Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nighttime is always quiet in the sewers. Which should be a ridiculous notion, considering they live in New York. Just a few yards above the small sectioned off sewer hub Leo and his family calls home, New York is alive with activity.

If Leo closes his eyes and imagines, he can picture it clearly: cars honking, sirens blaring, construction crews working and shouting, milling crowds of people walking to and fro, news reports broadcasted on grand billboards, all of it mixing together in a great cacophony of sound.

Leo smiles a little at the thought, and opens his eyes. He’s perched in his favorite seat at the dining room table, leaning halfway over his science homework, trying desperately not to fall asleep. A sigh leaves his throat, and he rubs his tired eyes a bit to try and wake up. It’s not even very late for him, barely midnight, but for some reason tonight is the night his body has decided to shut down. Which is annoying, because he has a science project due on Tuesday.

Technically he’s got time, it’s only Saturday. But between helping April with her most recent investigation, keeping his brothers out of trouble from their newfound freedom, and combating each and every new criminal who has popped up in the wake of his family’s introduction to society, well, he really needs to get this done ahead of time. But instead of getting some work done after everyone else has gone to bed, like he’d planned, he’s slowly losing the battle against sleep.

Leo glances around the room to wake himself up. His brain starts taking a mental inventory—a little trait he’s developed ever since their home’s occupants went from five to fourteen. Raph calls it his Batscan—which Leo can rate as second in the list of worst names ever given to him by his brothers; it would be first, but Nardo is still resolutely awful—but it actually is a useful tool. Leo can find his brothers much easier in a fight now, able to assess them and their conditions faster than before. He has caught himself doing it at odd times of day and night though. He shouldn’t be so paranoid—as he’s been told again and again by his brothers—but habits die hard, and Leo scans anyway.

Ray-Fillet and Leatherhead are knocked out on the couch; they’d been binge watching all the British tv shows earlier, and finally seem to have conked out. Wignut has curled around Ganghus Frog in Dad’s chair, and both making an impressive impersonation of chainsaws. Pete is on the floor, in the weirdest position imaginable for sleep. He’s not really sure where Bepob and Rocksteady are. Maybe topside—they’ve been wandering recently—and Leo tries not to worry about what they’re up to just yet; he’ll wait until an alert comes in and deal with the fallout then. Mondo must be out too, and now that Leo thinks about it, the Gecko had mentioned going out to skate with his friends earlier.

Dad and Scumbug are asleep in their room—a new addition they’d built into the sewer home not long after their new family moved in—and his brothers are in their room. Leo has no mistaken belief that his brothers are actually asleep, but he hopes they’re at least resting.

He leans his cheek on a fist, and absentmindedly stabs at his notebook with a pencil.

He needs to be working.

A soft drip of water sounds in the background, mixing with the soft breathing and snoring of his cousins. The single string of twinkle lights that are still on to give him reading light hums with electricity.

Leo doesn’t even realize he’s closed his eyes until a sharp snore from Leatherhead startles him awake.

Leo blinks harshly, straightening in his seat with a grumble. For a second, he wishes the city noise from above was audible here. Right now, the sewers' innate silence is more disruptive to his plan than it is helpful. He stretches in the chair, bending his back a little and then twisting from side to side. His shell twinges, not enough to be called painful, but definitely uncomfortable. Leo winces, and hunches back before it can shift anymore.

He buries his face in his palms and sighs.

It’s been two months since Superfly.

Thinking about the fight is like a fever dream; he watches the memory play out through blurred lenses. He knows it happened, but believing they came out ok, is a different hurdle entirely. He should be glad all they have to show for it is a collective of bruises, scrapes and the hairline fractures in their shells.

Leo shudders at the last one.

He’s never had a cracked shell before now. All he knew of them before is what Donnie related, back when Mikey would get into medical shows and demand Donnie help him understand what the doctors were talking about. From the little he knows, and what Donnie had whispered their first night back from the fight, it’s a miracle the outcome hadn’t been worse. They’d had to visit the hospital—which now apparently has an on-call Veterinarian, in the wake of New York’s new mutant residents—but even the doctors there couldn’t do very much. A bit of epoxy and staples, very strong anti-inflammatories and analgesics, and strict instructions to rest.

Leo shudders at the whole ordeal, but it was for the best, and their shells are healing fine. Aside from the odd discomfort, like when Leo stretches, or when Mikey does too many stunts in improv class and has to rest when he gets home, they’re ok.

Everything is ok.

Leo sighs, and wonders how long he’s going to keep lying to himself, just to avoid the sour pit of anxiety that’s sitting in his gut. His new little companion is always there, coiling, burning, eating at him from the inside out. He’s always been a worrier—being the oldest comes with its downsides—but after everything, his worry meter always seems to be alive.

Because, it’s just been two months since Superfly. And already, another fight has happened.

Bishop had come out of nowhere.

Leo bites down on his teeth, enough for his jaw to ache, and stands up. It’s midnight; he doesn't want to do this right now.

There’s no use trying to do homework, not anymore. So Leo softly folds his notebook, stacks it on top of his Science workbook and assignment papers, gathers all of it into his arms, and quietly tiptoes into his brothers’ room.

The sight of their soft twinkle lights shimmering against the walls, and the small puddle of water in one corner of the floor greets him.

Leo can’t help but feel calmed by it. He does a brief once over of the room to ensure his brothers are settled properly. Donnie isn’t asleep—no big surprise there—but the blankets are drawn up to his chin, his headphones on and his nose is buried in a comic book. He has no doubt Donnie knows he’s entered the room, but his little brother gives no outward indication that he’s going to greet or acknowledge him. Leo smiles softly at the display. At least Donnie isn’t on his phone; the blue light is bad enough for any of them this late at night.

They all need to be resting after yesterday.

Leo pushes the shadows of that memory away, and turns to his youngest brother. Mikey is on his phone, and doesn’t even bother hiding the sly grin of defiance that he shoots at Leo. Despite himself, Leo smiles at that too. It’s not like he can say much—he has a record of staying up late on his phone just as much as his brothers do.

Raph is asleep at least, his shell turned to the rest of the room, no doubt to block out the light and sounds.

Leo makes sure to tiptoe quietly past his sleeping brother, and stuffs his homework into the backpack sitting beside his bed. He crawls on his mattress, and pulls his blankets up just enough to cover his plastron. A soft sigh leaves his diaphragm, and after another brief scan of the room, he closes his eyes.

҉

Maybe Leo’s cursed when it comes to sleep.

Or maybe his body really is rebelling against him tonight. Because instead of winding down, his brain is waking up. He’s been lying in bed for a solid thirty minutes, eyes closed, trying to sleep, and instead all he’s succeeded in is replaying Adele’s latest album in his head.

Endless thoughts swirl around his mind’s eye, along with the internal music: Monday’s class schedule, when he’s going to need to help Raph with math homework because Donnie did it last week, the ballgame they’re supposed to attend on Thursday, and when they’ll need to enroll for next year's classes. Eastman high was kind enough to accept them this late in the school year, but only under the condition that they’ll test for grade placement at the beginning of fall semester.

Leo huffs softly, opening his eyes and giving up the fight for sleep. And because his body is determined to spite him, a yawn overtakes him. He’s left with an infuriating sense of exhaustion in its wake, and groans uselessly into his arm.

Instead of taking his frustration out on the blankets he’s fiddling with, Leo grabs his phone and begins to scroll through his social media. It’s a mind-numbing activity—he’d much rather be working on his story-comic, but that would mean turning a lamp on and he doesn’t want to get up right now—he’s not really placated by it, but at least it’s better than staring at the rebar sticking out of his concrete ceiling. He scrolls through endless videos and then transfers over to his camera roll when the digital clock above his head switches to 1 o’clock in the morning.

From the tent beside his bed, he can hear Donnie shifting in his covers. A faint bleat of music escapes from the headphones, and Leo scrunches his beak at the volume of it.

Honestly, does BTS really need to be that loud?

Mikey’s bunk isn’t bathed in bright light anymore, and he realizes his brother has finally nodded off.

Overall, the bedroom is quiet.

So when a soft grunt sounds from Raph’s bed ten minutes later, it might as well be a shout. Leo furrows his brow, and turns off his phone to watch the back of Raph’s shell.

Raph has always been vocal in his sleep, even the occasional fighting and kicking. But Leo can’t help the small pit of anxiety in his gut from churning to life. When another grunt sounds, it’s rougher, louder, more like a groan. Leo rises to his elbows instantly and narrows his eyes. It’s not an alarming sound, per-se, but something about it sends chills down Leo’s arms.

A few more silent moments pass, and Raph turns over in his bed. His movements are slow, stiff, even in sleep, and he inhales a little sharply as he turns. Once Raph is flat on his carapace, Leo can see the way his face is scrunched up, eye ridges furrowed and mouth pinched tightly. Without his mask on, Raph’s scrapes and bruises from the fight the day before shine starkly. Leo notices a little abruptly that the breaths his brother is taking are shallow, clipped and short. The churning pit in Leo’s gut flares to life, and in its wake his heart begins to thump faster. Leo is out of the bed and beside Raph with startling speed.

