Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s not supposed to be like this.

Never, ever like this.

Not here, not now, not him.

Leo is the oldest. The leader. Leo has the training, the responsibility, the weight of that mantle to carry. It’s his job to sacrifice when nothing else works. His job is to protect the others—his brothers his family he’s nothing without them—no matter the cost.

Leo is the one who’s supposed to sacrifice. Not his little brother. Never his little brother.

There’s so much blood. Leo’s kneepads are soaked with it, his skin sticky and wet from where he kneels in the pool of crimson. His brother’s blood.

Raph’s blood.

Leo fights the terrible burning that’s slowly igniting in his chest. He can’t breathe right, his lungs spasm without rhythm or mercy and each gasp is caught in his throat. His heart thuds so relentlessly it might as well be defective, pounding against his ribs like it wants out of his body. He might be on the verge of a panic attack but he can’t because if he has one he’ll drop his arms and he can’t drop his arms because he’s holding his little brother.

Oh God, that’s his little brother bleeding out in his arms.

Raph is grimacing but other than that he’s showing no outward signs of pain. Leo might be losing his mind from that little fact, because how can Raph not be in pain right now?

A spurt of blood bubbles between Leo’s fingers when Raph wheezes, and the sound of it makes Leo want to vomit.

“W-why did you do that?” Leo chokes on his own question, voice cracking as he forces the words out of his tight throat.

They’d been taking care of a meager street gang. Nothing too serious or dangerous. It was supposed to be a milk run. Something to keep them sharp and practiced. An easy takedown.

Leo hadn’t seen the gun.

Raph had.

And now…

Oh god, now…

Leo inhales shakily, trying to quell the way his stomach is twisting.

This can’t…this can’t be happening…

Raph’s eyes are aimless, tired, weary as they rove to and fro. He’d fallen so fast…

Leo waits until his brother’s brilliant green eyes find him again to try a reassuring smile. Because that’s what Leo does. He comforts his brothers. Makes sure they’re ok. Tells them it’ll be all right. Even when it’s a lie.

Raph smiles back, it’s lopsided and out of place and completely defies the gravity of this whole situation. Raph’s always been that way though; he never was one to stick to the rules.

Leo tries to fight back the tears pooling in his eyes when Raph reaches for his hand. Leo gently lays Raph’s shell on his legs, and takes his brother’s hand. Raph’s grip is firm—so strong he’s always been strong, he’s stronger than any of them—but his skin is cold. Leo ignores the spike of fear that shoots through him at the clammy way his brother’s skin feels, and focuses on the pulse in Raph’s wrist.

And whirling against his tidal wave of emotion shines a single, cohesive thought. Because, when was the last time they’d openly shown affection like this?

Mostly, they fight. It’s just what they do. They’re the two older brothers. They clash, gripe and tease each other. They love each other with a fierceness that rivals even Donnie and Mikey’s bond. But showing open affection has never really been either of their strong suits.

Leo holds his brother close, trying desperately to stop the bleeding, and wishes that he had tried harder to show that he cares.

Raph finds his eyes again, and a bit of clarity seeps back into those green hues. His little brother smiles again—and it’s peaceful, accepting, and it’s terrifying—before sighing, “Big bro.”

“Hey Raph.” Leo’s voice wobbles and he tries to make himself sound reassuring. All he manages is a fearful tilt, bordering on panic.

Raph’s blood is sticky as it pours between his fingers.

“Y-you’re going to be ok, alright?” Leo nods more to convince himself than Raph, “Just hold on. Donnie’s coming, and Mikey too. They’ll be here soon.”

Raph nods but when he blinks it’s like something has faded. His usual emerald irises are darker, dull behind fluttering eyelids. Leo pushes just a little bit harder on the wound, as though maybe more pressure can put the blood back where it belongs. Raph gasps, but it’s weak, only half a wheeze where there should be an explosion of curses and angry retorts.

Raph seems as though he might close his eyes but Leo jostles him. There’s something dark and ominous in the back of his mind, whispering that if he can’t keep those green eyes open, Raph will slip away.

When he speaks, his voice sounds so unlike him, shaky and crackling as he pleads, “Please Raph. Please hold on.”

Raph chuckles breathlessly, and it’s so out of place that Leo pulls back a little. His gut churns uneasily.

“Y’know.” Raph exhales, his smile ever present and soft, “When you were in that coma….I was scared outta my mind.”

“Raph...” Leo croaks out, beak scrunched as he tries to relay in one word all the sorrow he’s felt over that time in his life. For worrying his family so. For failing. For being a burden.

But Raph just shakes his head—even that movement is weak, nothing more than a small incline to one side—brushing aside the regret, “I used to get…so mad….at those stunts you pulled. Self sacrificial….idiot.”

Leo can’t help the wet laugh that tears from his throat. Raph’s lips pull up softly, but before he can say anymore he starts coughing. It’s a harsh, rugged sound, awful as it tears from his little brother’s throat. Leo can barely contain his horror when a stream of blood starts to trickle from the corner of Raph’s mouth. Leo’s hands move frantically to try and quell his brother’s cough, but he can do nothing.

He is helpless to do anything but watch.

Seconds and minutes later—too long, it lasts too long—Raph finally settles. His skin has gone several shades paler; his eyes look so tired. Raph falls back into Leo’s hold bonelessly, exhaustion evident in his raspy gasps.

Leo rubs the back of Raph’s shell with his free hand. He’s pressing harder on the gunshot wound, but Raph isn’t reacting to it anymore. A strange buzzing is starting to ring in the back of Leo’s mind. An understanding, an outcome he’s refusing to acknowledge.

Because this is not happening. He refuses.

Donnie will be here soon.

Everything will be ok.

Raph shifts in his arms, and inhales a shaky, shallow breath to continue, “I get it….now.”

His brother’s next words come out a little more rushed, urgent, like he’s afraid of not finishing, “S’cause you can’t bear it: us being hurt.”

And oh, does that tear through Leo’s heart like butter. He can’t do anything but stare, and when something warm trickles down his cheeks, he doesn’t even notice.

“Glad it’s my turn.” Raph breathes. His eyes are growing dim, breaths coming out shallow and fast.

Leo’s heart skips a beat, and he holds Raph close to his plastron, “Just hold on, you’ll be fine, you’ll be ok, you—“

“Leo.”

Raph’s voice is so soft, so gentle, so unlike Raph that it makes Leo want to scream.

His brother is gazing at him; those green eyes are so, so tired, so peaceful, “S’ok.”

Leo knows what his brother means.

He knows.

But he can’t.

He can’t.

Raph is asking the impossible.

Leo can’t just let him go.

“It’s not.” Leo’s throat constricts, and he holds Raph tight against him.

Raph’s eyes close, and no amount of jostling or shouting will rouse them open. Leo feels like his heart almost stops.

Raph exhales, and whispers, “L’ve y’.”

And Leo can’t breathe. He needs to inhale. He needs to answer his brother because he loves Raph too. And Raph should know. But Leo’s tears are hot, burning things as they carve down his cheeks, and they drown his voice. His lungs constrict painfully against his ribs, and he heaves against the harsh gasps bubbling up from his throat.

And between one breath and the next, Raph is gone. He fades away so quietly. It’s so soft, the way his brother’s body just, relaxes. It’s so calm, so unlike Raph.

So wrong.

And Leo can do nothing to stop it.

All Leo can do is hold Raph close. He holds his brother until the bleeding slows. Until his throat is raw from screaming. Until his tears run out. He holds his brother until the others find them. He holds Raph as Donnie and Mikey crack, breaking open under the weight grief has crushed them with.

Leo holds his brother, and wonders where it went all wrong.

Chapter Text

Donatello is a turtle of science. His best talents are centered around logic and reason. He understands the details of life through different eyes than his brothers. His mind is different. His thoughts flow with a speed that even confuses him at times. Donnie can see five steps ahead, several outcomes and variables, and still concoct a mathematical formula on the side.

He’s the smart one. It is his greatest strength, and his greatest weakness. His mind never stops.

Sometimes that makes him seem unfeeling, detached from it all. But really, it gives his emotions more depth with which to rage.

He knows, the moment Leo calls, that they won’t make it in time.

He knows, and yet he still says they will.

Donnie looks at his little brother, right into those wide crystal blue eyes, and lies with an ease that unnerves him. He says they’ll make it to Raph in time.

They don’t.

Donnie knows the moment they crest over the roof, the moment he sees Leo holding Raph’s body, that they’re too late.

He knew the moment Leo told him where Raph had been shot.

Donnie still runs to them both like there’s a chance. He still fumbles for a pulse, urgent, determined, and curses the world when he can’t find one. He pulls out the modified defibrillator from his satchel, breaks through the touch keratin of Raph’s plastron, and he shocks the limp body of his older brother. Raph’s body jolts once in Leo’s arms, and moves no more.

It’s too late. Far too late. The mantra is stuck on repeat in the back of his head, a mocking tone of monotony to his failure. Too late.

