Chapter Text
It has been one day. One day, since they saved the world, saved the city, and survived.
One day since they lost Raphael.
Lamentation. Wails. Blood. Limbs that looked wrong and contorted. The cracking of scales, ready to burst into flames of pure, unbridled energy.
The fervent return home, too many voices, and the horrid sounds of sobbing filled their underground home.
All but one made it back.
—
It has been three days. Three days since they saved the world, saved the city, and have started the path of careful recovery.
No sign of Raphael.
Despite broken trackers, broken phones, and broken voices, there was no sign of their big red-clad brother.
Leonardo was still unconscious.
—
It has been one week. One week since they saved the world, saved the city, and the plans of rebuilding their metropolis have begun.
Still no sign of Raphael.
Casey has started to settle into a spare room in the home, though he is often found patrolling the lair territory; the constant state of war embroidered in his nerves.
Leonardo has been sized for crutches; his shell taped and bandaged as if he were a mummy.
Michelangelo, who cries at the mere flick of his arms, the golden cracks diving well into his collarbones and grazing the beginning of his neck.
April, who must watch her honoured brothers fall and collapse.
Hamato Yoshi, who has lost a son, but is glad three came home to him.
Donatello, who is restless and unsleeping, is stubborn.
The only trackers he continuously finds are the ones within the lair.
It made the missing one that much more painful.
—
It has been a week and a half. A week and a half since they saved the world, saved the city, and are falling apart without their foundation.
Donatello does not leave his beloved sanctuary, regardless of the pleas of his dear family.
Michelangelo cannot cook for his loved ones, his fingers unable to grasp even so much as his phone.
Leonardo would not sleep, his mind filled with the nightmarish pink of monsters and the missing structure of their lair.
A week and a half since Hamato Raphael disappeared.
—
It has been a month. A month since they saved the world, saved the city, the near constant sounds of construction reminding them of their lonely survival.
A month has gone by since returning to safety.
A month without the eternal security of Raphael.
A month since Raphael’s tracker fell cold and dead, leaving the remaining family of misfits to beg for answers they would not receive.
A month since the warmth of his bed has long since gone crisp.
Two weeks after they started drone searches and plotting, hoping for a sign of the familiar hulking figure matching their missing piece.
A week since their father told them they may need to face the possibility that Raphael was not coming home.
The turtles have never screamed or howled at their dad like they did that day.
—
It was not uncommon to find Raphael’s room occupied. Oftentimes, there was someone in there, simply existing in the space of their eldest.
So Leo wasn’t surprised to find Mikey curled against the pile of teddy bears and a few stray stuffed animals here and there, staring off at the wall as though it owed him money [Leo wouldn’t be surprised if he set it on fire, which was a whole other can of worms they discovered].
The slider shuffled the curtain out of the way, muffling a grunt as he stepped inside, crutches clinking against the cold concrete. He glanced around, swallowing a choked whimper. He didn’t come in here quite as often as Mikey, but he frequented it more than Donnie. “Hey, Mikester...” he said, smiling through his teeth, “Paps made ramen, if you want some. Or, I could bring you a bowl.”
For a few solid seconds, Mikey was quiet. He was like that nowadays, and it always hurt something deep in Leo’s chest. Still, he waited patiently for a response.
“Not hungry..” was all he got.
Leo frowned further, huffing as he limped closer, staring at the free space on the bed. The sheets were ruffled and clearly used, just not by the owner. His legs hurt, his arms hurt, his shell hurt– he wanted nothing more than to curl up like his little brother and breathe in the remaining bits of Raph’s scent.
He didn’t sit.
Leo sighed, leaning a little closer on his not-as-injured leg. “Mikey, you gotta eat.. I haven’t seen you touch anything since yesterday morning– you barely ate then, too.”
“Not hungry”, Mikey repeated, voice a tiny bit louder this time, arms encircled around his middle. Leo didn’t look at the bright cracks that took over his scales and orange spots. He tried not to think about the similar glow that emitted from Donnie’s fingers.
“Mikey, please. I need you to eat. I’ll eat with you! We can watch Jupiter Jim, or whatever you want–”
“I’m not hungry!” Mikey shot up, finally facing his big brother. His vermillion eyes were filled with tears, a stream running and caressing his chin. A hint of crackled light teased his markings.
Leo flinched slightly, putting a little too much weight on his foot and wincing at the strike of discomfort. He instinctively looked at his feet, mentally cursing the pain that continued up his thighs.