“Raph?” His whisper is soft, tentative, as he kneels down beside his brother’s bed. Leo reaches out a hand to help, but realizes with a little bit of shame that he doesn’t actually know what’s wrong.

His brother is grimacing now, panting in shallow bursts that can’t be giving him enough air. A clipped whine leaves Raph’s throat, and it’s enough to send all the nerves in Leo’s body to red alert. Something primal and instinctual activates in his chest, forcing him to find the cause of pain and fix it, because Raph should never make that sound. That sound is born of hurt and fear, and it should only be for other people, not Leo’s little brother. Leo reaches for Raph, and hesitates again because he can’t find any wound.

His hands hover uselessly above Raph’s plastron.

What happened?

Raph’s hurt, it’s obvious, but where?

Raph shifts a little, from one side to the other, almost like he wants to roll back onto his left side. When he does something changes. His breathing hitches, a sharp gasp sucking in, and his face contorts in sleep. Another whine splits Leo’s ears, and he feels of Raph's left side instantly. Only a small amount of pressure and Raph is openly gasping in his sleep.

Ribs. It has to be, nothing else would cause Raph so much pain and stay out of sight.

The events of yesterday bombard Leo like he’s taken a hit from the Mechazoid all over again.

So much happened, Raph could have been hurt at any time, whether in the initial fight, the explosion, or the last battle. And, didn’t Raph say he’d been abducted by small-time criminals? The Purple Dragons?

Leo can feel the blood drain from his cheeks, and he gapes at his sleeping brother.

Raph hadn’t made a big deal out of it, he’d downplayed mentioning the gang to such a degree that Leo had thought them to be amateurs that Raph had amused himself with before coming back for Bishop.

Obviously, they’d done more damage than Raph had let on.

Leo’s fists are clenched so tightly, his nails bite into his palms.

Someone hurt his little brother.

And he hadn’t noticed. He should have noticed.

Granted, they were fighting Mechazoids when he’d reunited with his brothers. His focus had been on the robots trying to actively kill them. He hadn’t really been paying attention to his brother’s physical conditions. They were all there, alive and well—no physical injuries visible—and in the moment, that was all that had mattered.

If only he had watched, observed, really examined them, like a leader should. Like a big brother should.

Raph had barreled into the fight headfirst, excited and wild. He’d exchanged banter with them all, and even the Bishop. Leo’s little brother had seemed fine. They’d gotten home, told their Dad the big story—and ho boy had they gotten the lecture of the century—and gone to bed.

Leo should have done a once over on everyone. They’ve only been in two massive fights within several weeks time, he knows they’re new to this. They’re amateurs at best, and the inevitable outcome of injury has been staring him in the face since he first stepped foot in Superfly’s van.

Leo should have checked.

He should have seen the signs—

Raph’s next breath stutters, and he wheezes a little. Leo snaps out of his self-pity in an instant, nerves catching fire underneath his skin.

Raph’s not getting adequate air.

This realization slams into Leo like Superfly’s kick. Another wave of panic surfaces along with the new discovery. He’s out of his depth here. His knowledge of broken ribs goes about as far as the cracked shells: inadequate and lacking.

Leo pivots on his knees enough to peak inside Donnie’s tent. Donnie is sitting up straight, headphones off, glasses on, dark brown eyes intently watching, poised and ready. Leo’s stomach is doing somersaults with worry, but he can’t help the surge of warmth in his chest at the sight. Donnie always catches things before the rest of them.

“Help me.” Leo whispers, and that’s all it takes.

Donnie is there instantly, gently pressing Raph’s side where he no doubt saw Leo feel earlier, “What happened?”

Leo looks away in shame, “I….I don’t know. It has to be from the fight but I don’t know when.”

“Yeah,” Donnie winces when he finds the injury and Raph gasps, “Definitely his ribs.”

“But he’s not breathing right.” Leo presses, his brow scrunched tightly, “Why’s he not breathing right?”

Donnie’s eyes are focused, but there’s fear in them too, “I..I don’t know, pain, maybe?”

“What’d ya mean you don’t know??” Leo can’t help the tone of panic that creeps into his words.

“I don’t know! I’m not a doctor!” Donnie throws his hands out, eyes wide and frightened, “All I know is from the books and articles I’ve read on it; broken ribs could mean anything!”

Leo closes his eyes and breathes in, willing himself to calm down, “Ok, it’s ok Donnie, I know.”

A few silent moments settle, filled with unspoken worry and tension. Raph’s ragged breathing is all that bridges the chasm. Leo’s hand finds Raph’s and he grips it tightly, if only to feel his brother’s warmth.

“It could be that they’ve shifted?” Donnie pipes up, and Leo notices now that he’s been researching in the interim, “Or, or maybe the way he’s laying flat! Yeah! That’s not good the first few days!”

Leo brightens, “Of course! Good thinking! See; I knew you could do it.”

“But that doesn’t explain why he’s feverish…” Donnie looks up from his phone, dark eyes once again scrutinizing Raph.

Leo blinks, confused, and looks at Raph again. His brother’s natural green cheeks are flushed. There’s a fine sheen of sweat along his brow. He’s shivering, even under the heavy blankets of his bed.

Something like lead drops in Leo’s stomach. How did he miss that?

Leo grits his teeth, squeezing Raph’s hand tighter. He looks to Donnie for something, anything that can help, but his brother seems just as lost as he feels.

“We need dad.” He admits after a moment.

Donnie nods, darting to his feet and rushing out of their room.

“Leo?” The soft whisper maneuvers Leo’s worry from one brother to another.

Mikey is awake, half leaned over his bunk, wide eyed and expectant, “What’s wrong?”

Leo can’t help the way his eyes scrunch, “It’s, it’s Raph.”

Mikey leaps down instantly, landing in a crouch next to Leo. The youngest examines Raph and turns wide, fearful eyes back to Leo. Looking for an explanation. A reassurance. Anything to promise that things are ok.

But they aren’t, are they?

Raph’s hurt. Really, seriously hurt. The fact sends cold chills down Leo’s spine.

For a second, he’s not in their bedroom. He’s back in Superfly’s claw, trapped, in pain, and forced to listen to his brothers’ dying screams.

Leo blinks to rid himself of the image, and forces a smile, “We’ll figure it out, ok? Dad’s coming.”

Mikey nods, not quite convinced, but the panicked tinge to his eyes is gone. The youngest begins rubbing his hands over one another, and goes back to watching Raph intently.

Leo’s insides twist painfully at the sight, but he can do nothing to ease the worry.

What feels like an eternity passes, and then both Donnie and Dad are back. Leo can see the fear in his father’s eyes, but instead of panicking like Leo worried, Splinter softly nudges Mikey to the side and crouches beside Raph. There’s a pinch of intensity to his father’s face, something like understanding in the way his eyes are narrowed and his mouth is downturned. Leo backs up a little so his Dad can feel Raph's brow.

Raph’s eye ridges scrunch up at the touch, and he leans into his father’s hands. Leo feels like he’s been doused in cold water. Raph may not be the oldest, but he acts like it a lot of times. He’s the tough one, if only to protect Mikey and Donnie—and Leo knows that Raph includes him in that grouping too, but he’s the oldest, he shouldn’t have to be the one protected. Leo can count on his hands how many times Raph has shown a need for closeness. For him to display such an instinctual need for touch now, is a testament to how severe the pain is, even in sleep.

“Donnie told me it is ribs.” Dad looks at Leo expectantly, for an answer, a reason.

Leo feels small and unworthy under the gaze, “We think so Dad. I didn’t know…he—he didn’t say anything but it had to be from the fight and—“

“Leo.” A warm hand settles on his shoulder. It takes all his willpower to meet his father’s gaze. Instead of disappointment, there’s kindness, understanding in Dad’s eyes, “You did good.”

The churning pit of fire in Leo’s stomach eases instantly. His shoulders slump under the relief of his father’s reassurance.

“We need to lift his upper body Dad.” Donnie pipes up, “He can’t breathe right like this.”

Their father nods once.

Raph’s hand trembles in Leo’s grasp. Leo looks up to see Raph shivering again, brow scrunched, mouth slightly agar as he pants in his sleep. Leo’s body moves before he can understand why, his tongue unsticking itself from the roof of his mouth and speaking without his permission, “I’ll do it.”

“Hm?” Donnie looks up, a little bemused until Leo starts shifting so he can scoot in behind Raph.

“Good idea.” Their dad admits, and moves to help lift Raph up, “We’ll need to cool him down, but you can keep him from turning back over while we do that.”

Leo nods as he slips into the bed behind his brother. He takes the pillow and places it in the nook between the vent and the wall, so Raph can lay on his uninjured side while still being supported by Leo’s frame. Dad gently lowers his brother back down, laying his head on Leo’s shoulder, and shifting his body to lay on the right side.