Donnie tries again anyway.

He can’t look at Leo. Can’t meet Mikey’s eyes. He can’t hear anything either, come to think of it. There’s this low buzz, a ringing in his tympanum, and he thinks it might be shock.

Donnie keeps trying.

He tries again, and again. He tries until something louder than the buzz breaks through his hearing. It sounds shrill, panicked, full of grief and anger.

“Donnie!”

He looks up so fast his vision blurs. Mikey is shaking him, blue eyes bright with tears and agony and concern because Donnie hasn’t stopped trying.

Raph’s skin is cold. Donnie looks down and realizes he’s been holding Raph’s hand. The fingers in his palm are stiff.

Donnie’s hand spasms, dropping the limb as he scrambles back. He pants, shallow and detached, watching as Raph just lays there. Completely still, unmoving, icy cold and beyond Donnie’s reach. Blood has pooled all around them in a horrific puddle. Even the lifeblood looks frozen, dark, coagulated and sticky as it slowly dries into the concrete.

Too late.

“No..” the whisper echoes in the quiet alley, bounces around the concrete and in his head like a dull throb. He gazes at the body for a few silent, dreadful seconds, and then slams his eyes shut.

“No!” His fist hits the hard ground, and he takes comfort in the pain that radiates up his arm. His shout echoes loud, enough to draw attention, and he should be worried about that but he isn’t.

Donnie feels sick. He turns away, clamping his jaw for fear the nausea will make good on its threat to unearth his breakfast. Mikey’s hands are steady on his shoulders. He can feel the tremble in his little brother’s fingers, the fear and the grief, and he can’t do this. Donnie dares to glance at Leo—what Leo holds—and he can’t breathe. In the back of his mind—beneath all the calculations and strategies and what happens three steps ahead and oh will he ever stop thinking?—he realizes this is the first time he’s looked at Leo.

His big brother usually commands attention. Leo has always held himself in such a way that others can’t help but give him respect. He’s always been reserved serenity and grace—so much like their father—but none of it is there now. Leo is hunched over Raph—Raph’s corpse—as though he’s bled out too. Leo has rested his forehead atop Raph’s, and no matter how much Mikey asks, he won’t look up. His left hand is cradling Raph’s neck, the right still putting pressure at the jagged hole in Raph’s plastron.

Shock, Donnie’s well-oiled machine of a mind supplies. The pale pallor of Leo’s skin, the way a faint tremble runs through his form. He’s in shock.

Donnie’s head swirls vaguely, and he’s knows that he is too.

Slowly, dully, Donnie reaches out and grasps Raph’s fingers again. They lay cold and unmoving in his palm. He replays the last memory he has of Raph—not this Raph, not the one laying in a pool of his own blood, because this isn’t Raph, Raph is full of life and rage and joy, Raph isn’t a corpse cooling on the concrete—and the world tilts on its axis.

Too late.

Raph was fine. He was fine an hour ago!

Denial, his brain helpfully supplies. Donnie squeezes Raph’s limp hand tighter and fights the urge to scream.

It's logical—but it isn’t.

His eyes find the bullet hole, and his brain catalogues the injury. He can tell by the amount of blood, the location on the plastron, from the time it took from sustaining the injury to the time of death, exactly what organ was hit by the bullet. Donnie’s brilliant mind lays it all out for him in organized, chronological order. He knows what happened. He knows he couldn’t have done anything to stop it.

Too late.

He knows what comes next.

None of that helps. Donnie sits on the cold, cold ground, and stares at his brother with a desperate, ridiculous hope. Waiting for Raph’s chest to move. For his big brother—oh god, that’s his big brother lying dead on the street—to open those striking emerald eyes and laugh and say that it's all a grand joke. A misunderstanding. Not real. It can't be real. Because it shouldn’t be real.

He knows—thanks to his ever accurate, stupidly intelligent brain—that it is real. He knows, and yet he cannot accept it.

So Donnie holds Raph’s hand. He listens to Mikey’s wails and Leo’s eerie silence, and tries to keep himself from breaking.

All around him, muted in the background of his grief, New York bustles with its usual nightlife. The city has not noticed that someone precious is gone. It roils on, ever constant and always moving. Tomorrow, it won’t flinch at the massive bloodstain lying somewhere in a forgotten alley. Nor will it feel the sting of loss. It will never know that one of its protectors has faded into oblivion.

Too late.

Donnie can’t fathom anything at the moment. He feels much like the city: detached, in a sort of dreamlike haze.

He doesn't remember returning home.

All he knows is that one moment he’s in the alley, and the next he’s in his lab, staring at a wrapped body.

Hot, corrosive agony eats at his heart, burning away all his joy and future. He cannot comprehend a life without one of his brothers—losing his father was enough—and so his brain takes over, splices reality, compartmentalizes to keep him from self-destructing.

He blinks again, and he’s somewhere else. His room. He's in his room, in his bed. He doesn’t remember getting here.

Donnie closes his eyes. He hopes for silence. He wishes for peace.

But even in sleep, his brain plagues him. It shows him all the likely scenarios and outcomes of the one immovable, unavoidable moment that has effectively changed his life forever.

It shows Raph dying.

In each and every dream, Donnie still cannot save him.

Chapter Text

The cruel thing about grief is its constancy.

No matter how much time passes. No matter how easy moving on becomes, grief always remains. It's like a shadow in the corner of the eye. An ever present darkness in the back of the mind.

Mikey finds that living with grief is not unlike dying.

He lives each day, goes about his activities in a dull sort of monotony. He feels a bit jaded by it, this odd reality of life he’s experiencing. Simply making it through each moment feels utterly impossible.

But each and every day, he does. He has no other choice but to live. His heart refuses to stop. His lungs steadily keep working. His brain keeps thinking. His feet keep moving. Everything vital continues to turn. His eyes open every morning.

Mikey lives, but it doesn’t feel like life.

Everything is cold. His world has been drained of color, all the bright and beautiful things he once enjoyed look out of place, desaturated and dull. His home no longer feels safe. He dances around places that once gave him comfort, avoiding them as though merely being close would make him cold too.

Perhaps he’d like that, though. Maybe it would be nice to join the cold.

Mikey doesn’t see much of his brothers these days.

Well, he does, but not like before. His two older brothers—two, not three, and two has never sounded so wrong to him, two has never felt so off-kilter, unfathomable, not right—mostly keep to themselves now. Oddly enough, Mikey doesn’t mind. He kind of likes the quiet, come to think of it. He doesn’t think he could handle noise, at the moment.

He settles on the large couch in their living room, and takes in the silence. He thinks of Donnie, who perpetually lives in the lab now. He thinks of Leo, who hasn’t said a word since…it happened. Mikey thinks of his brothers—he does not think of the one that should be here, the one he needs, the one who would know what to do—and tries to find the desire to go help them. Draw them out, make some food, talk and nudge until they break their silence, encourage and laugh until they smile.

But he can find no spark, no energy left to try. Maybe he should be worried about that. He is the fun one, after all. The one who lightens the mood, who saves the day with humor and sweet laughter.

Mikey doesn’t think he’s the same turtle anymore.

He can't recognize himself when he looks in the mirror.

He wonders what happens when the Sun burns out. Maybe darkness isn’t so bad. Maybe sunlight is overrated.

Life goes on. Mikey doesn’t know how he survives through it. His days pass in an odd sort of blur. A dull haze settles over his existence.

Amid the haze, he loses himself. His brothers do too. Mikey watches them drift away. He watches Donnie turn into someone foreign, snappish, short-fused, silent and bitter. Watches as Leo loses himself to the dullness—and that’s perhaps the most terrifying of all, seeing Leo, his big brother, the leader, the responsible one, melt into someone so strange, so unknown, so listless and disinterested in life. He should stop it, try to help. But Mikey can’t. He feels it too, this endless, unrelenting darkness creeping in, smothering his spark, stifling life’s brilliant color. He has no strength left.

So he watches them fall apart. And from his own perch on the sidelines, he feels himself falter. The days are blurring together.

In fact, he doesn’t realize how dangerously flatline his existence has become until he blinks during lunch one day, and wakes up. Such a strange feeling, to suddenly rise above the thick, murky waters of grief for a moment.

He doesn’t even realize what it is that snaps him to reality at first.

He blinks dumbly for a minute, before his gaze lands on the trigger.

The fourth chair at their table. The empty chair.

It’s been empty for almost two weeks now. Its occupant is long dead and buried. But Mikey hasn’t actually looked at it full on, until now.

Clarity strangles him. Wave after wave of intense sadness and grief and loss wash over him. Mikey gasps, but air brings no relief. He is left winded, a film lifted from his heart. Pure, burning agony eats away at him, consumes him, drowns him. He can’t think, can’t breathe.

How can he possibly breathe when Raph can’t anymore?

Raph’s dead, he’s dead!

And just like that, the floodgates open. The memory comes back, fiery hot and stark in his mind. Mikey can see it, as clear as though it’s happening again.