Mikey breathed out a quiet sound, his expression falling. “Crap, sorry–” he said, crawling to the edge of the bed, his fingers reaching out to the slider with all the desperation of a man at his wit’s end. “Are– are you okay? Do your legs hurt? You should sit–”
“I’m fine, Mike,” Leo muttered, refusing to meet the gaze of the other. He didn’t want to see the guilt that was surely displayed on his face, completely sure he himself might shatter. “Please, come grab a bite soon, okay?” He started to turn back to the curtain, his muscles aching to lie within the unquestionable comfort he was sure Raph’s space would bring.
“Wait, Leo–”
“MIkey, I’m fine–”
“Please–”
The box turtle grabbed Leo’s hand, rooting him securely in his spot, grip unyielding. “Leo, please, sit down for a bit.. Donnie and Paps said you need to rest.”
Leo didn’t want to. He didn’t deserve it.
He wasn’t worthy of seeking comfort in the room of the brother he might have killed.
He was unable to find his voice as he was gently guided to sit at the edge of the teddy bear pile, hating how he immediately sank into the plushness. He rested his crutches within reach, feeling a dip in the bed next to him. Leo didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to acknowledge the tension that existed in every atom of the lair.
Mikey didn’t speak right away, staring off into space, gaze locked on the crimson curtain. “I didn’t mean to snap,” he muttered, glancing at the other, “I just.. I miss him. Raph loves ramen.”
Leo knew that. It was one of Raph’s favourite meals, specifically beef-flavoured ramen. Just the thought of eating it without his big brother made any idea of appetite immediately settle in his guts. He didn’t reply, merely nodding in response.
Mikey sniffled, big eyes welling up with tears again, knees coming to his plastron. “Where is he? Why hasn’t he come home yet?” he asked, though the questions weren’t directed to Leo, who wouldn’t have the answers anyway.
They have asked before, never getting a response.
They got their brother back just to lose him again.
—
Splinter had brought two bowls of ramen to Leo and Mikey, clearly trying to gently push them into eating. He didn’t see how Leo nearly vomited at the smell alone, while Mikey cried noiselessly into the already salty broth.
He had left a bowl outside of Donnie’s locked lab, nothing of his form passing the security checks. Still, he used the call button next to the large doors. “Purple, my son, won’t you come eat? I have brought you a bowl of ramen, just how you like it!” he said, patiently waiting for even a hint of his dear child.
No voice came out of the speaker.
Splinter frowned. “Your brothers are eating in Raphael’s room. I am sure they would appreciate it if you would join them, Donatello.”
It was quiet for what felt like minutes until the sound of clinking locks came from the other side.
The doors opened slowly, the lengthy figure of his smartest son peering through the neon-lit room inside. It was obvious he was fatigued, dark circles appearing under his eyes where his mask still lay. He was clad in the purple hoodie he always wore now, his battle shell creating a larger silhouette.
Donnie was quiet as he glared at the bowl, a twitch in his snout. The smell caused something in his throat to tighten viciously. A resounding, encompassing throb that clawed at the depths far under his skin to name.
He didn't want to eat.
He grabbed the bowl with a low hum, casting his rat father a glance before padding to Raph's room.
Splinter watched as the boy made it down the steps of his lab and into the main atrium, where several train carts lay. He was silent as the purple-clad turtle limped to the cart decorated in red, his teeth visibly eating at his lower lip. For a minute, the softshell was frozen as though presented with an impenetrable wall while he debated joining his brothers, his wrists clearly struggling to uphold the bowl of ramen.
Luckily, the rat did not need to intervene.
“Get your tail in here, Dee-!” came Mikey's voice, making the purple-clad turtle flinch at being caught. He only hesitated for another brief second before pulling the cart doors apart and joining his brothers in solidarity.
Splinter ignored the weight that slammed into his back, his figure immediately punching as he fought back a cry.
He left the lab doors open and went right back to the kitchen, where he proceeded to drink his tears in the warm broth that no longer elicited a certain joy when it was so devoid of all previous meaning.
—
Donnie wasn't even sure what he was looking for anymore. He had been staring at the same videos, the same footage, the same everything from the invasion. He had no desire to rewatch the destruction of his home, his invisible dear family, over and over and over and over-
But he did.
He ignored how his breath got stuck somewhere deep inside of him at the mere thought of pink tendrils. He ignored how the sight of their destruction made him vomit into his desk's side trash can for the fifth time in only half a week.
He ignored how he felt.
For his big brother.
The terrapin watched every clip, many of which were stolen or had been hacked for access, just in case there was a chance of seeing Raph.