Raph’s relief shows instantly, his face visibly smoothing out as pressure is lifted from his side. A sigh leaves his brother’s frame, and Leo finds himself sighing too.

“Donnie, get some cold water and rags. We will bring his temperature down with that. Mikey, grab some more blankets.” Dad is a flurry of movement, directing the brothers to gather supplies, following them out in the process.

Mikey and Donnie both share a look that Leo thinks is fear, then watch Raph for a moment, before snapping to action. Leo watches the exchange in a detached sort of haze. Raph is heavy against his side, but Leo takes comfort in the physical reassurance that his brother is still here.

Holding Raph eases something deep in Leo’s heart. It feels like safety, like home, even though Leo is the one providing the support. Like when they would all pile up with Splinter to sleep as children. Back when their lives were full of simple love and wonder.

They’ve grown now. So much bigger than they were back then. It’s honestly a miracle Leo can even fit in Raph’s bed. But the gesture is the same, after all this time.

Raph’s pulse is steady underneath Leo’s hand.

When the others return—that was fast, how did Leo miss them coming back?—and start placing cold rags on Raph’s forehead and neck, the reaction is like lightning. Raph whines against Leo’s chest, curling inward in a desperate attempt to escape the cold. A desperate, small chirp slips past Raph’s beak, and his body shivers again.

Leo’s shoulders seize, his lungs solidifying into something rigid and taught.

When was the last time Raph actually chirped?

Leo’s heart does a flip in his chest, before hammering wildly against his plastron. He holds Raph a little closer, tucking his brother’s head more securely under his chin. He looks to his father, who’s wearing a sad grimace. Donnie and Mikey are frozen, visibly shaken by the outright display of fear and pain from their toughest sibling.

Leo rubs his free hand over Raph’s arm, if only to reassure himself that his brother is still here.

Something is niggling at Leo’s thoughts. A little prick that keeps tapping at the base of his neck. It’s cold and foreboding, and it trickles from his spine into his gut.

Because Raph is still asleep.

Through all the poking and prodding, the shuffling to elevate him, even the cold that provoked an instinctual chirp, he hasn’t stirred once. Leo can practically feel the heat radiating off his larger sibling.

And it’s worrying him.

Their dad finishes wiping Raph’s brow, and sits on the foot of the bed. He has to hunch over just to fit, and somehow, the image of him folded over makes Leo’s stomach twist. He’s never really thought of his father as old. Tired maybe, overprotective definitely, but never fragile.

Here, in the darkness of the night, Splinter looks ancient.

Leo swallows the dry lump in his throat, and looks away.

“We.” His father’s sigh is shaky, “We should get, doctor tomorrow.”

If a gun had gone off the reaction would have been better. Leo thinks he might implode, the way his gut sinks. Mikey and Donnie are gaping from beside the bed, stone quiet.

Such an admission from their father is more frightening than Raph’s silence. Splinter must be worried—terribly worried—if he wants humans to help. All of them, including their father, had spent some time in the hospital after Superfly. He thinks Splinter might have protested it though, had it not been for his own injury, and April’s avid insistence. After that, Splinter’s trust in humans began to improve. But Leo still saw the way his father would tense up when they traveled above ground. Trusting something as delicate and precious to Splinter as one of his sons, to the care of humans, is a testament of how bad this is.

Raph inhales sharply, brow pinched, and burrows deeper into Leo’s side. The motion is equal parts tender and frightening. Leo holds his brother closer, if only to hide the tremble in his own hands.

“We can take turns watching him.” Donnie breaks the silence, “And tomorrow I’ll text April. She’ll know which hospital is better.”

Leo nods wordlessly, rubbing circles into Raph’s shell. Mikey shifts closer to the bed, and rests a light hand on Raph’s arm, just above where Leo is holding it.

Something raw and painful twists in Leo’s heart when the youngest looks at him with those soft, wide chocolate eyes. There’s desperation in Mikey’s gaze, unobtrusive and penetrating, pleading for answers Leo can’t give. It makes the nerves shifting underneath his skin flare back to life, adding fire to the hot pit in his stomach.

His reprieve comes in Donnie, who nudges Mikey gently to move and help, but Leo is still left hollowed in the wake of his gaze. His younger brothers begin moving around, shuffling pillows and blankets and chairs until they’ve constructed a nest of soft objects around the base of Raph’s bed. Splinter gives Raph’s knee a soft pat, and stands back up, “Get your rest boys. I’ll be here.”

With soft motions, his father rises from the bed, and pads quietly out of the room. Leo doesn’t think it’s but a minute before his father returns, pulling his old rocking chair into the corner of their room where he would always sleep when they were little. Another piece of Leo’s heart shatters.

Donnie and Mikey have nestled into the cushions in front of the bed. Donnie’s resumed researching on his laptop, and Mikey has burrowed into his side, head resting on his shoulder. Leo feels a little bit of safety knowing they’re near. Raph’s breath puffs warm against Leo’s collarbone.

Their room falls quiet again as the minutes pass. Leo can hear Donnie tapping away at the computer, and Dad’s soft snores from the corner. It’s comforting, like the solid warmth of Raph laying against his side. Leo tries to take refuge in that. He tries not to think about the way Raph’s breathing stutters and wheezes. He tries to avoid the shifting nerves under his skin, the thoughts swirling in his head. He’s never been good at avoiding his own doubts, though.

Because Raph is hurt. And somewhere deep in the corners of his mind, Leo knows it’s not going to be the last time.

When did their lives become so dangerous?

All he and his brothers ever wanted was to be normal. They are now, for the most part. But, things keep happening. Incidents, mishaps, crimes they can’t turn a blind eye to anymore. New and exciting villains are purposely stepping in their paths; testing their power, their skills…their limits. Calls for help, deliberately for them, and only them. And how could they ever turn a blind eye to that? They have the chance to help, so they always do.

Raph shifts under his hands, and Leo wonders if their new status in the world is all that good. What good is helping, when all that results from it, is this? When will helping end up with one of them injured beyond the point of return. What will he do…if he’s ever forced to say goodbye to one of his brothers?

Leo knows, deep in his heart, that he’ll break if he ever has to face that. He’s nothing without his family. To lose them will never be an option. He’ll take the blow, the killing shot, the disease, the torture. He’ll take all of it a thousand times over, if it means they will be ok. Their safety is all that matters.

And yet, isn’t that what he’s already failed to do? Isn’t Leo already holding one of his brothers close, for fear he might slip away in the shadows of the night? Leo swallows thickly, ignoring the way his breathing is beginning to speed up. He’s already failed, in the most basic aspect of his duty to his family. What else will happen, that he won’t be able to stop? Something icy-hot shivers underneath his skin, close to his heart, at the thought. He gasps a little, sucking in short breaths to try and stop himself from spiraling.

Will he ever be fast enough, attentive enough, to protect them?

What happens when he’s not there, like he hadn’t been there with the Mechazoids, the Dragons?

Who is he going to lose, before he finally gets it right?

Leo’s head spins with the endless possibilities, outcomes, tragedies, unforeseen obstacles, and it pulls him under the waters of his own grief. He can’t breathe, his heart is pounding against his chest—its relentless it won’t stop why won’t it stop it hurts—he can’t get a grip—

“Leo.”

Leo blinks abruptly. The ringing in his ears melts away, pulled back from the depths of his mind. It takes a second for his vision to focus, but he manages to meet Donnie’s eyes anyway. His little brother has closed the computer, and removed his glasses; Mikey has long fallen asleep against him. So instead of poking Leo—as he usually does to break through into his thoughts—Donnie has taken his staff and solidly pressed it to the side of Leo’s plastron. Leo exhales softly.

Donnie’s expression twists into one of understanding and concern. He frowns and finishes, “Go to sleep.”

Leo huffs a little, and smiles weakly, “Thanks Donnie.”

His brother nods, a return smile gracing his lips but not quite reaching his eyes. Leo lays his head back, watching the bottom of Mikey’s bed and resumes rubbing circles in Raph’s shell. He waits until Donnie nods off to try and actually go to sleep himself. His nerves are still there, shivering, rustling, buzzing right under his skin. But they feel muted now. Uncertainties still whisper at him, poke at his thoughts from the shadows, but they aren’t as loud as they were a moment ago.

Leo closes his eyes against the onslaught of his own mind, and exhales. He focuses on the pulse thumping underneath his hand. He listens to the sound of Mikey’s soft breaths, and Donnie’s rustling as he moves in his sleep. Beyond their room, he can hear the muted snores echoing from Leatherhead and Ghangus Frog. The fairy lights hum, and puddle water drips steady from the corner of the room.

Slowly, gradually, Leo’s heart calms down. The fire in his gut and the ants in his skin fade into cool shadows. Raph’s shell is rough against his left hand. Blankets pool around them both, trapping the heat inside their impromptu sleepover bed. Leo breathes in, and out. Raph twists a little in his sleep, burrowing deeper against Leo’s side. The motion alleviates what’s left of Leo’s nerves, and he relaxes against Raph’s larger frame.