҉

Donnie promises they’ll make it in time. It’s the first, and last time Mikey’s big brother lies to him.

They don’t make it in time.

Mikey runs to Leo and Raph, and feels his world crumble into a million shattered pieces. He can smell the blood, see the amount of it, and he knows no one can survive a wound like that. Mikey’s body gives out. He crashes against the concrete, brought low on all fours by the weight of what lays before him.

Leo isn’t speaking. Mikey catches a small glance of the eldest's gaze and its terrifying, its blank, its dull and dead and Mikey shivers and avoids it. Donnie is frantic, panicking, trying to fix it over and over and over—

Mikey looks at Raph, and his brain isn’t processing what his eyes are seeing. Raph is never still, never silent, never weak. Mikey’s concept of his big brother has always been one of a rock, impenetrable and unbreakable. Raph isn’t supposed to go down. He can’t because he’s Raph!

But Raph doesn’t move. Not when Donnie shocks him, over and over. Not when Mikey’s throat begins to tear open with ragged, disbelieving cries. Raph’s body is slack where it lays over Leo’s legs. His skin is washed out, ashen, lifeless. His face is still, lax, his mouth hangs slightly open. There are dried tear tracks that trail down his cheeks. His eyes are closed.

And in the light, in the shadows, Raph almost looks peaceful.

The thought is both kind and cruel, comforting and revolting. It twists around Mikey’s throat, drops into his gut and squeezes until he has no choice but to whirl away. He vomits onto the pavement. Hot, acidic bile and froth burn his throat and his mouth. But his heart is burning even more. His soul feels sick, distorted, cracked down the middle. Mikey can do nothing to fix either sensation. He can only hurl until there is nothing left. His body empties itself and then dry heaves until he’s almost faint from the exertion.

Shrill ringing clogs his ears, and he cannot focus, cannot look back at the corpse his brother. He dare not look at Leo either—the glimpse he’d gotten was terrifying, he was afraid of seeing it again—so he turns to the only one capable of making chaos feel like logic. He turns to Donnie. And he blanches at what he finds.

Donnie is hyper-focused on the task at hand: saving Raph.

But, there…there’s nothing to save. Even Mikey knows it's too late. But Donnie is still trying to revive their brother. He shocks the body, over and over. Sparks are bouncing off the defibrillator, burning Donnie’s hands, scorching the ground. Black burn marks are spreading from the entry points of the defibrillator where they pierce Raph’s plastron, his rough keratin darkening, singing, burning.

And Donnie keeps going. His eyes have glazed over with a frantic, disheveled look, and it sends spikes of fear through Mikey’s heart.

Mikey can't fathom a reality where Donnie is the one that panics. He risks a glance at Leo, grasping for some sort of balance, stability, courage to help. But Leo is not looking at them. He’s staring at Raph with dull, lifeless eyes. A shiver rumbles down Mieky’s spine at the sight—he’s already lost one brother, he can’t lose two, but oh, those eyes, it's like Leo’s already gone—and for a second, he’s frozen, unsure.

Maybe Mikey's fallen into an alternate dimension. Yeah. That sounds right. There's no other explanation for this. There can't be. Because in no reality, this or the next, does Mikey’s brothers fall apart. They flounder, they fight, they struggle and they suffer. But they never crumble.

They’re crumbling now.

Falling.

Flailing.

Mikey sees it, in his mind's eye. If Raph was the only thing holding them above the dark abyss now…now nothing can stop them from plummeting. He sees himself falling, and his brothers are far below him, swathed in shadows. He cannot reach them. He doesn’t even know how to try.

Another burst of sparks snap Mikey out of his fearful reverie, and he jolts to action, “Donnie, stop!”

His brother doesn’t hear him.

“Donnie! He’s–he’s gone!” He crawls forward, reaches for his brother’s shoulders and shakes him, “Donnie!!”

Donnie jolts back to himself, and all the color drains from his face. Mikey watches as Donnie stares at their brother, pants at the sight, and starts to deny it. Donnie denies until he’s hoarse, and then he screams. And then, the light leaves his eyes too; he falls silent, solomn, staring without any real spark. It’s almost as frightening as Leo’s silence, and Mikey doesn’t know what to do in the wake of it.

Mikey lets go of Donnie and sits back on his heels. He stares at Raph—at Raph’s body—and for the first time in his entire life, Mikey thinks he hates the color red.

Raph has always worn red well. It’s a symbol of his strength, his protectiveness, his power. Now, he is painted in it, drenched in it, drowned by it. And this red is wrong. This red is evil. This red is his lifeblood, drained out and coagulating on the concrete. This red is deep, deep crimson, almost black. This is death, in its purest form.

Mikey can’t take this. His chest is so tight it feels like he’s having a heart attack. He doesn’t know what to do! So he throws his head back, and he screams into the night. He lets himself break. He cries into the awful darkness. He doesn't move for a long, long time.

And then, like his brothers before him, one by one, the emotions drain away. Mikey gazes at the shattered remnants of his family, and an eerie calm overtakes him.

He needs to get them home, get them safe. They’ll have to wrap the body, put it somewhere to preserve it. Tomorrow they’ll go to the farmhouse. They’ll bury him beside Sensei.

Mikey inhales, feels the brisk cold in his veins, and exhales. There is no peace in the breath. He feels faded. Mikey gathers himself, and looks at his brothers. He feels his own stability faltering, failing. He stands. He tells Donnie it’s time to go. Nudges Leo until his oldest brother moves—even then the way Leo stands is stunted, heavy, like moving is painful—and watches Leo hoist Raph up with him. And the sight of Raph dangling from Leo’s grasp sends a new wave of nausea through Mikey’s gut.

He doesn’t offer to help Leo carry their brother. Neither does Donnie.

It’s a silent sort of understanding. Leo’s conveyed it without uttering a word.

He needs to do this. He needs to carry Raph home.

So Mikey lets him. He watches as Leo leads the way back into the shadows. Donnie follows him, slotting into his usual spot at Leo’s left side. Mikey brings up the rear.

He tries to ignore the empty place at Leo’s right side. Tries to ignore the body Leo carries.

But he cannot ignore the bloodstain on the ground.

It haunts him, even in sleep.

҉

Mikey can’t take it.

He half falls out of his seat, ignoring the vaguely concerned questions from his brothers—and oh, that’s right, they were with him weren’t they? He hadn’t noticed—and stumbles into his room. Hot, ugly tears are building in his eyes, blurring his vision and clogging his throat. A tight, constrictive band that has sat over his chest for the past few weeks suddenly snaps free. Mikey flails in the wake of all he’s been suppressing. He curls into himself, cocoons himself so tight he can barely move, and he weeps.

Mikey sobs. Guttural, wracking, heavy sobs that shudder through his body and rock him from side to side. He doesn’t think he’s cried like this since the actual night it happened. He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or sick.

He doesn't want these feelings. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want this!

He wants his brother. He wants Raph. He needs his big brother. He needs to be roughhoused with and scolded and teased to the point of irate aggravation. He needs to wrestle and spar and come out beaten and sore and sweaty but happy because it's Raph who shares the dojo floor with him.

He needs to see shining emerald eyes, just for a second. He needs to hear Raph’s voice. He needs to hear it, just one more time.

Mikey needs Raph.

But what he needs is the one thing he can never get back.

And so Mikey sobs into his knee pads. Bitter, angry sobs that stab his chest and tear his throat. He cries for an eternity. For all that he’s lost. For all the love that has nowhere to go. He cries for the future he will never get to share with his brother. He cries over all that Raph will miss. He cries for the empty spots in the lair, the ones Raph used to occupy. He cries over the number three, because it should be four.

Mikey cries until arms pull him up from the floor. He cries as warmth engulfs him. He cries into the body that’s holding him—it’s Leo, he knows it's Leo—and he hides away from reality.

Finally, minutes and ages later, he looks up. His eyes feel swollen and hot from the tears. His sinuses are congested. His chest still feels heavy.

Leo looks down at him.

It’s the first time they’ve been so close to each other, since the alley. Leo’s face is ashen, washed out from tears and sleepless nights. Mikey’s heart twinges with sympathy. In Leo’s sea blue eyes, the same agonizing, crushing grief looks back at Mikey. There’s dullness, a lack of luster that usually burns in Leo’s eyes. But in this moment, this second, the blue is familiar. And for the first time since—losing Raph oh stars he can’t do this he lost his big brother—that night, Leo looks like Leo again.

The words are tumbling out before he can stop them, “He..he can’t be gone.”

Something hot and strangling tightens his throat, and Mikey squeezes his eyes shut. More tears roll down his cheeks, “I don’t know h-how to do this without him.”

His voice cracks with the last of his admission, and Mikey devolves into hoarse cries again. His body shakes and his heart splits down the middle. Living with this grief, it's unbearable, it's so hard.

Leo doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Leo feels it too. Mikey knows he does. So Mikey folds himself tightly into Leo’s arms, and cries. They stay like that for a long, long time. Something precious is exchanged in the silence. Something is healed, and something is broken.