His dumb, selfless, gentle big brother.
Donnie has yet to see even a tease of his all-too-familiar figure. Not even a hint of the ragged red bandana he sported.
He pretended to ignore how even the slightest glimpse of red gave him a flickering spark of hope and solace.
He hated it.
So, he kept working. He kept trying to track the waning scent of the one known for his trails left behind. Perhaps the signal was always just out of reach, maybe if he expanded the contact of his tech-
One of the many cameras within the lair lit up on his monitor, immediately catching every bit of his attention. He was quick to turn up the volume, a terrific amount of alarm bells ringing in his skull.
It was the camera outside of Raph's room, an angled view of Leo and Mikey at the threshold of the cart. They were beyond upset, appearing in varied states of unmistakable distress that sent icicles into Donnie’s shell– even he could name the horrors splattered plainly across scrunched snouts.
Leo was yelling, chest heaving with the weight of bitterly raw words– sentences and syllables Donnie had no belief that Leo would be able to muster with such genuine, wrecking force.
Mikey was crying. Guttural, mournful sobs reminiscent of a horrifying grief that none had dared begin to nurture for fear of manifesting the inconceivable.
Donnie leapt to his feet, tearing like a taunted bull towards the scene with all the force of a sibling damned to his greatest trepidation.
He ignored the sound of his chair clattering against the ground in favor of sprinting towards the deafening voices on the metallic subway doors.
—
His heart roared against its cage of bone, momentarily distracting him until he was damn near tripping over a particularly tricky step [which had previously claimed both of his spindly ankles], the sounds of screaming and sobbing spiking every part of his being with discernible panic.
When he arrived, breaths short and caught in his throat, the sight of Leo leaning further into the room against his crutches with fat tears threatening to soak his mask all but sent him over the edge right then and there. Mikey had his palms clasped around his snout, horrific sounds of pure agony hooked in his chest and hiccups inconsistently dancing across his frame, each echoing painfully of sorrow.
Casey Jr. [as Leo had so excitedly nicknamed him] had hastily scampered closer as well, hair dishevelled as if he were sleeping soundly. The cozy garments they gave him were loose and wrinkled on his wiry frame, suggesting he’d been disturbed during a foreign instance of rest. Donnie felt half a second's worth of guilt for waking the young survivor of Hell, but staunched it quickly as he turned to the orange-clad of the group.
“What happened? What's going on?” Donnie asked, more alarmed than he'd felt in days, an indication of a gasp for air shaking his shoulders.
Mikey was only able to tear out a wounded, “Dad-”, a shaky finger attempting to point to the obvious commotion right in front of them.
Casey was kind enough to place a hand on the box turtle's shoulder, who immediately clung to him like a lifeline, arms trembling under the faint glowing of cracked scales, ducked close to his plastron. The smallest brother seemed so lost without the enormous blanket of protection that was Raph–
“I'll tell you what-!” Leo exclaimed, neck snapping too fast to the newest witness to the chaos, an expression of unmistakable wrath etching his features. “Dad is makin’ a fuckin’ shrine for Raph!” A clawed hand pointed at the said rat, who emitted sheer guilt, fingers gripping the small table by the entrance for stability against the rapidly growing shame.
Donnie felt every atom in his body skyrocket with fury, filling crevices in his anatomy to the absolute brink. He hastily stepped forward to look inside, and there it was- the beginnings of an obvious shrine took over the desk where Raph would often dump his water bottle and wallet. It was small, barely made, but as indisputable as the several candles already set up, burning with gentle grace and flickers of warm luminescence. One of Raph's old masks lay flat and screaming in the middle, a few of his cherished items decorating the center of the miniature table. A plate had been placed near the edge, surely where offerings of food would be made to the spirit of the snapping turtle. Watermelon, most likely.
Donnie has not experienced ire such as this since Splinter told them their biggest brother was not returning home mere days ago.
“Father-!” he yelled, tears pricking the corners of his narrowed eyes. He saw how the man shook, but he did not care, unwilling to bother with his newfound volume.
Splinter was wrong. Wrong for what he said, and wrong for this.
Donnie hurriedly blew the candles out and snatched the mask. “Raphael is not gone-! How could- how could you- he's not gone-” His words tipped into a sob torn from the depths of his spirit, clutching the crimson durag close to his plastron.