Soft wisps of drowsiness creep along the edges of his mind. Around him, the sounds of his family are echoing around the room. They’re all here, safe and sound. A bit banged up, and in need of serious talking to tomorrow. But that’s ok. He’ll figure it out.

They’ll be ok.

Leo doesn’t know what the future holds. He’s not sure he likes where this path will lead. But helping others isn’t so bad. He finds with each new victory, that he likes it. There’s risks, as there will be for everything.

But he has his family.

And together, they can do anything.

Chapter Text

Raph’s senses return to him slowly.

It’s like a soft trickle of awareness, light and warm as it creeps into his mind and chases away the shadows. He becomes aware of the soft rustling of covers, a drip of water, the hum of his brother’s fairy lights, tapping keyboards, and muted whispers. The feel of bedsheets against his skin, shifting slightly as he moves. He’s cold, colder than he usually is, but for some reason he’s not shivering. His face feels hot, like a fire is simmering under his skin. But there’s also something cool and wet on his forehead, and it’s making him feel a little better.

He’s…leaning on something. Something warm and safe, solid yet pliable. The makeshift bed shifts underneath him, and Raph realizes someone is holding him. Amid the fog of his brain, he knows he should feel upset about that. He doesn’t have the energy to be bothered by it though, and melts into the embrace.

The arms encircling him are gentle; firm and grounding, but careful in their hold. A three fingered hand rubs his arm and carapace in smooth circular motions. He knows almost instantly that Leo is the one holding him. Raph’s next exhale is lighter, weightless in the soothing confines of his brother’s arms.

How long has it been since they held each other?

Sure, they hug all the time. Hug and pounce, topple over one another in the rowdy way only brothers can. But truly, it has been ages since they actually piled into one another’s bed for the night. Growing larger, and hitting the age where suddenly having their own space was a huge issue, meant less nights spent in impromptu turtle piles.

Finding himself in one now—no matter how small—is comforting in a way Raph hasn’t needed for years. He wonders why he ever thought he didn’t want it. Far beneath the haze of his sleepy thoughts, he wishes to stay here forever. Leo gives the best hugs, and though Raph will never admit it, he misses being on the receiving end of them.

Something must have happened, to prompt this cuddle. Leo doesn’t just join them for sleepovers anymore—he’s gotten more sensitive to their complaints of personal space, recently—so whatever made the oldest crawl into Raph’s bed must have been huge.

There’s a pressure in his diaphragm, like he’s taken a hit but can’t feel the pain yet.

That’s…odd.

He shifts, and something in his ribs moves. Sharp, searing fire shoots through his side, and Raph gasps.

His eyes dart open, blurry vision swirling before him for a moment before settling into a dark clarity. Raph scrunches his beak, and blinks harshly to clear his eyes. The blurred outline of his room is awash in amber lighting.

Even though they like sleeping in total darkness, sometimes Leo will leave the fairy lights on, to make an ambient light in the night. Leo always said it was for Mikey—who makes impromptu bathroom runs in the night—but Raph knows it's actually for him. Raph has never liked the dark. It’s a silly fear, and he’s never really focused on it long enough to figure out why it plagues him. Of course that also means he’s never told anyone about it. But Leo knows: there’s no other reason for him to leave the fairy lights on so often.

They’re on now, softly glowing from somewhere behind Raph’s bunk. Under their light, Raph feels safe. From this angle, he can see the lower half of Leo’s plastron, where they’re both covered by several blankets. Raph shivers, and burrows deeper against his brother. His side spasms, shooting another fiery prick into his lungs, and Raph has to clench his teeth just to stop from audibly crying.

Leo shifts underneath him, hands stilling. Raph can feel Leo’s chin lift from where it was previously resting atop his head.

“Raph?” His big brother’s voice is soft, so gentle and loving but there's an undertone of anxiety, of fear, and it makes Raph uncomfortable.

He doesn’t really want to try moving, not since his first attempts have left him frozen in fiery agony. Instead—and he will deny this later—he nuzzles the side of his head against Leo’s plastron and cherishes the warmth there.

He tries to respond, at least let Leo know he’s ok. But for some reason, his tongue is heavy and dry, and his throat doesn’t want to move right; all that comes out is a muffled, “L’o…m’ cold.”

And Raph might feel a tiny bit ashamed that he’s admitting to being cold. He hates the way fever makes his barriers crumble. But obviously, Leo has no such reservations about vulnerability.

Instantly, his brother is moving.

Not enough to jostle Raph’s ribs—it's his ribs that hurt; he remembers that now, from the fight, from the explosion—but enough to pull the covers higher. Once the five fuzzy blankets are securely pulled up to Raph’s chin, Leo’s arms wound around him again.

Raph can’t help the sigh that leaves his lips when Leo’s chin comes back to rest on his head.

Slowly, the warmth begins trickling back into his body.

From the ground beside his bunk, something moves.

Raph has to stare at the dark spot a long time before he can make out the sleeping forms of his two other brothers.

Donnie is nestled in a massive pile of pillows, the blankets pooled around his waist. Mikey has draped himself over Donnie’s plastron, arms haphazardly thrown over his brother’s shoulder and looped in his arm. Mikey’s blanket does a good job of covering them both.

Across the room, a snore sounds. Raph has to turn his head a little, but he can see the outline of his father in the corner, slumbering away in the old chair he used to pile all of them into when they were babies.

Something in Raph’s heart spasms. Warmth spills over into his chest.

“Hey Raph?” Leo’s whisper rumbles deep in his chest, and Raph takes a second to cherish the vibrations as they travel down his brother’s plastron.

He hums in answer.

A few seconds of silence tick by.

And then, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Heavy lead drops in Raph’s stomach. His heart twinges with guilt.

He hadn’t thought to tell anyone about his ribs yesterday. Sure, they had hurt like nothing else—not nothing else, Superfly had cracked his shell as easily as one cracks a toothpick, he hadn’t thought he’d make it out alive—but in the aftermath of the battle, the pain had been hazy, small.

Raph knows pain. He knows how to take punches. He’s actually really good at it. Kind of like a shield. He grins loopily at that thought; maybe he can start using that phrase as a punchline in their next battle. Enduring pain is almost like an exercise to him. The more he can take, the better he’ll be at protecting smaller people—like Donnie, like Mikey—from injury.

So a few broken ribs didn’t seem like a big deal the night after Bishop. Raph had felt a bit worse today, but he’d just brushed it off as side-effects of being in an explosion, almost drowning, and getting beat up.

There hadn’t been any reason to worry Leo about it.

Raph hates giving Leo more to worry about. He can tease, connive, annoy, and downright shame Leo. But worrying his big brother? No, he can’t do that. Leo can worry himself into an early grave all on his own, and that’s on a good day.

And after Superfly, well, Leo’s been on edge. Raph doesn’t want to contribute to that. So he didn’t say anything. He’d gone to bed with a dull, persistent ache in his side, and a chill to his bones. Obviously, something had happened during his pseudo-knock out time.

Bitter guilt churns in his gut. Leo’s arms tighten a little more around him.

He manages to whisper, “Ws’nt too b’d.”

Leo huffs softly, “Raph, you weren’t breathing right. The pain alone gave you a fever, man. All the shifting you were doing in your sleep could have made it worse.”

Raph closes his eyes. His throat feels tight, “S’rry.”

He rests for a moment, considering letting that be it, before adding, “Dn’t wnt t’ worry you.”

Leo’s frame deflates instantly, “Oh…”

Raph feels a little bit of tension curl into his neck. There it is, in Leo’s tone. The guilt, the…pity. He’s gone and done the one thing he was trying so desperately to avoid.

Leo apparently picks up on Raph’s reaction, because his hand moves from Raph’s shell to rub his neck, right where the cord of tension is taught and painful. Raph sighs a little.

“Don’t worry about me, dude. It’s too late to talk about this anyway. Just rest, we’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Raph almost wants to argue, to explain himself here and now and make Leo understand why he didn’t tell them. But his side is aching again, and the chill in his bones is waning away. Leo’s arms are secure around him, and Raph’s body is ready to give up its brief fight with consciousness.

“M’kay.” Raph sighs, leaning into Leo’s warmth.

Soft darkness creeps back into the edges of his mind. Secure in his brother’s arms, Raph isn’t afraid to let it take him

҉

“I don’t like this.” Raph’s voice feels gruff and scratchy against his throat.

He’s being escorted quite loudly into the hospital waiting room, flanked on either side by Leo and Donnie. Dad and April have already pulled ahead to meet the staff and fill out the paperwork, which leaves Raph’s only moral-support in Mikey. Said brother is currently in front of Raph, walking backwards, wildly gesturing with both hands as he explains his theory about what medicines Raph will have to take and how long he’ll have to rest at home.

Everything about the situation is irking, and despite Raph’s best effort to stay calm about being dragged into a hospital against his will, he’s starting to slip. They tumble through the second entrance doors with a crash.

Right on cue, all of the people in the waiting room look up at once.