Eventually Donnie joins them, a silent acknowledgment that this is real, this is happening. And in this moment, something dawns on Mikey. A small, powerful truth. It’s not ok—nothing will ever be ok again—they’re not ok, but at least they can not be ok together. Maybe in this cruel, awful reality, there is still a chance. Mikey doesn’t feel better, but he feels a small glimmer of warmth, for the first time in weeks.

They fall asleep holding each other.

And the day after, they revert back to baseline.

Mikey feels the dull haze return to his heart the moment he wakes up. His energy drains out of him like he’s a balloon that’s been pricked. Leo gives him a hug—and it's not like a real Leo hug, but maybe this one has a bit more strength to it, a bit more hope—and he slips back into his room.

Donnie stays with him longer, simply existing in the same space. But Mikey knows it won’t last long. He can feel the way Donnie’s restlessness is returning—he’s often like that now, his blood runs hotter than it did before—and isn’t surprised when eventually his genius brother leaves too.

Everyone’s new normal of monotony returns in full force. It’s almost as if the little outburst of grief and comfort never happened.

Mikey doesn’t know how to fix it.

He doesn’t think he wants to try. He doesn’t want to remember again.

So he lets himself fall.

The haze strangles him, pulls him under. And Mikey lets it.

The sun sets. The night is long.

Chapter Text

As a child, April wants nothing more in life than to have brothers.

Of course, she likes being an only child. It comes with certain perks. But she watches the other siblings in her school play, fight, simply live, and she yearns for the bond they share. April wishes. But she knows it can never be.

And after the first bout of awful disappointment in her younger years—when she spends hours upon hours crying for the lack of a sibling—the dreadful emptiness in her chest starts to fade.

April knows her childhood is good.

She grows up. She learns what it means to lose someone. She learns grief. She learns survival. And she begins to think, being an only child was never her greatest woe.

The years pass.

April moves on.

There’s still a small part of her, a tiny, minuscule part, that dreams of something she’s never had. She misses something that never was. But life is harsh, and dreams are for children who have no worries. So April pushes down her silly wants, and she goes on.

And then she meets them. She meets four impossible someones. And her life changes.

She finds brothers. She finds connection, compassion, love, in a way she never knew possible. She finds comfort, a steady presence in the form of Splinter. She finds stability, in the most impossible of places. Worlds open up to her, a whole new life she’s never known before.

It brings joy.

And it brings pain.

April knows, from the depths of her heart, that meeting the turtles is the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

She can’t imagine life without them.

She knows the life they lead brings risk. But it doesn’t truly set in until they lose Splinter.

Losing him is…unbearable. She watches it happen, helpless to stop it. And in that moment, that awful, split second of terrible reality, April knows their lives will never be the same.

After that, April truly learns what it means to live in fear of losing someone. And privately, in the darkness of her own room, she makes a promise to herself. She vows that as long as she is living, it won’t happen again.

Time passes. Battles are fought, some even lost, and then the war is won.

And April thinks—foolishly, because really, she’s so very foolish—that it’s over. That they won’t lose anyone else. That burying Splinter is the last horrible thing she’ll have to do in her lifetime.

҉

She gets the call at one o’clock in the morning. It's abrupt and short and it shatters her entire world.

҉

Now, days and weeks and hours later, April sits in the living room of their home, and stares at nothing. She does that a lot, these days. She can’t really find the desire to do much else.

Her mind can’t seem to comprehend that this is reality. She thought they were done losing people.

But April has always thought wrong, hasn’t she? And now, she’s wrong once more. More than wrong, broken. She didn’t keep her promise. It’s an ugly truth that eats away at her heart. She’s lost someone else, and her body hasn’t really figured out how to function with this information.

So she sits, and she stares.

She’s probably a burden, staying here when the remaining three are already in shambles with their own grief.

But April is selfish, and she needs to be close to them—she’s afraid that she’ll blink and someone else will have slipped away, because if someone so strong, so stable, so full of life has gone so fast, well, then anyone can go, can’t they?—to hear their footsteps, to sense their energy, to know they are ok.

They’re not ok, not really, but they’re alive, and that’s all she asks for.

҉

She’s running in seconds. Desperate to reach them. Fearful of what she’ll find. She barely remembers the trip to the lair, only what she sees when she gets there.

҉

About an hour after gazing into nothing, April stands from the couch of the main living room, and begins her rounds. It’s a little habit she’s developed since that night.

They’ve all been, less than ok, since the burial—she hasn’t even seen Casey since he fled the farmhouse that dreary day, and she worries that he’s pulled away on purpose, and the thought of what he might be doing scares her—but the last few days have been downright frightening. Leo never leaves his room. Donnie secludes himself in the lab so much that at times April has to literally drag him out to eat.

And Mikey…well, April worries about him the most. Mikey has always been this family’s light, their sunshine. And now, he barely smiles. April reaches for his brightness with her senses, the innate shine to his soul that usually acts like a beacon, and all she finds is dull grey.

It's more terrifying than she wants to admit. So now, every other hour, she does rounds; checking on them, talking to them, comforting them, trying to lure them out of their self-imposed silences. She doesn’t know if she’s having any success, but she keeps trying anyway.

April leaves the cold, empty room and ventures towards Leo’s room. She always tries to help—she can’t, they’ve lost something precious, irreplaceable, and in the wake of Raph’s absence, she has never felt so out of balance, like the rest of them are in another room, and she’s forever on this side of the closed door—but usually all she ends up doing is sit with him, and share the silence.

She knocks softly on his door, and slips inside. He’s sitting on his tatami, legs crossed, hands folded, perched perfectly. The tatami is placed in the corner of his room, a small space dedicated to meditation and memorials. A picture of Splinter sits perfectly center between an army of lit candles. There’s another picture frame beside it, but the case remains empty of a picture.

Bitter pain splits April’s chest.

None of them have gathered enough courage to go through the pictures yet.

Leo selecting a frame is leaps and bounds of progress alone.

And yet everything else about him, is still off.

He doesn’t look up when she enters the room. He barely glances at her when she sits beside him. April looks at him, at the redness of his eyes, the puffiness to his face, and knows today is a bad day. A somber sigh catches in her chest as she looks at Splinter’s memorial.

That’s all they have now.

Bad days and ok days.

Somehow, neither are enough.

҉

Casey gets there when she does. They freeze, instantly. The lair is…it’s so cold. Not in a way that can be felt physically. But there’s something chilling in the way all of the rooms are dark.

The only light is coming from Donnie’s lab.

April shudders, and she can tell Casey is shaking beside her. They hesitate. They don’t want to see what’s beyond the door. If she strains, she can almost hear the brothers’ heartbeats. But one is missing.

April walks to Donnie’s lab, and opens the door.

She knew it was coming. She knew he was…gone.

But the moment she sees him, laid out on the table, pale, small, lifeless, April seizes up. She can see the blood from here. It’s dried, long past the point of being useful to its owner, and lays rusted all across his plastron. She looks at Leo—and oh God, he’s never looked so detached, so dead—at the stains covering his hands, his chest, and hot tears fill her eyes.

Beside her, Casey lets out a strangled sound, something between a sob and a gasp. He crumples to his knees, and if she had the courage to look she knows she’d see absolute devastation on his face.

She looks at Raph again, and her stomach lurches. She slams a palm over her mouth, and runs for the trashcan. As she passes them, she catches a glimpse of Mikey and Don. Alarm bells sound off in her head at each of them.

Mikey is sitting at Raph’s head, holding the older brother’s hand until his own knuckles have turned white. Tears are carving down his cheeks but he’s not making any sound. Donnie is sitting at his desk. His back is turned to them all. His arms are held in front of him. He’s staring at his hands—they’re covered with blood too. He looks pale. He looks faraway.

They all look so wrong and it makes April’s heart twist and pinch until she can barely breathe.

She hurls into a trashcan.

She hopes purging her insides will make something better. Make something add up. Make this make sense.
But nothing does. And she knows nothing will.

There’s a body lying on a cold table behind her.

That body is Raph.

Nothing will ever be ok again.

҉

She sits with Leo until the candles burn out. Usually that means it’s time to go. She’ll get up and give him enough time to venture out after her. Maybe even try to coax him into dinner. He never really eats much. But he does try, and April has to remind herself that if he’s trying then that is enough.

So she sighs, and she starts to get up.

A large hand settles over hers. She startles at the movement. She gazes at his hand—so much bigger than hers—and then dares to look up. Leo is looking at her.

Really, truly looking. Something has cleared in his eyes.

Hope, blinding and brilliant, ignites in her heart.

“Leo?” She whispers, almost giddy with joy. She squeezes his hand. He squeezes back.

“I’m…” he starts, and it’s barely audible, gruff and scratchy. He frowns, soft and firm, and clears his throat before trying again, “I’m…sorry.”

April furrows her brow, “What? What for? You have nothing to be sorry for!”