He felt the palm of his twin's hand grip the sleeve of his hoodie, a familiar energy overtaking his frame. “Dad, this is too far,” he muttered, voice cold. “You aren't making a shrine here. You aren't making a shrine, period. Because Raph. Isn't. Gone.” With each word, he urged forward until he had a defiant finger pinned against his father's chest. “He’s lost out there all by himself!”
Splinter was eerily mute, having refused to meet the eyes of his boys. His eyes were so tired, whiskers hung low. “My sons.. my sweet boys..” he started, hands coming forth to wrap around Leo's closest- the one shoved against him in protest. He didn't pay attention to how Leo yanked away, not bothering to hold him hostage. “Please, my boys.. Raphael is not coming back. I am sorry.” He didn't deserve to openly mourn the loss of the son he put too much weight on.
So much weight that it got him killed.
A wail escaped Mikey's throat right outside the room. Casey Jr. seemed to rub at his shell, facing away from the cart with an unreadable expression. Donnie briefly nurtured the nauseating thought of how many times Casey had been victim to those words. That someone wasn’t returning. He wondered if Casey had already endured this exact scenario–
Donnie snarled at his father, claws digging into the mask he held so dear.
Leo was quiet, gripped fists, borderline shaking. He did not move. He did not yell.
Until Splinter dared open his mouth again.
Leo snatched the candles and the plate, dismissing his father as he readjusted his crutches and started to venture outside the room.
He turned over his shoulder to glare at the small rat, a growl resembling another's rumbling from his windpipe. “Raph is alive. We aren't giving up on him.” With the last of his bubbling rage, he turned and clicked off, the sound of his crutches hurrying to who knows where, receding down the hallway.
Splinter did not say a word as Donnie put every last one of the small decorations of objects back where they belonged, placing the soft wrap where Raph often kept extra – in a little box under his bed.
Donnie refused to meet his father's eye as he receded, wrapping his arms around his baby brother, who was quick to tuck into his shell with a soft whimper. The aquatic terrapin of the two carried the shell without complaint, nodding to Casey Jr. as he left, heading right for his own cart next door.
Casey Jr. watched as they left until he turned to peek into the room where Splinter stared at the floor next to Raph's bed. He was as silent as could be as he took a stance next to the older man, thick grief rising to fill the quiet where the biting words shattered the family.
He was quiet as he heard the whispers of weeping fill the void left behind, only placing a hand on his back in response.
Casey Jr. had long since mastered the art of silence.
—
Donnie clutched Mikey's shell to his chest, petting the patterned carapace mindlessly as he stared at his star-speckled ceiling. His battle shell rested against the side of his bed, bare shell rubbing against his hoodie and pillow.
His mind was so abnormally blank yet so loud with each passing second. Mikey's cries had died down to grief-stricken whimpers, filling the dimly lit room. Neither spoke– what could they even say? What could be said to fix this gripping betrayal?
“Donnie?”
“Mm..?”
“Have you found–?”
“No, Michael.”
Silence again. It was heavy, it was hard, and it was filled with something Donnie couldn’t begin to put a name to. It was wrong.
He wasn’t sure how long it took for Mikey to slowly slink out of his shell, his arms wrapping around and clinging to the other. Donnie pulled the little ball of warmth into a fierce embrace, though he knew it was not the kind Mikey desperately longed for. He was nothing compared to–.. Donnie held him tight and close, as if scared he would disappear without a weight holding him tethered to the here and now.
“Can you stay tonight?” His voice was meek and scared, chin ducked close into Donnie’s side so he wouldn’t see the wetness of his eyes.
“Mikey, I need to get back to work–”
“Please?”
Donnie didn’t want to. He needed to find Raph so they could be complete again. Mikey deserved to lay within the arms of the tender sanctuary.
“Okay.”
“You promise..?”
“Yeah.”
“You need to say it.”
“I.. I promise.”
“Okay.”
—
Donnie was a liar.
When Mikey awoke a mere few hours later, nightmares clouding his visions, he was alone. He had no brother to cling to, no brother to soothe his deepest worries and fears.
Because Donnie lied.
—
It has been three months, and they were falling apart.
Mikey found Leo in the dojo.
The slider was stretching, it seemed. His legs and arms trembled with such ferocity that Mikey wanted to stop him.
He didn’t. Leo hated it when his vulnerability was called out.
He watched and watched as his big brother struggled, a cold ache overtaking his cracks and making his breath hitch.
His spot behind the dojo doors was discovered.
“What is it, Mikey?” Leo called, his tone tense.
Mikey swore under his breath before popping his head in, seeing Leo resting back on his palms, a grin having overtaken whatever scrunched-up and pained expression he’d worn when he believed his sole loneliness to wallow in self-serving pity. “You’re not slick, little brother. What’s up?”