All eyes are on Raph.

His skin crawls under the stares. A scowl twists over his face, a soft growl rumbling in his throat.

Leo shifts from beside him, and sighs, “It’s not forever Raph. We just gotta be sure ok?”

“What can they do for this?” Raph grumbles, looking at his feet as they maneuver to where April and Dad are standing, “Ribs don’t have an easy fix, Leo.”

He knows Leo’s glaring at him by the way his brother’s frame straightens.

Raph doesn’t look up.

Leo sounds like a tired dad when he chides, “I think we’re more worried about the fever it’s caused, Raph. Unless you’re shaking in your trainers because you're excited to be here?”

Raph gives his big brother the nastiest scowl he can muster—which isn’t all that strong—before deflating like a popped balloon. Suddenly, the whole venture is just so exhausting.

He hates hospitals.

“C’mon Raph, it’s just a checkup, man,” Donnie sighs, and Raph can practically feel the eye-roll his brother is throwing at him, “You don’t have to like it.”

Raph sends another spectacular glare to his brother, though this one doesn’t have any fire to it either.

Mikey takes the lull to throw in a bone, “And besides! It means we can see Dr. Lewis again! Sure it takes one of us getting seriously injured to see her but hey, at least it’s the thought that counts!”

“You just want her to teach you how to use a scalpel.” Leo deadpans, crossing his arms. Raph can’t help but snort at the fact.

Mikey meeting a Veterinarian willing to teach him medicine is either going to be the best or worst thing that happens to them all. At least he’s taking an interest in something other than improv and bad jokes.

“What? Medical shows can only teach so much! I need the real deal! And finally I’ve got a way to learn it!” Mikey leaps in place a few times, gesturing wildly with his arms.

“You sound like a junkie who’s gotten access to a dealer.” Donnie chides, but it only earns a laugh from Mikey.

Raph can’t help the small smile that spreads over his face, and shoots an amused look at Leo. His older brother is grinning at the youngest with something like pride.

“Alright boys.” Splinter is here now, raffling through a clipboard of papers, “Let’s get a seat and wait. Vet is on her way.”

Mikey non-discreetly whoops, links an arm with April and practically drags her to the seats. Raph sighs a little at the reprieve—April can take one for the team, he’s quite frankly tired of hearing all the different types of needles that can be used in surgery—and lets Leo and Donnie guide him to the seats.

Raph sits, and feels an instant release of pressure in his diaphragm. His exhale is louder than he means for it to be, but at this point he can’t really hide it. Standing and moving really has been putting a strain on the ribs. Raph leans further back into the chair, and tries to ignore the way Leo is staring at him. His brother is practically radiating open concern. Raph closes his eyes, leans his head back against the wall, and lets the sounds of the room permeate his mind.

People are chatting amongst each other, some in excitement, others anxiously, and a few even angrily. A few people are crying. Telephone ringing echoes from behind the front desk, announcements sound over the PA from the triage rooms and subsequent departments. Heels clack, there's a squeaking from someone’s wheelchair, and far outside the building, an ambulance siren is approaching. The air feels cold against his skin, and even with his denim jeans on, his legs are starting to feel chilly from the plastic chair. Raph suppresses a shiver and pulls his red flannel tighter over his plastron.

He doesn't open his eyes. He can still feel Leo’s stare drilling into the side of his head.

He’s grateful for his brother’s concern. Really, he is. If not for Leo he would still be lying miserable in his own bed. But, there's only so much attention one turtle can take before it starts to feel overbearing.

Leo passed overbearing sometime after seven a.m. this morning, and has since sailed right into paranoid.

Raph hopes, sincerely, this visit to the medical professionals will be quick and seamless so he can go back home and collapse on the couch. Really, school is tomorrow! He wanted to do more than get beat up by robots and visit the hospital on a weekend.

But he’s Raph, and when has anything ever gone the way he wanted?

Abruptly, the doors to the ER open, and with it a sharp gust of wind cuts through the room. Raph shivers, and realizes that maybe Leo was right about the fever. He’s…a little dizzy, come to think of it. His body aches, and he wants nothing more than to slouch, but any movement will ignite the pain that’s currently just a dull throb in his ribs. Raph groans softly, half at his ribs, and half in annoyance that he can’t move. He watches distantly as a team of first responders rush in with a critical patient. Something about the sight makes Raph’s own turmoil begin to boil again.

Nothing about this place is fair. Raph might be acting very childish about it right now, but he doesn’t like how unfair this whole incident is. He can feel the irritation stirring deep in his chest, a hot, angry potluck of emotions he’s starting to have trouble keeping a lid on.

That’s always been his problem, the rage that lies coiled just between his fists. He doesn’t like being so easy to rile up—if there’s a universe where he’s calmer, where he can by some miracle control the emotions that threaten to drown him, he thinks maybe there, he’d be happy—but it’s just a fact of who he is.

Raph gets angry. Simple as that.

He doesn’t like the aftermath of his anger. It’s like waking up from a fever dream—which haha jokes on him he actually did that last night—all dazed and confused, then panicking that someone might have been hurt in the frenzied rage. Maybe that’s one solace he has: Raph gets angry, but he refuses to take it out on his family.

Leo…Leo is probably the exception to that. And Raph feels a little guilty about that too, ok? But, the thing is, he needs someone who can combat the anger.

If anyone can handle Raph’s anger, it’s his big brother.

A particularly loud clatter echoes through the already noisy room, and Raph inhales so sharp it hisses through his clenched teeth. He doesn’t like this, he doesn’t like this!
Just when he thinks it’s too much and he won’t be able to stop the inevitable snap, something cool and solid settles on his arm.

Raph opens his eyes and looks down. Leo’s hand is resting on his arm, and though his brother isn’t actively looking at him anymore, the intention is clear. His brother's hand is cool and firm against his skin, stable and grounding. Something eases in Raph’s chest.

By the time Dr. Lewis and her Vet Tech, Adelaide, arrive, Raph is relatively calm again.

“Boys.” Adelaide smiles as she approaches them all; she’s clad in her scrubs and glasses today, but instead of the usual bun, her brunette hair has been cropped short. She gives them all a high-five and then gestures for them to follow her, “Same song second verse. Let’s get your vitals.”

Dr. Lewis has pulled Dad aside, and smiles knowingly at Raph as he passes. Dr. Lewis can’t be more than fifty, but her soft eyes and the grey streaks in her ginger hair make her look like an authority figure. Which means anytime she reprimands, it hits close to home. Raph tries not to growl even though he feels like a child that just got scolded for getting into a fight.

He likes the Vet and all, but the last time he was here she’d stapled his shell back together—after knocking him out with a weird milky liquid—so he can’t help but feel a little wary of her. Leo sighs from his left side, and Raph only has a second to glare back at his brother before he’s pulled to his feet.

They’re led into the small exam room, and Adelaide motions for Raph to sit on the bed. He glances at the sheets as an afterthought. They’re starch white, folded over the hospital bed like seran-wrap, and pressed to perfection. Though the bed frame looks new, there’s a small dent in the railing beside the pillow, almost in the shape of a hand. Raph blinks, and furrows his brow.

No. It can’t be the same bed.

But as he moves to sit down, the handprint shifts completely into view. An indentation, shaped to three large fingers, lies perfectly curved on the small hand guard. Cold chills shoot down Raph’s arms. Suddenly, the room feels too small. In the back of his mind, he can still feel the texture of it underneath his palm.

Raph sits, stiff and rigid. He doesn’t want to look, but his eyes wander anyway. They roam over the walls, the ceiling, and the three other beds positioned around the room. Raph swallows, but it does nothing for his dry throat.

This is the room. The one they stayed in after Superfly’s attack.

Raph sneaks a glimpse at his brothers. They’ve gone a shade paler than usual. Even April seems uncomfortable; she stands by Leo and grips her school-bag reflexively. Raph glances at Leo—always Leo, he’s always reaching for Leo—and wonders if he looks as rattled as his brother does.

They shouldn’t be this sensitive to a room.

Raph shouldn’t be this sensitive to a room.

But when has the world ever complied with what he thinks should be real?

Raph tears his eyes away from his brothers—they’re upset and by more than just the room—if only to allow himself room to breathe again. He sits perfectly rigid, arms pushing down on the mattress on either side of his lap. His ribs grate against each other with each excruciating breath. The beeps and calls filtering through the walls screech against his ears.

Adelaide materializes in front of him in a swirl of red scrubs—he thinks she might be the singular medical person he likes, and only slightly because of her color choice in clothing—and it takes all his willpower not to flinch. She hadn’t been right there before, had she? Or is he just that out of it right now?

Somehow, Adelaide seems to understand his jumpiness. She gives him a small smile, and pats his shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’m not wielding the needles yet. Just rest those ribs. I’m doing a preliminary on your brothers first.”

Raph deflates instantly, and nods at her with a sigh. He can’t help the small grin that grows on his face when his brothers protest the plan. At least he’s not the only victim today.

“That’s not fair!” Mikey backs away as Adelaide begins gathering her tools.

