
“Because what you’re saying is stupid! It doesn’t matter how I hold sais, it’s what works for me! Dad even said that I was fine holding them like this, so shut up and lay off!”
Leo stopped at that, hands sort of floating there in the air, Raph holding his sais out in defense. He looked like he had been hit. Raph’s stomach started to hurt, a rusty, white-hot knife twisting within his gut. His breathing started to speed up, but he forced it to calm down. He couldn’t snap like this.
“Raphie,” Leo sighed, all soft and gentle like Raph was some sort of little whiny baby. His stomach panged at that, and it started to feel like poison sludge was filling his brain and pouring into his mouth. He tried to keep it from spilling out, but then his mouth burst open and he was bickering again.
“Don’t call me that! I’m not ten. Just go away.”
“I just want to help.” Again with the ‘helping’.
“You’re not, so leave me alone!”
Leo sighed at that, like he was so put upon and disappointed, and God, Raph hated him sometimes. He left, and Raph tried to get back into his groove.
Slice. Wrong.
Block. Too low.
Stab. You would be dead by now.
Parry. You just killed one of your brothers.
A sharp stab in his gut at that particular thought halted him for a second. His lungs started to shrink as he started fighting harder, baring his teeth in frustration. The voice kept going, gaining more personality until it was practically overpowering his thoughts- it sounded like a particular annoying, older, blue turtle.
He was covered in fluff by the time he ended up shoving one of the handles of his sais between his teeth, pressing his face against the mannequin, and screaming. Luckily, the walls of the dojo were soundproofed enough so that it wasn’t suspicious.
It wasn’t like he liked being angry, he hated it! He didn’t like the stomachaches, or the arguing, or the breaking shit because he felt like he would literally explode from the inside out if he didn’t. He hated being snappy to his brothers, but they were the ones who did it in the first place.
His knuckles stung as his jaw hurt, joining the ache in his stomach as he raged. Why did he get so angry so easily? He didn’t like when people got scared of him, because even though Mikey and Don said they didn’t get scared when he and Leo fought he knew. He knows how scared they get, because not being scared doesn’t equal avoidance after Raph exploded.
Why couldn’t he just calm down? He didn’t even know how . Don just went and worked on his projects or did math because he was a little nerd, Mikey went and listened to music or messed around in the kitchen- Leo trained or read comics. Dad didn’t get mad, so he didn’t have to calm himself down with anything, but when he was upset he drank tea or some shit. Raph had nothing. He was just a pissed-off, loud dickhead who couldn’t calm down or even hold his stupid sais right. He can’t do anything right.
“God! Fucking! Damn it!”
The rage began to exhaust itself as he screamed and bashed his fists into the mannequin. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it was long enough to see Raph eventually sagging and squishing his face so hard against the mannequin he couldn’t really, you know, breathe. His stomach ached enough to make him groan, and he curled around it as his breath slowly started to calm down even though his thoughts were still racing. He wasn’t sure when he had started crying, but his eyes stung and he could taste salt mixed with blood from his ripped-up throat.
His muscles panged dully as he laid on the ground, having found himself there after- everything. He wasn’t sure when he got there- he usually faded out during his rages, and would come back to sanity in a situation he sometimes couldn’t remember getting into. Everything went from feeling tingly and white-hot to numb, and an overwhelming tiredness washed over him. He almost said ‘fuck it’ and fell asleep right there, but he knew falling asleep on the ground would make his whole body hurt.
Once his stomach stopped aching as much, he put everything back the way it was (while hiding the now-destroyed mannequin away for someone to fix later) and escaped to go to his room. It wasn’t because he felt better; he needed to recover the rest of the way in his room, alone. Mikey called after him that dinner was ready, but he wasn’t hungry. He tried to avoid the other turtle, but Mikey’s feet thumped against the brick closer to him, and Raph was trapped.
“I’m fine, Mikey. Eat without me.”
“Why?”
Oh, joy. More interrogation.
“I’m just not hungry.”
“But it’s your fav-ow-wite, ” Mikey whined, his voice high-pitched and grinding against Raph’s still sensitive nerves, but he tried to remind himself that he couldn’t explode at Mikey. He couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to him. “Pwe-e-ease? ”
Okay, sometimes it was fair to him.
“I said I wasn’t hungry, Mike!”
“You should at least join us,” what was with his family and pushing him beyond his limits all willy-nilly? Fourteen years, and they couldn’t figure it out. “Pretty please?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because his stomach hurts, and if Leo looks at him again in the next five years he’s going to explode all over again.
“I don’t want to.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Life isn’t fair.” He’s gotten to his room now; all he needs to do is to get rid of Mikey. “I’ll eat later. My stomach-”
“You never eat with us anymore.” That… is just a blatant lie. He ate with everyone all the time- Leo missed more times than he did, even!