Something in her words triggers it. She’s said the wrong thing. She doesn’t know what, but something in her response makes him flinch. It’s visceral, jarring, and his whole body moves with it.

Leo looks down, and a set of tears slip out of his eyes.

Horror curdles in April’s gut, “Leo! Leo..what…I’m sorry! What did I say?”

He shakes his head, silent for a few more minutes, before whispering, “It…it was my fault…”

April leans back, eyes wide. It takes her a second to process what she’s hearing, and then she lurches forward, taking both of his hands in hers, and forces him to look at her, “Listen to me Leo. None of this, was your fault!”

“He took the bullet for me!” It's as if the floodgates have opened. April is slammed by wave after wave of guilt and pain and grief and fear. Leo pulls back, out of her grasp, scooting backwards wildly.

His face scrunches up in invisible pain, he slams his eyes shut, grits his teeth, and chokes on a sob, “It was for me! They were aiming for me! And Raph saw it. He..he jumped in the way! If he hadn’t he’d still be here! If I had only seen it! Even if I hadn’t! I should be the one—“

“Stop it!” April’s voice comes out shrill, panicked. She can’t…she can’t listen to this. She crawls to him, and grabs his face in both hands. His body is shaking, his tears unending.

April blinks and realizes she’s crying too.

“You,” she starts, and it comes out tearful, “You aren’t the reason Raph died! You have to understand that.”

Leo starts to shake his head, starts to pull away, but she holds firm, “No. Listen to me! Raph, he..he made a choice. Ok? He chose to protect you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Alright?”

Leo stares at her, horrified, but he doesn’t deny it.

“Leo.” April begs, “Please. You have to know why Raph would do that!”

A flicker of light dulls in his eyes, like he’s reliving a bad memory.

Maybe he is.

They all are.

His gaze drops to the floor. His shoulders drop.

“I know.”

His voice is so soft, so dull and defeated, it makes the lump in April’s throat expand. She exhales, chokes a little on the sobs wanting to tear loose, and steadies herself. She squeezes his shoulders, as tight as she can, and drops her own gaze.

They sit there for a minute, stewing in all the explosive, hot emotions that roil around them.

April closes her eyes against the onslaught.

Slowly, she leans forward. Her forehead rests on Leo’s.

She can’t be sure, but she almost feels him relax with the vulnerability.

April tries to remember how to breathe.

She holds Leo’s hands. And for the first time in weeks, he holds back.

҉

Mikey is trying to draw.

Trying.

April uses the term very lightly. If Mikey were really trying, his sketchbook would be halfway full already.

As it stands now, the book lies open before the youngest Hamato, bare and pristine. All of the pencils and pens and markers and charcoals and paints are half open beside it, untouched.

April has to remind herself that this is ok. This is good. This is improvement.

It doesn’t feel like improvement.

It feels like defeat. Like a slow, painful death. Like bleeding out in an alleyway.

April shuts her eyes against the image, and forces herself to move.

She still feels raw from her unexpected session with Leo. Her chest is heavy. Her skin tingles from the adrenaline. Her throat is tight, like she’s swallowed a whole pizza slice and it’s lodged in her esophagus. Her eyes are puffy, tired from the tears she’d quietly shed after fleeing from Leo’s room.

Her steps wobble and she has to focus on keeping the room from spinning. But she makes it to the couch, and sits beside Mikey. He’s sitting cross legged in the center of the floor, a few paces in front of her feet.

“Hey.” She says, half on instinct.

“Hey.” He whispers back.

And that’s that.

They don’t say anything else. They don’t talk much at all, these days. It’s such a strange reality to be in, where Mikey is quiet and reserved. Almost enough to make April try small talk, if only to fill the silence. But she’s never been good with words, not like Mikey is, so she doesn’t try.

She’s come to find that for Mikey, just her presence is needed. Just to feel someone else’s heartbeat.

So she stays with him, watching him do nothing. She gets up when the itch at the base of her spine becomes too much to bear. She organizes. She cleans. And after a while, she cooks.

It’s a simple meal, eggs and ham. Nothing fancy. Just enough to feed everyone. She’s not the best cook by any means, but if she doesn’t, then no one will.

Of course the brothers do eat when she doesn’t cook. But their idea of a substantial meal usually coincides with a single piece of fruit or bread for the entire day, and that will not stand, not while she’s here.

April almost startles when Mikey comes to stand beside her. It’s the first time he’s really shown interest in being in the kitchen. So she tries not to make a big deal out of it. Tries not to let the small glimmer of excitement show through.

She just keeps cooking. She asks him for some seasonings, and almost leaps for joy when he starts helping her. He gives spices, and some condiments he mentions will help the flavor.

She accepts it all, even the peanut butter. She grins so hard her cheeks ache.

They stand side by side, and for once, the silence is peaceful.

April dishes up four plates, and eats with Mikey at the kitchen table. Leo even joins them. It’s a quiet affair, without many words or conversation. There’s still a shadow lingering over them all. But, the atmosphere feels lighter than before.

April pauses for a moment, after taking a bite of her ham.

She looks at Mikey and Leo.

She memorizes everything about them: the way they stab their food a little too hard, the way they stick the corner of their tongue out while they’re concentrating, the warmth in their eyes when they glance at her. The small things, like the way Leo bounces his leg or the way Mikey leans more on one arm so he can rock his chair back and forth. She catalogues how Leo’s scales are a bit darker than Mikey’s, his eyes the same blue but warmer, deeper. She gazes at Mikey's freckles, and how they've seem to grow thicker, more pronounced in his older years.

She watches her brothers, and her heart begins to ache with an overwhelming sense of love and grief.

One is missing.

She didn’t get to remember him this way. But she’ll make up for it. She promises whatever is left of him, that she will make up for it. However she can.

April smiles at the two brothers before her, and gets up. She takes the fourth plate with her as she leaves.

She spares a glance at Mikey’s sketchbook on her way out, and freezes in her tracks.

On the open page is a painting. It’s fresh, still drying. Details still need to be added, shading to be softened, but the shades of green and red and amber are just as poignant without them.

Raph.

April stares at the painting of Raph—in his signature pose, wielding both Sai—and tears begin to fill her eyes.

Mikey did this. It’s comforting and heartbreaking at the same time.

April inhales and wipes away her tears, tries to regain a semblance of composure.

Raph’s smiling likeness from the painting follows her as she leaves. It covers over the memory of a body, and smooths the jagged edges of her heart.

҉

Today has been, trying, to say the least.

April is tired.

She still has one last person to check on.

Perhaps the most important, in some ways.

And she can’t seem to find him.

The little fact is more alarming than she’s willing to admit. Because Donnie has been practically glued to his lab for weeks.

And now, he simply isn’t there.

April’s beginning to panic. She tries to squash down the feeling. But as she discovers one empty room after another she can’t help the way it claws up her throat, choking her, pushing her feet to go faster.

She should have known something was wrong when he didn’t come to dinner. Granted, he usually doesn’t, but he at least lets her know that he won’t be there. She clutches the plate of food close to her chest as she searches.

The hallways cast long shadows, and April tries not to think about the memories hiding in them.

She approaches the dojo, and almost yelps when a crash sounds from inside. When she recovers her wits, a sense of dread washes over her instead.

No one has actually trained for weeks—that alone is an earthquake, a rattle in the atmosphere, because even when they’d lost Splinter, Leo had kept on training; but, now, well, maybe some things really can’t go away without consequences—not since...well…since…

April shoves the thought away before it threatens tears, and opens the dojo doors. She blinks, a little shocked, and freezes on the spot.

Donnie is training.

Donnie is training…

April startles a little at the sound of doors slamming shut behind her. She doesn’t remember walking into the room. She’s transfixed by the sight. Donnie has trained before, of course, they all do. But the only turtles who really trained with a passion and vigor and determination were Leo and—

April closes her eyes against the sudden onslaught of grief. It’s hot, thick as it grips her heart. Her throat closes up, tears burning behind her closed lids.

She should have known.

Even now, she feels it. The grief, the pain, the longing, the guilt, the anger. And it’s not hers. She opens her eyes and looks at Donnie, really looks at him. He’s not going through katas, or forms with his staff. He’s working over the punching bag.

Raph’s punching bag.

Really working it over. He’s throwing all of his body into each punch, so hard that it rips a grunt out of him every time, but he doesn’t slow. He seems transfixed, determined, angry.

April can’t help the way her heart spasms.

Donnie may be quiet, reserved in a way that only intelligent people are, but he also has fire. His spirit burns with a passion that most others overlook. He feels with a depth and understanding not many possess.

It’s what first drew her to him.

But now, the fire is wild, dangerous, overtaking everything in its path. It’s agonizing, corrosive, lashing out in a way that will burn anyone else who gets too close.

April sets the plate down, and approaches him.

She sees the pure, unfiltered agony in his face. His eyes are closed, his mouth screwed into a grimace, but there is grim satisfaction to the way he punches the bag over and over. Crimson stains have blossomed on his knuckles. April winces at the sight, but she has the distinct feeling that Donnie finds the pain comforting.