“Yeah! Raph’s the injured one!” Donnie squeaks.

Leo shakes his head, but there’s a hint of apprehension in his eyes too.

“Once overs for everyone.” Adelaide’s tone leaves no room for argument, “I’m not stupid, I saw the news. Broken robot parts all over downtown? An explosion in the docks? And you four here today? I’d say that’s more than a simple coincidence. Dr. Lewis wants all of you checked, and your dad seconded that motion.”

Donnie and Mikey immediately deflate, grumbling to themselves as they shuffle over to the spare bed. April mock waves at them from the chair she’s taken residence in, not a hint of compassion in her laugh or her smile. She might be the only one unscathed from the fight, and Raph actually finds that a bit annoying.

“Mikey, if you want to learn how to take vitals, I’ll let you do Donnie’s first.” Adelaide offers her stethoscope to the youngest, a soft grin on her face.

Mikey squeals his delight, and Donnie looks vaguely horrified. Adelaide winks at Donnie in soft reassurance—he still looks doubtful—and guides them to the bed.

Leo only chuckles a little at the general chaos before he too follows.

Raph grins, even though the joy doesn’t quite reach his gut. He glances over at the stack of paperwork his father and Dr. Lewis are reviewing just outside the hospital room, and feels something tighten in his chest.

It's going to be a long day.

҉

Raph hates the hospital.

Just not for the reason most people do.

He isn’t saddened by the overwhelming amount of sickness and pain that practically bleeds from the walls. He isn’t fazed by the wailing of family members in lone hallways. He doesn’t flinch at the sight of covered bodies being privately whisked behind closed doors. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice suspiciously like Leo’s is telling him he should feel saddened, but he doesn't.

Hospitals are for the sick and the dying, why would he feel exceedingly upset over a simple fact of what is?

No, Raph hates hospitals because of the bed linens. The perfectly starched, ironed, folded and pressed sheets, tucked geometrically over the beds. A white canvas, ready for smudges of blood and pus, excrement and sick.

Raph hates hospitals because of the air. How it stabs his nostrils from the sheer chill, sterile oxygen that feels like it’s filtering his very lungs.

Raph hates the way he feels, sitting on this perfectly clean bed, in a perfectly sterilized room, surrounded by shiny white-washed walls, breathing in that crystal, purified, recycled air.

He is dirty, in a world of clean.

He endures Adelaide taking his vitals, and shivers viciously afterwards.

Since coming into the human world, he’s seen both the good and the bad sides of society. He’s seen the details of human life that—by the simple fact of existing—set him and his brothers apart because they are different.

Hospitals are the epitome of this distinction.

Hospitals hold a higher standard for everything: conduct, manners, knowledge, skill, power, tidiness, cleanliness and overall fulfillment of life. What is Raph—dirty, angry, broken Raph who punches first and asks questions later, who gets loud just because he can, who’s most likely to land someone in the hospital instead of helping them stay out—compared to such a place?

Lacking.

He is lacking, in so many ways.

So after being thoroughly examined, tested, poked and prodded by both Adelaide and Dr. Lewis—told to hold that breath, exhale slowly, blink twice, give more blood, take this, give that, hold the thermometer under his tongue, flex that leg, bend that finger, lie down as cold human hands probe his aching ribs, and ok he needs x-rays too and that’s agony and no don’t fidget!—he’s almost ready to take a running leap for the wall. There’s a nagging, itchy feeling that stirs underneath his shell.

Suddenly, the shower he took last night doesn’t feel like it was enough.

Underneath the fragrance of soap and city air lingering on his skin, he can still smell the sewers. Raph can’t help the way his cheeks flush at the realization. He can feel with uncomfortable clarity, the dirt underneath his fingernails, the dust coating his shell, the nicks and scratches on his face. His ribs are aching again—really they never stopped—throbbing in a dull, agonizing rhythm that threatens to make him lie down. He was promised drugs, but apparently they’re still concocting a dose because being a growing mutant turtle means advanced biology and hence, normal strength drugs don’t work on him.

So Raph sits, fighting the pain and discomfort, waiting for someone else to fix what he’s innately made difficult. Simply by existing. How about that? He’s impossible even for basic science. And sure, he knows that reasoning is probably flawed—something Donnie always reminds him when he starts ranting—but self-pity is all he has right now.

Raph grits his teeth as his youngest brothers begin a scuffle with April over some video on their phone. The itch under his skin begins to concentrate over his injury. Which of course, because pain isn’t enough, now he’s got the inexplicable urge to scratch where his bones are broken.

Everything about today is rapidly devolving into an insufferable living hell and Raph is teetering closer to the point of no return. He needs to hit something, and soon. He shifts—and really when will he stop doing stupid things that hurt him?—and his ribs remind him that no he will not be punching anything anytime soon. Raph gasps a little, doubling over a bit to relieve the pressure in his abdomen, but he’s not sure if it helps anything.

All it really does is alert his family to the discomfort, which isn’t really optimum either, now that he thinks about it.

“Raph!” Leo materializes first because of course he’s the closest one.

Raph bites back the retort that lies perfectly ready to shoot out of his mouth, and instead focuses on breathing. He’s trying very hard not to lash out right now. So he clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches, squeezes the crisp linens into his two fists, and tries to breathe.

His lungs expand and a jolt of hot, burning agony slices through his ribs. Raph chokes on his exhale, spluttering and coughing.

Each and every movement makes the pain worse. Raph’s not sure how much more he can take. His eyes begin to water, and in between his desperate gasping a whine breaks out, high pitched and pain filled and so very afraid. Every breath sends his ribs into a flaming inferno, it consumes every inch of him, it burns, it…it’s too much.

Hands are grabbing him. Not rough or threatening, soft and cool and comforting but it’s not enough because it can’t stop the pain.

Raph gasps and yelps when it sparks another jolt in his ribs. It won’t stop it won’t stop it won’t let him have peace—

Make it stop!

Please make it stop!

Raph whines again, miserable, and leans over his knees. He squeezes his eyes shut to block out the world, wobbly pain filled cries tearing out of his throat.

Vaguely, he can feel his right arm being pulled outward. Something precise and sharp pinches the inside of his elbow, and a cool sensation washes into his veins. Raph chokes on his own gasp, and squeezes his eyes harder. Firm, soft hands are rubbing his carapace—they’re warm, and fuzzy, and he knows Dad is there. Another set of hands, bigger, colder, but strong, grasp his fists and squeeze.

Only after a few minutes of careful, shallow breathing, does Raph begin to feel the pain ease. His breathing is shallow, his scales feel hot, and shivers wrack his frame. And oddly enough, the itching sensation is gone. He blinks, his vision clears, and there’s Leo. The oldest is crouched in front of him, wide brown eyes full of concern. From the corner of Raph’s vision, he can make out Dad’s legs from sitting beside him on the bed. Adelaide is hovering just behind Leo, a syringe still gripped in one palm. His other brothers and April huddle behind the Tech, watching him with piercing sincerity.

He’s worried them. Again.

“Back with us?” Adelaide ventures, capping the needle and tossing it before returning to his bedside.

Raph nods shakily, swallowing down the thick lump in his throat. He doesn’t trust his voice right now.

Adelaide presses the back of her hand to his brow, and frowns, “Your temperature was normal when you came in…”

She moves quickly, fluid and silent like water, and Raph doesn’t even realize what she’s doing until there’s a thermometer firmly wedged between his teeth again. He jolts a little, biting down defiantly and sending the Tech an ungrateful glare. Dad and Leo’s hands are grounding where they lay on his skin and shell.

“He had a fever last night too…” Leo looked up at the human, “What could cause that?”

“Any reason. Pain. Inflammation. The lungs themselves could have sustained damage. Dr. Lewis was worried about him inhaling all that river water.” Adelaide pulls the thermometer when it beeps, and a small frown pulls at the corner of her mouth, “You do have a fever again.”

Raph’s grumble is raspy, “No kidding.”

Adelaide gives him a very chastising look and sighs, “Alright, you’re getting the full cocktail of drugs. There’s no reason to prolong treatment once Dr. Lewis is done reviewing her findings, she’s certain it’s the ribs and possibly infection. I’m giving you an anti-inflammatory and antibiotic shot and oral meds to go home. You sit still and rest, let the analgesic work.”

Raph grumbles his assent, and watches her leave the room from the corner of his eye. He avoids Leo’s gaze, and ends up just staring at his knees instead.

It takes a few moments before his family breaks the silence.

Dad is first, “You must take it easy! Dr. Lewis said you cannot excite yourself or it will get worse! You gave me a scare!”

Leo winces a bit and lets go of Raph’s hands to rub the back of his neck, “Yeah man, I mean, telling us you were hurting again might have helped.”

Raph glares at his brother, and fists both hands in his lap. Leo frowns at him and stands up, but doesn’t say anything else.

“Yeah! You never say anything! That’s what got us here anyway! Waking up to Leo panicking and you in a perpetual coma is not how I wanted to spend last night!” Donnie squeaks from the other side of the room.