“Oh, can it, Mike.” The sludge is back, and the wood they used to make his doorframe is digging into his fingers. His lungs feel tight again. “I just don’t want to tonight, alright?”
“Why not?! It’s like you-”
“Mikey.” Oh, great. And there comes Mr. Perfect, summoned by God-knows-what to ruin Raph’s life all over again. “He doesn’t want to. Let’s just go.”
Ignoring Mikey’s frustrated outburst, Leo led him away; but right before he did, he hit Raph with this look and sighed.
That was fucking it.
Raph slammed his door shut loud enough to shake everything in his room, the dust flying for a bit before settling again. A snarl tore from deep in his throat as he stomped over to his bed, flinging himself onto it and letting loose, screaming like a banshee into his pillow. His fists hit the bed furiously, feet kicking and digging into his mattress.
He briefly imagined Leo’s face under his fists before he felt too evil.
He didn’t know how long he spent tearing up his throat even more and destroying his bed before he wore himself out, laying limply with his face down in his pillows. He also didn’t know when he started crying again, but his breaths had gone from quick and tight to shuddery and long, his eyes stinging. He crushed his fist against his eyes, wiping the tears away and making stars burst in front of his eyes.
“Stupid Leo,” he hissed, before pressing his face back into his pillow and wondering how much force he would have to apply to just merge into his pillows and blankets for the rest of his life.
The white-hot knife in his gut had faded into a dull ache, and he curled himself slightly around to protect his stomach from the outside. Guilt started to curl in after the anger was gone, and he squeezed his eyes shut and bit the inside of his cheek to stop the tears from rising back up.
Stupid, stupid Leo.
—
He must have dozed off at some point because by the time someone knocked on his door, he was startled in the same way as if he had been woken up. He groaned loudly to allow them in, and from just the way the door creaked open there was only one of two options. Anger, somehow an always flowing fountain within him, started to rise again.
“Leo, don’t you dare-”
“I am not Leonardo, my son.”
Oh.
Raph didn't answer. He just laid there and stared at his wall as Dad sat on the edge of his bed, making all sorts of old man noises before he settled in. He felt a hand rest on his shell.
“You made Michelangelo very upset, today.”
“Too bad,” he grumbled, his stomach still churning. “He needs to deal with it.”
“ Raphael. ”
“What?” Here they go again, Raph having to defend every little thing he says because he’s always in the wrong. “I told him I didn’t want to eat-”
“Raphael.”
“-and then he throws a big fit about it, but it was true! I didn’t want to eat, my stomach-”
“Listen to me-”
“-it still hurts from when I argued with Leo because he tried to boss me around agai-”
“Raphael! ” His father raised his voice, and Raph’s jaw snapped shut. Dad’s voice then softened, and he began to pet Raph’s shell. “Listen to me, now.”
“Fine,” Raph grumbled.
“Silently. ”
Fine.
Dad stayed quiet for a few moments, his hand tracing scutes in the way he knew calmed Raph down. It was, unfortunately, working.
“I understand your frustration,” he started, and Raph couldn’t help but let out a disbelieving huff. Yeah, right. “You doubt me, Raphael?”
“Well, yeah,” he said, turning so that he was facing Dad rather than his wall. Even though Dad told him to be quiet, he let him speak. “You never get mad at us.”
“I do not show my anger around you boys,” Dad simply said, and shit. Something similar to a stone dropped in Raph’s stomach as years of purposely being a little piece of shit washed back to him. If Dad wasn’t still scratching his shell, he would almost be nervous. “I have learned to control it, after years of struggle. When I was a young man, I did not own the self-control I have now. Frustration, fear, confusion- all came out as anger. I see my younger self in you, my son.” Great. Dad thinks he’s a basket case. “But I was not gentle like you, either.” What?
“-ain’t gentle, ” came out as a grumble, Raph pressing his mouth against his blankets.
“Ah, but you are,” Dad told him. “I know the anger you show to your brothers is only a fraction of what you truly feel and direct towards yourself. I know it is hard to see progress, but I have seen your disposition improve. You are not the same angry little boy you used to be. You fight, yes, but because you know there can be a balance achieved. You are gentle in a way that not many people are- that makes you unique among your brothers.” Raph huddled deeper into his arms, Dad’s words ringing in his head as his eyes started stinging, again. He wasn’t sure how all of that made him gentle of all things; really it just sounded like he was a dick. Which he was.
“I don’t get it.”
“You don’t have to for now,” Dad said. “You are only fourteen, still a child. You don’t have to know everything at this age, my son.”