So much like Raph…

She never really thought about it before now. How similar Donnie and Raph were are.

The thought is painful, and she shoves it away.

She gets closer—they’re only a foot apart—and tries to catch Donnie’s gaze. But his mahogany hues are glued to the bag, unfocused but intense and determined.

He’s trying to forget.

April feels deflated by the realization.

Donnie’s mind has always been the most powerful thing about him. His intelligence speaks for itself.

It’s also his undoing.

If April is having trouble with this all—she who only knew him for a few years—then what is it like for Donnie?

Hell, a little voice whispers in the back of her mind.

It’s hell.

“Donnie.” Her voice comes out soft, almost soundless.

He closes his eyes. Slams them shut so tight it’s like he’s banishing a bad image from his mind. His head tilts away, ever so slightly.

He hears her. He knows what she wants. He’s also fighting it. If there’s anything the Hamatos share, it's their stubbornness.

She lays a hand on his shoulder, careful to avoid the movement of his punches. His scales shiver under her touch. He tries to move away, but her fingers curl into his shoulder blade, sharp and unyielding. She will not let him slip away too.

Donnie scrunches his face, a harsh growl catching in his throat. April waits. She doesn’t let go.

Finally, he stands back.

It's abrupt, forceful, and he’s still glaring at the punching bag. He won’t look at her.

“Please.” she asks again.

He looks down, shielding his expression from her. A fine sheen of sweat has broken out on his emerald scales. His frame is rigid, but she can still see the way he’s shaking. She feels his turmoil. Wave after wave of turbulent anger, grief, loss, sadness, bitterness, all roil underneath the surface that he’s suppressing.

It's hurting him.

And April hates seeing him in pain.

“It's ok.” she whispers.

Something snaps. She sees it, the moment his pretenses lift. Donnie stiffens. His hands ball into fists at his side. One blink and the next, he’s rearing back with a loud, agonizing
shout. He slams the punching bag with one final, indignant blow. The very chains holding the bag rattle, shake in their bolts.

And then he deflates.

Like a martinet with his strings cut. He shudders, and sinks to his knees, quickly, boneless. April slides down with him. She scoots closer, moving her hands to hold both of his shoulders, pressing into the side hug with all she has.

He gives in. His face crumbles. Soft, shaking sobs slip past his lips. He leans forward over his knees, burying his face in his hands.

April holds him. She squeezes so tight it bruises her fingers. She can never hope to have enough physical strength to give him a sense of security, but maybe her grip is strong enough to give him something to ground him. She rubs his carapace with her other hand, pressing her body closer if only to let him know he's not alone.

The tidal wave of emotions is still rolling off of him in tsunami proportions. She doesn’t have to be an empath, to know he holds himself responsible.

“Donnie,” she whispers, when he quiets down long enough to hear her, “There was nothing you could have done.”

And that breaks him. April seems to be good at that. She hates that it’s so easy. She hates a lot of things these days.

Donnie shudders, turns and envelopes her with both arms. He’s shaking with the cries, soft, almost soundless but oh so powerful. They tear right through her, and for the umpteenth time, she begins to cry too.

Because, Raph is gone. He’s gone! And she can’t bear it. None of them can. How can she simply go on living when he can’t.

She doesn’t know.

҉

They bury him on a rainy morning. The very sky is weeping. Wind whips through the trees. Lightning strikes in the middle distance. Thunder rumbles all around. Oddly fitting, for the burden they must take on.

April and Leo handle the actual act of burying. They do it before the others wake. They don’t want anyone else to see this. Once they’re done, they’ll get ready for the small memorial ceremony.

April’s arms are sore and her palms are rubbed raw from digging, but she feels none of the pain. She kneels down beside the wrapped form, reaches out to pick up the feet. She hesitates, afraid to touch the body. Her heart stutters in her chest. She looks at Leo.

Leo is staring at the body. There’s no emotion in his eyes. Just that awful, terrible emptiness. April can’t tell if it’s rain flowing down his cheeks, or tears. She thinks she can guess, though. Her own eyes are red, swollen from crying.

She looks away, inhales, and grabs her end to lift up. She tries not to think about how cold the limbs are. How stiff. How dead.

April moves when Leo does. They deposit the body carefully, painstakingly. April shudders when her hands leave the corpse. Her fingertips feel cold. The sensation travels down her arms, into her chest, and nestles at the base of her heart.

She looks at the gaping hole. She looks at the body sitting in the dirt, and tries to connect it to the person it used to be. She can’t. What she looks at is a dead, lifeless lump. And she can’t correlate that to her brother. She can’t make this feel anything but wrong.

Her brother was full of life; fierce in his devotion to his family, unmatched in his depth and capacity to love, trust, defend, fight for those he cared for. Raph was all she could never be. He pushed her to be better, to try harder, always reach for the next bar.

Who is she now, that he’s gone? Who are any of them, anymore?

April doesn’t know.

She stares at a body.

Leo moves. A shovel full of dirt lands on the body bag with a dull thump. Rain mixes with earth and blood, swirling it all into a miserable mass of mud. Beside this open maw of earth, lies another grave. The tombstone is older, seasoned by age, and the dirt has long been hidden by grass.

April doesn’t look at the other grave. She exhales. Her breath shakes in her chest.

She picks up her shovel, and she buries the body.

҉

Unbidden, the painting of Raph flickers back into her mind's eye. And from it, the memories. Raph, sparring with them all—and he never admitted it, but whenever he sparred with her, he had always been gentle, careful. Raph, teasing and goading but always with a purpose. Raph, protecting her, saving her. Raph being there, when it mattered. Raph was all but her best friend. He was always there, always a steady presence, a stable cornerstone to her heart and their family.

And now he’s gone.

Gone.

The word echoes in her mind, splitting and ravaging her careful defenses.

Hot, thick tears spill down her cheeks. She wants it to stop, this awful existence. She wants to go back in time. To say it isn’t real. To fix it, but she can’t. She’d helped bury him. There is no going back.

And maybe, maybe now it’s ok to let go. Maybe she should take a little of the advice she’s been giving the others. So April holds Donnie close, and she cries.

They wrack from the sobs.

She hasn’t held Donnie like this in years. There's a desperation to his hold, a frightening plea to not leave, never leave. April understands that desperation. She’s felt it since the awful night everything changed.

They’ve both lost too much in the past few weeks.

April presses her face into the crook of his neck, fiercely, hard enough that he has to feel it, to feel her. She has to make it clear; she's here. She's not going anywhere.

Long after the tears dry, and the cries fade, they sit there, holding one another. The embrace isn’t firm, not desperate like it was moments ago, but Donnie’s arms don’t move from their hold around her. He doesn’t want to let go. April’s ok with that.

She holds him. For as long as he needs. She’ll be here for as long as he needs.

As long as any of them need.

It’s not enough—nothing will ever be enough—but it’s all she has.

And if it helps, even a little?

Then she’ll give until there’s nothing left.

Chapter Text

“Leo.”

He looks down.

Sapphire eyes meet emerald.

A smile, soft and weary, “S’ok.”

Hot agony, burning tears. The feel of his brother going limp. Scales growing unnaturally cold. Sticky, tacky blood drying underneath his fingernails.

A scream, tearing from his throat, echoing into the wretched night. It’s the straw that breaks the camel's back. The meltdown his brothers don’t get to see.

Leo rocks back and forth in the dark, dark alley. He cradles Raph’s body, presses it so tightly to his chest his arms ache.

Leo holds his best friend, and he sobs.

All of the pain, the disbelief, the horror bleeds out of him in salty droplets, littering his arms and the body he holds. He bleeds himself dry, until all of it drains into a dull haze.

It’s a disconcerting feeling, going numb. But Leo doesn’t have the strength to care.

He raises his head up, meets the dull eyes that gaze at nothing, and loses the breath he’s been holding.

Slowly, painfully, his chest constricts. He reaches up, shuts Raph’s eyes. Something in his heart withers when he closes the lids over those green hues.

Something cracks.

The more he stares, the less he can feel. His fingers go numb. The sensation in his limbs turns to static.

He reaches for something, anything, but it slips through his grasp. He stares at the body—his brother, Raph is dead oh god his brother just died in front of him—and suddenly, nothing feels worth it anymore.

Leo sits. He doesn’t think. He can’t believe what he’s just seen. He can’t, can’t, he can’t feel anything.
City noise washes over him. He cannot hear it. All he hears is a gunshot, a shout.

And a voice, echoing over and over in his head.

“L’ve y’.”

҉

Leo jolts awake.

His chest feels tight, like he hasn’t been breathing. His body is rigid, stiff under the covers. A cold sweat has broken out over his scales. He inhales and it feels like breaking through the surface of deep waters.

A drowning man, coming up for air.

He lies on his bed, and forces himself to inhale, exhale.

His heart hurts. It’s skipping every other beat, slamming against the inside of his plastron like a tomahawk. With each and every pound, it becomes harder to breathe.