Mikey nods his agreement, a rare show of frustration pent in the furrow of his brow.

“Ho boy, ok! Ok, let’s not do this now ok?” April—who for the most part has been giving them space—hops off of the chair she’s previously been occupying, and stretches both arms out in a placating manner, “We’ve all been here a while, and we’re all tired. Let’s just relax and get out of here, alright?”

“April is right,” Dad sighs, giving Raph another rub across his shell before standing up, “We must get home so everyone can rest. I go speak with Dr. Lewis. Boys, stay here and make sure Raph rests.”

“I’m literally right here,” Raph fusses, though there’s no real heat in it. His Dad only gives him a soft smile, and pats his head before leaving.

Raph exhales softly, and meets April’s eyes. She’s worried—even he can tell—but she’s also got that reporter look in her eyes, the one that means she’s already read him like an open book and decided that his condition is worth defending.

Raph doesn’t really have much of an opinion on April—only that if he ever had a sister, he thinks she’d be like April—but at the moment, he’s really eternally grateful for her observation and intervention skills. He gives her a small smile, and she reciprocates it. When she goes to sit back down in her chair, the hospital bed dips beside Raph.

He ignores Leo's presence, but his older brother doesn’t seem to mind.

Raph breathes, and finds the pain is fading. In its place, a light, fluttery drug-induced haze is beginning to set in on his mind. His thoughts and emotions slowly fade into the background, leaving his mind a tranquil kind of buzz.

It's comforting and disconcerting at the same time.

And if Leo’s arm pressing against his own is the only thing that keeps him grounded and secure, well it's ok if he doesn’t mention it.

҉

About four hours after first arriving at the hospital, they finally make it back home. It’s a loud affair, with all of their cousins greeting them at the same time. And to add insult to injury, Raph’s brothers also see fit to ensure his at home care is carried out immediately and vigorously.

“You’ll need to breathe deep about ten times, every two hours, to make sure no pneumonia sets in.” Dr. Lewis writes the instructions down as she speaks, “I’m sending you some with oral anti-inflammatories and antibiotics to take care of whatever is causing your fever. Adelaide already gave the injectable forms of those to you, but with your physiology they’ll burn off by the time you get home, so take the evening pills right after dinner. Don’t fret though, with your faster healing, I doubt you’ll have to deal with this for very long. Eat well, drink lots of water, and rest. When you sleep, sleep on your back and raised up, that should ease the pressure.”

While Raph can’t see why those instructions should be tended to right after getting home, apparently his whole family disagrees.

All Raph wants is to lay down.

He’s tired, his ribs are a dull ache in his side, and he’s been informed that school will not be an option for him this week. To say the least, Raph is annoyed. And he wants the day to end, so he can sleep.

But instead, he’s made to sit at the table and eat. That in itself isn’t too bad—Scumbug made homemade soup, and it's a warm, soothing, delicious thing that rivals even Dad’s cooking—but during dinner the entirety of the day’s events are relayed boisterously to the family. And after dinner, he has to contort so that a salve can be rubbed on his bruised plastron—really can’t he do that himself?

Then he is to sit and take each and every pill Donnie shoves in his hand. Apparently, there’s five different types of pills—some type of…antibiotic or something, Raph can’t remember, and at this point he really doesn’t care; all he knows is that they’re huge and hard to swallow. He does anyway, because Donnie and Leo both glare at him if he shows signs of protest.

When a particularly rough rub of medicine over his ribs from Mikey causes him to grunt and bite on his teeth, Leo finally intervenes, “Ok guys, let's start heading to bed?”

Raph is leaping off of the couch before Leo can even finish, “Yes.”

Donnie’s petulant little snicker echoes behind Raph, but they follow him anyway. After a hug goodnight from Dad and Scum, he slips behind the curtain to his brothers’ shared room, and dives into bed. He can’t lay on his plastron or his side, so he tilts backwards onto the mattress, and rocks a little before settling down.

After a few seconds, his mind drifts into blissful detachment.

His brothers’ movements are muffled rustling around the room. He can make out soft mumblings, chatter, even the low rumble of his cousins’ from outside their room. Everything washes over him in waves of indecipherable white noise. He feels warm, comfortable—if not a bit loopy—and his body is finally relaxing.

Long after he’s drifted into a light doze—which in reality must have only been an hour—something gently prods his arm. Raph hums, and tries to ignore it. The sensation returns with voices this time. They’re calling his name.

“Raph?” Finally breaks through the dull ringing of his ears.

He grumbles softly, but opens his eyes anyway. Leo’s blurry outline is standing in front of him, “Hey bro, you need to shower.”

On cue, his ribs give a phantom throb. His body feels heavy, weighed down with pain and drugs. But his scales still reek of hospital smells, and the dirt underneath his nails bothers him. He remembers the little panic he had at the hospital, the itch that still lingers under his skin. So with a soft groan, Raph concedes. He doesn’t accept help to get to the shower, but if his brothers hover a bit after he’s hidden behind the curtain of the tub, he doesn’t call them out.

The living room is empty of occupants, and Raph suspects Dad might have had a hand in clearing out all his cousins. He should be embarrassed at the extra measures being put in place on his behalf. Raph can’t really muster the energy to feel anything but relief though, and he lets his mind drift as the hot water starts washing the weekend off his scales.

He lingers in the shower—something he doesn’t usually do. He stays until his fingertips are wrinkled and his nasal passages are clear from the steam. When he finally cuts off the water, something deep in his soul has eased.

When Raph returns from his shower, the bedroom has been transformed. All of the pillows and blankets have been pulled off of their beds and concocted into a massive fort in the center of their floor. This in itself is actually really nice—it’s been a long time since they’ve had a turtle pile, and in truth he’s missed having them—but there’s something added that makes Raph’s skin crawl.

His brothers are already cushioned in the blankets, an open space obviously for him made available. Donnie is holding a notepad, his computer open and humming beside him. Leo is positioned right across from where Raph will end up sitting, and Mikey is right beside the open space. Raph feels his gut twist a little.

An intervention, if he ever saw one.

“Are we really doing this?” Raph whines, and it sounds so small and childish, but he really cannot find the strength to care. He knew this was a losing battle before he even began to protest, but still, he can try.

Leo’s eyes harden, his posture straightens into something rigid and he points at the spot meant for Raph with a very stern motion. Donnie re-adjusts his glasses with a bit more force, thins his lips into a straight line, and folds his arms calmly over his plastron. Mikey openly pouts, unashamedly with wide, watery eyes and a wobbly lip.

A weary groan forces its way up Raph’s throat, and he ambles over to the makeshift bed. He slides onto his knees and gently falls back into the mound of pillows propped up for him.

“Good, now.” Donnie shifts from his seat directly across from Raph, folding his legs into a criss-cross without much effort, and begins typing on his laptop, “Why did you feel the need to hide your injury?”

Ok, starting off strong then.

It irks him, “I didn’t hide—”

Leo clears his throat, and folds his arms, “You spent the whole day yesterday actively trying to avoid us because of the ribs.”

Raph glares at his brother, and huffs.

“Again.” Donnie stares at him for a long minute before returning his focus to the computer, “Why? You obviously needed help.”

“That’s not the point,” Raph grumbles.

“Then what is?” Leo’s voice has dropped into a soft tilt, gentle and caring. Raph tries his best not to bristle at it.

“Yeah man, we stick together through it all. Thick and thin! You usually gloat about your injuries.” Mikey’s face is doing that weird thing where he’s speaking faster than he’s thinking. Realization comes in the twist of his beak and uncoordinated blinking of his eyes as his thought process catches up to his observations.

Raph can see the moment his little brother pieces a theory together. For some reason, it makes his heart stutter out of rhythm.

Mikey blinks once, then gapes and points an accusatory finger at Raph, “You were embarrassed!”

And actually, crap, that’s way too close to the truth. It’s closer than he wants, close enough to make his skin feel uncomfortable. Raph’s cheeks flame to life, and his heart actually does a cartwheel this time. He’s aware that he has pressed himself deeper into the pillows. He crosses his arms and grumbles down at the blanket covering his lap, “That’s not it.”

“Yes it is!” Mikey’s voice cracks with emphasis, “You didn’t want us to know because you were scared you hadn’t been strong enough!”

Dammit.

From the corner of his eye, Raph can see Leo connect the same dots. His older brother’s next exhale is heavy, weighted as if he’s been punched. Leo turns to stare at him with wide eyes, filled with concern and pity.

Raph hates pity.

“You know, he’s probably on to something,” Donnie’s typing has paused, and Raph can tell he’s now under the purple genius’s gaze too, “You do tend to be dramatic when you can’t be the muscle.”

Something sour curls in Raph’s gut. He bares his teeth at nothing in particular, gripping his arms so tight it hurts, “Shut up Donnie.”

“Ok, ok,” Leo’s holding both hands up, placating what is winding up into a fight, “Let’s chill with the accusations and let Raph talk? Alright?”