“Dunno.. Wanted to make sure you aren’t overdoin' it– your legs are still, y’know..” He gestured vaguely with his hand, eyes cast to the ground.
‘Messed up’ went unsaid, but it still filled the air.
Leo groaned, neck snapping back to glare at the ceiling. “Dude, not you too. Donnie and Dad are still on my shell– nagging and all that..” He refused to meet Mikey's eyes, quietly grateful that Mikey didn't mention the tremble in his legs.
Mikey trotted in and took a plop next to Leo, humming slowly as he looked around the quiet dojo.
He didn't like being in there.
Every few feet sat something of Raph's, despite the fact he had his own workout station now. Though a lot of the equipment was something they could all use, he guessed that his biggest brother kept them here simply for them. To be close to his family while he trained to be their ever-present guardian. Their barricade against anything that sought to harm them.
He couldn't bring himself to sit anywhere near the wrestling ring, nor the workout bench, just across Raph's cart. It was right there where they all walked, yet no one ever touched anything, not even to just scoot it out of the way.
When they first found this abandoned station, they all playfully fought over the now semi-confined spaces. There were ups and downs, though the most interesting part was finding everyone's own little space, such as Donnie's lab and Mikey's art room.
Mikey didn't let anyone inside his most valued space anymore. He didn't talk about it, and no one brought it up. No one needed to ask him why.
Mikey remembered that they did that name-in-a-cup thing, where they all signed their name on a stick and the name that was pulled got a specific area. April had a field day as a stick puller.
She even recorded most of it, making it feel like the lair games but with room division. Maybe Mikey could find the tape and watch it during the eerily quiet hours in the middle of the night when the heartache was too heavy to bear alone. Possibly then he would finally be able to lie to himself and pretend that Raph was only gone for a few more hours.
In all honesty, Mikey missed when they could laugh and play around so easily without the pain of simply moving a part of his body.
Yeah, he’d ask for the tape later.
The orange clad stared off at the still unfinished dojo- a lot of things were strewn around where they just haven't gotten to organizing yet. In some ways, they were still settling in.
It was hard to forget a home you lived in for most of your life. Mikey was reminded of that every time he turned a certain corner and was met with somewhere that wasn't the kitchen like he thought.
Mikey bit back a choked whimper, fists clutched in his lap. He twitched at the spark of pain that surged up in his arms.
It was fine. Raph would only be gone a few more hours. Then, they could hangout and forget about the world outside of their safe haven.
Leo's sigh snapped him back to reality– right, he was in the dojo, he was with Leo. He was far from harm here.
He turned to glance at the slider, who was staring off at the dojo doors, something so blank and cold on his face that it looked so, so wrong.
When he noticed his little hermano watching him, an immediate grin grew to his beak, every inch a complete and utter lie.
Mikey noticed how many lies his brothers shot right at his face, thinking he wouldn't notice.
He wasn't stupid.
He let them believe he was. It was easier for everyone.
“So, Magic Mike, did you need something or did you just wanna bask in my glorious presence?” Leo said, flipping his mask tails over his shoulder to rest on his shell, hunching over to rub his fingers into his calves, shoulders twitching at the motions.
Mikey gave an airy laugh, sliding closer in order to massage low circles into his free leg. He noticed Leo shuddered and opened his mouth, but whatever he wanted to say was clearly rethought and he shut his trap.
He shrugged, fingers sparking with pin prickles and little needles. “I wanna try cookin’ somethin’ tonight..” he muttered, refusing to meet the now solid gaze of his blue clad brother. Leo opened his mouth again but was cut off this time.
“I mean- obviously nothing too intricate, or-or anything that'll take long- definitely not, just..-”he inhaled a shaky breath, “I haven't done anything- I haven't-” His words turned wobbly and wet, hands dropping from Leo's leg. “You guys are hurting and in pain and still doing things but I can't- I can't even cook for you- crap, I can barely heat up a frozen pizza or lift my phone for more than a few minutes. I’m useless-”
“Dude-”
“I can't do anything, Leo-! Donnie won't stop working and I'm worried and I'm- I'm scared-! You keep up with our charts to make sure we aren't royally fucked in the whole injury department- don't even get me started on how fucked up we all are in the head-”
“Mikey-”
Mikey was forced to let out a sob, pressed the heels of his palm into his eyes as hard as he could, the dull ache crawling against his collarbones grounding him in a way he knew was bad. That was a problem for later.