“L’ve y’.”

A choked noise claws its way out of his throat. Leo clenches his jaw, baring his teeth in the darkness. His breaths are coming out shallow, stunted, panicked. A low whine slips past his lips. There’s a terrible pressure building behind his eyes. His throat is constricting, collapsing in on the invisible lump that’s building there.

He never said it back. He never told Raph he loved him.

Raph died and Leo never said it.

He can’t do this. He can’t do this anymore.
He loves his brothers. He loves them so much it hurts. And now one of them is gone and Leo can’t do this.

He lays in bed, scrunches the pillow over his face, and he screams. Its release and agony at the same time. His body is exhausted after it’s over, his mind even more so. Leo doesn’t know if it even helped. But for once, it feels right.

And then he thinks of Raph again—of those burning green eyes that had so much life, the way Raph used to laugh, the way he shouted when he sparred—and the guilt floods back. What right does he have to feel better when Raph can’t?

Leo grits his teeth. He pulls the blankets high over his shoulders. He stares into the darkness, and tries to forget the last words his brother spoke to him.

But he has a feeling they will haunt him, for the rest of his life.

“L’ve y’.”

Why didn’t he say it back?

Leo squeezes his eyes shut. The haze, the allconsuming comfort of not feeling, is right there, at the corner of his mind. If he lets it, the dark, writhing shadows can consume him again in an instant. A blink of an eye. He’ll slip back into the silence where here his memories are barred away, and his grief is held back by static.

But no. Leo is free from that paralyzing coma of nothingness. April freed him. He doesn’t want to go back. Somehow, what was once comforting seems wrong now. And now that he’s out of it, the thought of devolving into a mute, pliable haze seems dishonorable. Like disrespecting Raph’s memory.

Like disrespecting Splinter’s memory; but Leo can’t go there, not now, or he might break, shatter entirely, and if that happens he’ll never recover.

His bedroom door creaks open. Soft, ambient light from the rest of the lair spills into his room. Leo looks up, and his face softens. His brother’s outline is illuminated enough that Leo can’t see his face. But Leo knows who it is.

He would know Mikey anywhere.

“Hey bro,” Mikey’s whisper is different; it sounds off, wrong, only half here.

But that’s all of them now, isn’t it?

Only halfway here.

“I…” Mikey pauses, fidgets with his hands for a moment, inhales, and finishes slowly, “You…you screamed.”

Leo can see the way Mikey’s hands are shaking, the way he’s shifting from one foot to another; hesitant, unsure.

Leo tries to suppress the pang of guilt that splits through his chest.

He's the big brother. Mikey always comes to him for help. But after, after…what happened…it’s been different. Leo’s been different. And both of his brothers have steered clear. Leo knows it hurt them, what he’s done. But he’s been so tired. So tired that he could barely make himself get up each morning. Tired enough to sleep away his life. Tired enough to just…stop. To give up, and let someone else face each day.

And in such a state, what use has he been to his family?

Worthless. He’s been worthless. The realization churns deep in his gut.

And, the worst part? There had been nothing he could do to stop it. He could handle losing Sensei—and what a lie that is, because he’s been a mess since losing his father—but this? The moment Raph’s eyes dulled, something in Leo’s soul followed.

And the all consuming darkness took him.

He doesn’t remember much after that night.

All he remembers is the moment he woke up. The moment he spoke with April. When he did, something shifted, slotted back into place. Like a film lifting from his eyes. Even though breathing still feels impossible, it’s a bit easier to speak.

So Leo scoots to one side of his bed, lifts the corner of his blanket, and whispers, “Sorry.”

Mikey runs to him so fast, Leo startles. His little brother slips in beside him, and immediately engulfs him in a massive hug. It’s the same kind of hug Leo used to balk at, back when they were just teenagers fighting ninjas in the streets.

A lot has changed since then.

Leo freezes for just a second. Just long enough for the breath to catch in his lungs, and hot, blurring tears to fill his eyes. And the cold, dead thing in his chest splits right in two. He hugs Mikey back, fiercely, desperately, and realizes how much he’s needed this. He needs his brothers.

He needs to hold them. He needs both of them with him. Needs them close, within arms reach.

Right now.

Immediately.

Mikey is warm in his arms. He pulls his head back, just enough to see his little brother’s head. He studies the light green scales, the tiny freckles that litter over most of Mikey’s scales. His heart does a weird flip in his chest.

“Hey,” he whispers, squeezing Mikey’s arms, “You think you can get Donnie in here?”

Mikey whips up, almost crowns Leo in the jaw, and gapes. His little brother is beaming.

“Yeah,” Mikey’s whisper is still too soft, too delicate for him, but Leo takes what he can get.

The room lights up with Mikey’s phone light as he sends a text. Leo watches him. He notices the deep bags under Mikey’s eyes. The way his little brother’s scales are pale, sallow in the light. And it occurs to him that Mikey had to be awake to hear him scream.

Suddenly, he realizes he’s holding much less of Mikey than he’s used to.

When had his little brother lost so much weight?

Mikey lovesto cook. It’s practically impossible to keep him out of the kitchen.

But, that—that was before, wasn’t it?

Didn’t April mention—a long time ago, back when Leo barely listened to anything other than the pound of his own treacherous heart, because it kept beating when another was not—that Mikey had stopped cooking? And if he hasn’t been cooking, then has he been eating?

Leo feels a bit of the blood drain out of his face. He’s been so…unable to function. The thought of trying to help others cope has been so unfathomable.

Has he really been so out of touch, that he’s forgotten about the only two people in his life that make it worth living?

And in his absence, what have they been suffering?

The answer is silent, whispered in the empty rooms that lay beyond his bedroom door. And the answer is fickle; it makes Leo’s gut churn.

Suddenly, Leo feels sick to his stomach. Fear is sticky and consuming as it clenches around his chest. He can only stew in silence, and watch as Mikey shuts off the shell-phone. Mikey tucks himself back into Leo’s side. And Leo wraps his little brother up, holds him tight, and tries to make up for all he’s failed in.

And he’s failed so much.

He's gotten his brother killed. Abandoned his other siblings in the aftermath. Lost himself, in more ways than one.

Or maybe, maybe he was lost before any of this started. Maybe he’s been unraveling for a long, long time. And maybe, this is the result of all the awful, terrible things he’s never recovered from. The straw that broke the camel’s back.

That lurking, churning darkness lingers under his skin, whispering of relief, of peace, if only he lets it take him. Leo is tempted, so very tempted, to let the numbness wash over him. He wants it too, if only to stop the pain.

But then Mikey shifts closer, and any thought of running away vanishes. Leo glances down, soaks in the sight. Mikey has always been their light, their sunshine. But here, in the shadows, he looks dulled. Lifeless.

Leo shudders, holds Mikey closer.

The door opens.

Leo blinks, a little shocked, and then smiles. Usually, it takes a lot to get Donnie to leave his lab—even more so now…after everything. But whatever Mikey said must have worked.

Donnie is carrying all the blankets and pillows they have in the lair. Leo’s actually a bit impressed that Donnie can carry all of it without stumbling. But his brother has always been a genius, hasn’t he?

Donnie shuffles quietly to them, and dumps the supplies on the ground next to Leo's bed. Mikey moves then, slipping out of the bed and taking some supplies in his hands. Leo’s brain has a moment of confusion, and then panic at the absence of touch. He has to keep himself from physically launching himself to his little brother.

Leo makes himself pause and look. His brothers are just building another pseudo-bed.
That’s all. They’re not leaving. It’s ok. Leo wills himself to breathe.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Leo opens his eyes to find a perfect semi-circle fortress on the floor. And he thinks that maybe he has the best brothers ever.

After everything’s set up and cozy, and they’re all on the same mattress, Mikey curls back into his side. A bit of Leo’s heart heals at the restored heat.

He looks up, finds Donnie’s gaze, and holds his breath. If Mikey has been a mystery to him in the past few days, then Donnie has been a complete enigma. He isn’t sure he really knows Donnie that well anymore. The delicate balance of brotherhood they all shared those years ago has been slowly changed by time. Chipped away here and there by new experiences and history.

And now, after everything, his brothers feel more like strangers. Leo’s chest tightens at the thought. So he focuses on what hasn’t changed.

Donnie’s eyes have always held a tint of red, mahogany that almost looked gold in the sunlight. Here, in the half light, they glow. Leo’s heart twinges at the color red. But somehow, it’s comforting too.

Then he blinks, and sees everything else.

“What happened to you?” The words tumble out of his mouth without any consent or sense of propriety. It’s almost rude, but Leo can’t help it.

Because Donnie looks rough.

His left cheek is swollen, dark green bruising that laces down to his neck. There’s cuts and scratches all over his face and arms. His knuckles are swollen, cracked and red, bleeding a little. A light bandage has been applied to his upper arm. Leo can see faint speckles of blood seeping through it.

Alarm slowly springs back into Leo’s chest. His pulse quickens. A ringing begins to fill his ears. Something like horror is crawling up his spine.