Raph looks up so fast it might give him whiplash. Leo usually wants to hash things out in nitty-gritty detail, until one or all of them are crying messes.

But, he’s giving Raph a choice?

Leo meets his gaze and smiles sadly, but all Raph can do is keep staring.

For a split second, Leo looks so much older. Raph can see something new in his brother’s dark brown eyes. It looks like wisdom. It looks like the eyes of someone grown, weary, but still so kind.

Unbidden, a thought hits Raph.

From the moment they were old enough to train, to go on errands, Leo had self appointed himself as leader. There’s a reason none of them have actually challenged that choice. Sure, they pester him, take him down a peg or two, because that’s their job. But really, Leo’s always been the obvious choice; he’s the oldest, the one with the responsibilities. Leo is there to remind them of the rules—so they can ignore it—and to take the fall when they do wrong.

Raph has understood this since he was old enough to walk. He knows he could never want the position Leo has. He has never wanted to be leader, but in this moment, he knows why the position will only ever be for Leo. It has to be Leo who leads.

Because despite his nervousness, his anxiety, his awkward approach to life, Leo is steady. Because he is patient. Because he is calm. Because he understands.

And right now, Raph has never been more grateful for someone who can understand.

He breaks the stare between them, and returns to boring holes into the blankets.

Mikey and Donnie’s accusations swirl around his head like burning smoke. He hates the way their simple words can make him feel so rotten. Mostly because, well, they’re right. He was embarrassed. He’s the strongest, he’s supposed to protect his family. And he not only managed to fail in that, but he got injured too.

Unbidden, the conversation he had with Hun echos in the back of his mind.

“I’m the biggest, the strongest…the other Dragons, I have to protect them.”

“Yeah man, I get that alright? Except sometimes…”

“Sometimes I’m not strong enough…”

Mikey’s right, but only to a certain degree.

In truth, Raph isn’t just embarrassed.

He’s scared.

And here it is, his greatest fear, laid bare for all to see. Raph can’t help but shrink under the combined weight of his brothers’ gazes and the awful memories swirling in his head. His ribs are a dull ache in his chest, giving a soft throb of pain when he tries to shuffle even more into the pillows.

They're waiting for him to say something.

He doesn't want to.

“I’m the biggest.” he finally grits out, “I’m meant to take the hard hits.”

“Dude there’s like, so many things wrong with that sentence.” Donnie squeaks, then clears his throat with a grimace, “Pushing that aside, why hide it?”

“I dunno,” Raph sighs, because truly he doesn’t, “I guess to keep from worrying everyone—don’t say it Leo! I know that failed.”

Leo lets out a pent up breath, opting out of the lecture, and Raph is eternally glad.

“Look, it's not like I was trying to get hurt. I could handle it on my own–”

“You shouldn’t have to do that Raph, we’re a team.” Leo interrupts, eyes earnest as he gazes softly into Raph’s.

“Yeah man, we’re family, we take care of each other—” Mikey adds, and something about the way he says it cracks the small, fragile barricade Raph had built up in his mind.

“But that's the thing!” He shouts, and for a second, his voice reverberates around the room.

Something hot crawls up his cheeks again as he looks down, and finishes, “You’re my family, I have to protect you, alright? It's my job. But I–I’m not, I’m not always…strong enough. Not with Superfly, not even with Bishop. I got taken down by a street gang for crying out loud. It shouldn’t have been that easy for them to take me.”

Smothering, heavy silence covers him. Raph lets it. He can feel his brothers staring. And maybe it’s the drugs making him say things without thinking. Maybe it's just his frustration over the entire ordeal. But most likely, it's the little voice in the back of his head that always whispers what could happen, if he ever falters.

Whatever the reason, the silence gives him permission to finish, “What happens when we face something that’s too strong? What happens when I can’t protect you anymore?”

He risks a peak at Leo, and shudders at the blatant horror on his brother’s face. Leo looks like he’s staring at a ghost—or maybe a reflection. Does Leo worry about that too?

Donnie is staring at his computer; his shoulders are drawn up and his hands are clenched.

Upset. They’re upset.

Or maybe they agree. Maybe they understand, and this is how they’re letting him know.

Raph averts his gaze from both Leo and Donnie, only to meet the very misty, very wide eyes of his youngest brother. Mikey, who was the first to see right through him. Mikey, who isn’t afraid to call him out, to tell him what he needs. Mikey, who looks like he’s about to pull out the ultimate younger-sibling card and comfort Raph, even though it will only make him breakdown, again.

And nope, nope, abort, he can’t do this, nope, he wants to avoid a breakdown—he already had multiple in the hospital, why can’t that be enough?—why do they always do this?! He wants to sleep, he wants to stop hurting, he wants things to be ok again, he wants—

Mikey hugs him.

Not enough to hurt his ribs, but firm and grounding, caring and loving in a way only Mikey can manage.

And the world falls silent. Raph shudders into the embrace, slinking both arms around Mikey’s carapace. Somehow, all the static from the day's events melts away. Distantly, Raph realizes he might actually need this.

Yeah, he needs this.

“You do protect us, Raph.” Mikey mumbles into his shoulder.

Donnie murmurs from the background, “That’s how your ribs got busted in the first place.”

“But you have to let us protect you back.” Mikey squeezes harder for emphasis, burying his face into the crook of Raph’s neck.

That does it. The dam breaks, and tears flood into his eyes. Raph tries to breathe through it, but all he really succeeds in is softly sobbing into Mikey’s mask. His tears are hot and heavy as they roll down his cheeks. It should be shameful, openly sobbing in front of his brothers like this. But all Raph feels is relief.

A weight settles over his shoulder and carapace as Leo joins the hug. Donnie’s presence, soft and ever-present, leans into his other side shortly after. And in their embrace, Raph lets himself break a little bit. It's not long until his brothers’ tears join his own.

Together, they let out a bit of the fear that’s been building in the dark shadows of their minds. It feels like weightlessness, ridding himself of the oppressing shadow that Superfly cast all those weeks ago. They cry until they have no strength left.

Until they fall asleep.

Raph opens his eyes—they're raw, red, puffy from crying—an unknown time later, and gazes at his brothers. They’re all still leaning against him, sleeping soundly. He must have dozed off too, judging by the slight crick in his neck.

An arm is hugging him, and he realizes Leo is who he’s leaning on. It’s eerily similar to the night before, when he woke up from the pain of his ribs.

He looks up a bit to see if Leo’s awake. His older brother is staring into the darkness, a soft furrow planted over his forehead. Always awake when the others are sleeping, always vigilant, protective. Long shadows are cast over Leo’s face. For a moment, he really does look ancient.

Something about the image makes Raph pause. He used to—and still does—tease Leo about his chronic protectiveness. All of them give Leo a hard time about it. But now, seeing his brother in this light, something shifts. Suddenly, Leo’s protective nature doesn’t seem so ridiculous anymore. In fact, Raph finds he’s appreciative of it.

Leo must realize Raph is awake, because his arm squeezes tighter around Raph’s carapace. Raph doesn’t fight the hug. He watches Donnie and Mikey sleep, and his chest eases a little more. They look so young like this. They are young. The fact hits Raph like a gut punch. All of his brothers are young, he’s young.

They’re only fifteen.

For all their strength and skills, they’re only kids. A shiver wracks Raph’s frame at the thought. They’ve been fighting adults . Adults who bore such vendettas against his brothers that they were ready to kill. Raph tried not to bristle at that. Yeah, the world was messed up; he’d known that long before they ever met a human. But the blatant reality of it was crisp now, up close and personal just for his convenience.

He thought of the way Superfly looked at his family. The way Bishop looked at them. He remembers the hatred, as clear as if he was still seeing it.

Something about that scares him.

Raph tilts his head a little, trying to catch Leo’s eyes. When he does, Raph shivers. His brother’s eyes are dark, thoughtful, afraid. Leo’s brow sits low on his forehead, scrunched in worry. The softness of his big brother’s brown eyes has faded—when did Leo’s eyes lose their innocence?—replaced with something cool, calculating.

Raph doesn’t have to ask why.

He knows.

Their dance with danger is far from over.

Really, it's only just begun.

Raph knows. His skin prickles every time they walk in public spaces now. Shadows are beginning to follow them, criminals seeking them out. That TCRI Lady hadn’t seemed like one to give up so easily, and the organization has been silent for far too long. There’s something ominous in the back of his mind, whispering that they haven’t really faced anything yet.

Something is coming, and he doesn’t know what.

Leo smiles softly in the darkness, and rubs his knuckles over Raph’s head. It's a silly gesture, meant as something from older brother to younger. Raph used to hate it with a passion. But right now he doesn’t really mind. Actually, it's a bit comforting. Raph relishes it while he can.

He gathers his three brothers closer and holds them tight. Simply having them close is healing. Raph exhales and feels relief. He may not know what tomorrow holds, but for right now, they’re safe.

They're safe because he’s got them.

And he plans to keep it that way, no matter what.