“Hmph.” He sniffed, his throat tight. Dad was good at doing this; though Raph didn’t know if the ‘this’ was pep talks or making Raph get all gunky and emotional. Probably both.
“Is there anything else you need?” Dad’s voice was softer now, his hand having paused near the dip between the top of Raph’s shell and his shoulder.
“... my stomach hurts.”
“I thought so,” Dad said, patting Raph’s shoulder before standing back up, making his old man noises again (though these ones were different from the ones he made when he sat down). “I will get you your tea.”
It wasn’t a question, because Dad knew he would deny it if he asked.
He left, and Raph rolled to face his wall again, the angry bristling in his gut finally at rest.
—
The door creaked open again, startling Raph out of another halfway sleep. Dad’s footfalls were lighter, this time, and Raph rolled back onto his shell to accept his tea-
Oh.
Leo.
The blue banded turtle stood there in the doorway, holding a tray. His face was shadowed by the low light in the room. Despite the talk he just had, despite trying to calm himself, Raph felt the anger rise again. His mouth burned with sourness.
“Hey,” Leo said.
“Hey.” He rolled back to his wall, not wanting to deal with Leo’s shit. “Leave the tea.” Then, when he couldn’t hear Leo move, “And shut the door.”
Quiet. The door creaked closed, and Raph nearly let himself believe that Leo had left before the other turtle headed towards his bed, Raph’s teeth nearly cracking by how quickly and harshly he clenched them. He tightened his arms around his middle.
“With you outside, shell-for-brains.”
“And leave you without your tea?” Leo quipped, and God damn it, for how awkward Leo could get in situations where he had to talk, he was still too snarky for his own good. A wave of anger washed over Raph again, and his next sentences came out much more clipped and tense than he wanted them to.
“I meant leave the tea, then close the door with you outside. God.”
Leo stayed quiet. The only indication that he had moved was the brief clatter of mugs as he set them down on Raph’s night table. A brief shuffle informed him that Leo had sat down next to his bed. Silence stretched, heavy and long, and Raph was about five seconds from kicking Leo out on his ass.
Who did he seriously think he was? Pissing Raph off like he did, then coming back in with his tea like nothing happened? It didn’t make sense. Sure, Raph wasn’t a wise guy like Don was, but even he liked to believe that he knew his brothers, and Leo didn’t typically do this kind of stuff. What kind of bull was he trying to pull?
Maybe Dad put him up to this. It would make sense- Dad always wanted them to ‘talk through their feelings,’ what a load of bull crap. Raph didn’t need his feelings getting in the way of talks- they always ended up doing so with Leo. You would think all of them in the lair knew that by now.
But, why would Dad even do that? He must have known Leo was the one who started it, what with his perfectionism and his prissiness and his babying. If he hadn’t known, he would have sent Mikey. At least Raph could talk to Mikey- the orange turtle would get frustrated at some things, sure, but once you put some food in his mouth he was usually fine. Mikey was fun to talk to. At least he could kid around, unlike Leo.
Maybe Dad didn’t put him up to it at all. Maybe Leo just put it upon himself to be the ‘Good Older Brother’ he thought he was and get some more golden boy points with Dad. That made the most sense to Raph. Leo clearly didn’t like the act itself- the way he treated Raph? The dumbest person alive could see that Leo hated him. Why else was he so nitpicky about Raph’s fighting style, how he acted, how he talked? It didn’t give either of them any enjoyment talking to each other, so why-
“Your grip strength is really good.” What?
“Hmgh?”
“On your sais, your grip? It’s really good. You don’t clench your hands like you used to.” Raph sneaked a peek over his arm at Leo- his brother was facing away from him, with only the top of his head and a bit of his blue bandana were visible. “I know I said you hold them wrong. That's not true- it just looks weird, 'cause our fingers are different? It's just- different. You also move quicker. When you switch from offensive to defensive, the twirls. I couldn’t do that. It’s really cool that you can.”
… huh.
“Oh, uh. Thanks.” Raph adjusted to lay on his plastron, his eyes peeking over his arms again. “You fight good with your swords.”
A brief huff.
“Thanks.” Leo adjusted the way he sat, scales scraping lightly against the floor. “I still can’t block Don’s overhead strikes. He comes at me too fast- I always expect there to be less bō than there really is.” A brief pause. “Dad says it’s ‘cause I get too comfortable, and I need to think about where I am more. That I should remember that I’m not the only one thinking in the room at all times.”
Ha.
“Should work on that,” Raph shrugged, reaching over to grab his tea. It smelled sweeter than usual- the way Raph liked it. It was always less sweet when Dad made it. Leo hummed, and the sheets on Raph’s bed rustled as he relaxed against them.
“Yeah. I should.”