He’s missed so much. Too much. This isn’t ok.

Donnie, for his part, looks away. Leo has seen his genius brother show many emotions over the years. But he’s never seen indifference. And now, with his eyes gazing at something far beyond the walls, riddled with wounds he clearly isn’t going to explain, Donnie has never looked so apathetic.

Leo forces down the urge to scream when Donnie shrugs, “I went patrolling yesterday.”

Leo narrows his eyes—because what the heck—and glowers. That fear, all encompassing and steadily growing, claws up his throat like thistles. If Donnie went topside, there is only one reason why. And, come to think of it, Casey’s been noticeably absent too. Leo knew the boy had pulled away—and he can’t blame him, who wouldn’t? Raph had been his best friend, after all.

But this? This means something different. Dangerous.

Leo’s next breath feels shaky in his chest.

“What, what did you do.” It’s not a question, but a demand, a plea.

Donnie looks at Leo, and for a second he looks through him. Something raw, painful, justified glints in those mahogany eyes. Donnie glares and it screams of anger. Revenge.

For the first time, Leo is unnerved by it. For the first time in his life, the thought of vengeance only brings fear. Because what if he loses Donnie, too?

“Don’t.” Donnie almost hisses; his jaw clenches, “Don’t ask that.”

Leo blinks, stares, and then finds his voice, “But—“

“Don’t.” Donnie glares for a solid minute.

Leo matches the anger for as long as he can. But he’s not the turtle he used to be. His stamina has been stripped away by grief. He exhales and looks away in defeat. He can feel Mikey’s concerned eyes staring at them both.

Donnie seems to deflate too. He shifts, picks up a blanket and drapes it over Leo’s lap, “At least, not now. It’s done, anyway.”

Leo takes the offered blanket. He tries not to think of the implications behind everything Donnie didn’t say. He knows that, tomorrow, he’ll do some searching. Get the full story. The inkling of closure, revenge, stirs in his chest. It feels wrong, but it also feels right.

When he looks up, Donnie is staring at him again. And this time it’s not judgmental, or suspicious. Just, patient, waiting. Like now Donnie is seeing him, and Leo wonders how long his little brother has been watching over him, from the shadows.

Donnie’s eyes sparkle, for just a moment, and then his gaze is soft, understanding.

“What changed?” Donnie whispers.

Leo tries to ignore the shame. His speaking to them shouldn’t garner such a reaction. But, he’s done this. He's the one who pulled away, when they needed him most. He always seems to do that. It’s his greatest weakness.

No more.

“I…” he tries, but the words are caught in his throat. He inhales, exhales, and tries again, “I woke up.”

Heavy silence descends on them all. But Leo thinks they understand. There’s a type of intuition that’s shared by grief. And Leo knows that in a way, they’ve all been far too gone.

Donnie sighs, and moves. Leo’s heart leaps when Don curls into his other side. And just like that, the hole in his heart doesn’t feel so big anymore. Hot, thick tears build in his eyes. But this time, they don’t hurt. This time, they feel like love.

“Yeah.” Don admits quietly, where his head is resting on Leo’s shoulder, “I think…we’ve all been overdue to wake up.”

Leo knows what he means. They’ve been avoiding the topic for so long. It’s so…so fragile…so unreal. If they break it, they’ll lose a part of themselves.

But they’ve already lost him. And that was the worst part.

Now?

Now they have to figure out how to live without him.

“It…it hurts.” Mikey whispers, and his two words voice all that they have felt, and could ever feel.

Because it hurts. And they don’t know what to do with this pain.

They want him back where he belongs. Safe and sound with them again. But they can’t have that.

So Leo squeezes his brothers closer, and tries to take solace in the sound of their heartbeats.

“You know…” something catches in his throat; he inhales slowly, and pushes out, “You know I love you guys, right?”

Mikey freezes. Donnie tilts his head up from where it rests on Leo’s shoulder. Leo gazes into the dark, too afraid to meet their eyes.

Donnie nestles back down, and mumbles, “Of course we do, Leo.”

“Yeah dude.” Mikey sounds like he should be smiling, but there’s something sad in his voice, “We know.”

Leo nods. His chest doesn’t unravel.

A few moments of silence tick by. And then Mikey shifts. Leo meets clear, crystal blue eyes.

Mikey squeezes him tightly, and adds, “He did too.”

Leo inhales sharply, hard enough that it catches in his throat. The tears spill over. Softly, silently, he curls over his brothers, and cries.

҉

It’s inevitable. As all things are.

Fights always happen with brothers. Especially Raph and Leo. Their relationship consists of push and shove. Forceful words and forceful actions. Ice and fire.

It goes like this.

Leo tries to help or discipline. Raph resists. Leo pushes harder. Raph reacts. And so on and so forth. Their own little infinity loop of misunderstanding. And the funny thing? It works. Raph’s constant friction forces Leo to be better. And in turn, Leo’s caution rubs off on Raph.

But there are times, little moments, when a fight is just that. Simple anger and frustration. Words, taken too far. And with them? It happens more often than not.

The stage is set in the dojo, where most arguments eventually go. An argument started first from a small mistake of battle stance, a misstep, a hesitation.

But the thing is, on this particular night, even the small things mean so much more than they should.

Because, it’s been several months since losing Father Splinter. Because things have been different distant angry strained and something that used to mean nothing all of a sudden means everything.

“What is your problem huh!?” Raph hisses. If his face could turn red it would be crimson.

He stands several paces away from Leo, and fumes, “So what if I stepped wrong, I still won didn’t I? It’s not even a big deal!”

“Of course it’s a big deal Raph! What if it means the difference between one of us living or dying one day!” Leo throws his hands up. His scales radiate with heat. His body is tense with anger. It’s the first time in years that he’s let himself blow up.

Raph’s eyes narrow, and he shoves a finger towards Leo, “Like that's ever going to happen now! All of the Foot are gone! Shredder is gone! The Krang are gone!”

“That means nothing! We still go out every night looking for trouble!” Leo fires back.

“Oh like we can’t handle some street thugs!” Raph throws his hands up, “You’ve been so paranoid lately! Cracking down on us isn’t going to change anything!”

“It might help!” Leo grapples for his defenses, “We don’t know what else is coming! And as Sensei it’s my job—“

“But you're not!” Raph shouts, “You’re not Sensei!”

Leo pulls back, fast as lightning, eyes wide, breath caught in his chest. He gulps. Something cold settles over his scales.

“You’re our leader.” Raph glares so hard his scales actually turn dark from the blood pressure, “Our brother. And we love you. But you will never be Sensei!”

Leo just blinks for a moment. His brain is taking a while to process the words his ears have just heard. Then he finally registers the meaning and fury, unfiltered, hot, ignites in his chest.

Because, Leo has been so patient, so understanding, for so long. He’s been the perfect older brother for so long, and he’s tired and he’s grieving.

The dam breaks, “Well if you don’t like it then why don’t you just leave!”

And he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. He knows the moment the words leave his mouth. He knows. It doesn’t change what happens next. Because he’s grieving and he’s angry. But so is Raph.

Raph, who so rarely shows what he really feels.

Leo almost thinks he’s been swapped to a parallel universe when it happens. He can barely believe what he sees.

Because when Raph steps back, it’s not in fury. His eyes are wide. His face is a shade paler than before. Something flickers over the emerald hues. And for a second, Leo sees everything that Raph has hidden.

The uncertainty. The fear. The guilt. The pain. The grief. The unworthiness. The shame.

Everything. Laid bare for Leo to see.

Because, for the first time, it’s Leo who’s pushing away. Because he’s finally snapped. Finally given up.

And Raph has never looked so broken.

Leo feels it, the moment their trust snaps. He feels the bond crack, and it sends shockwaves through his core. He can’t see straight. His body feels heavy and dizzy at the same time.

Because he knows why Raph yelled. He always knows. Raph gets angry when he’s scared.

And Leo—instead of being the brother he should be—has only made it worse.

He sees it all. And then it’s gone. In one blink, Raph’s mask of anger is back. He’s glaring. But there’s no real heat. Not anymore. Only dejection, and disappointment.

Raph steps back.

Leo steps forward.

They both stop.

A gap, forever between them.

Always chasing each other.

Always too far away.

Raph looks away. He turns, heads for the dojo doors.

Leo doesn’t stop him.

Raph gets halfway outside, and whispers, “Fine then.”

When the doors close, so does Leo’s hope.

҉

It happened so long ago. Leo hates that the memory is back now, after everything.

They had reconciled, of course. Raph came back. Leo apologized. They both tried to do better. Leo tried to be a better leader, a better brother. But the rift was still there. Still wounded and raw.

And now?

Now he can never fix it.

The admission is more than Leo can bear.

So he tightens his grip around his brothers, and closes his eyes. When he drifts asleep, it’s to the rhythm of their breathing.

In his dreams, Raph’s eyes, purest emerald and teasing and alive, gaze back from the abyss.