“And you guys- you guys won't even talk to me! Not you guys, not April, not Dad! No one talks to me about what happened, and I'm so worried about you-” His cracks cracked with light, Leo's voice starting to sound far away. “I can't even get you to talk to me!”
Energy burst against his markings and filled every crevice of his nerves, his being, his soul.
A ululate escaped the depths of his vocal cords, spine hunching over and pressing him into the floor mats, vision suddenly swimming and blurry and too much it's too much it hurts it hurts so bad why wON’T IT STOP-
Mikey thought he heard voices. They were loud and sounded panicked- he hoped they were okay. Were they safe? Did they need help? He could help- that was what he was good at. That's what he did. If only he could see straight- where even was he? He swore he had been in the dojo just then.
Where were his brothers?
Were they okay? Did someone take them from him?
He wanted his big brothers.
He wanted Raph. Raph was safe, he was secure, he was safe-
Everything went speckled in black before swallowing him whole.
–
Leo bit so hard into his bottom lip that he swore he tasted the all too familiar taste of iron and crimson, his tongue swiping out to lick away the evidence. His claws tapped against his biceps, legs outstretched and his crutches resting against the bed frames.
Mikey lay within the sheets of a bed in the med-bay, the fluorescent lights above crackling and flickering at every breath the occupants seemed to take. His eyelids twitched and shook, the occasional grimace shadowing his precious, oh so dear face, suddenly turning him older and looking so un-Mikey-like.
Leo hated every second of it.
In fact, he quite loathed it.
Seeing his cherished little brother break down and shatter right before him, being useless, will haunt him for days to come, he was sure of it. His marks and scars glowed so brightly that Leo thought he would completely shatter like glass.
Leo didn't sleep.
He rarely did these days, in all truthfulness. How could he, when he was plagued with dreams, the hell of the Kraang, losing his family, losing Raph. He had been so, so terribly selfish and arrogant and a horrible brother- so much so that he almost ended the world and caused the loss [loss meaning he was only missing because Raph wasn't dead] of his big brother. Leo was so, so sure that he had made sure his family was safe, that they were far enough from the carnage wrought by his mistake, safe on Staten Island, before he sacrificed himself.
Truly a hero move that he totally took inspiration [read stole] from Raph’s book. Oh, he would have his shell if he were here.
He will be back soon. Then, Leo would let Raph yell at him for his recklessness only to cradle him like a baby and make him swear to never do something like that again. Leo wanted that. He wanted to be deemed worthy of his family, ensuring they wanted him.
Leo would never be able to make a promise like that. Couldn’t lie about it either.
He hadn't seen Raph try to rescue him, rampaging across rooftops to get to him. He couldn't see when he was being tossed around like a rag doll and nearly broke from the inside out within the span of a few minutes.
Leo wished he had done more. Done better.
The rustle of the med-bay curtains shifted apart, dragging him from his foggy thoughts.
Donnie padded in, feet as light as air and as silent as physically possible. He didn't speak as he handed him a plate of mixed fruits and a sandwich.
Donnie even cut the crust off for him. He tried not to welcome the hint of wetness growing in his eyes.
The slider wanted to refuse but didn't have the energy to, knowing fully well Donnie was not against tying him down and force feeding him until he physically couldn't down anything else [Leo thinks that it would spark something dangerous in them, giving them flashbacks of that damn ship and the damn vines and the damn everything].
The softshell pulled up a chair and sat, holding his knees to his chest and scrolling on his phone. Leo knew he wasn't registering anything he was seeing- doom scrolling had become a coping mechanism for all of them a while ago. Back when it first started he thinks Raph had teamed up with Doctor Feelings when he’d first noticed and made what Donnie had dubbed a “half decent” PowerPoint on the dangers of scrolling. The memory was hurried back into its locked box when he noticed how deep the scowl had grown on his face at the now sour memory.
“Have you eaten today?” Leo asked, biting into the sandwich and nearly sighing in nostalgic joy. It was good. It was good because Donnie knew just how he liked it, he always had.
It was really annoying sometimes, being read so easily.
Donnie hummed, shrugging. “A pizza slice this morning.”
He didn't fight back as Leo held his plate in front of him, prompting him to take some fruit. He withdrew a good few of the purple grapes and softer pieces of pineapple, nibbling slowly.
They stayed hushed for a while, Leo eventually finishing whatever he could stomach and placing the plate on one of the nearby carts, making a mental note to take it to the kitchen when he was evidently forced to leave for rest [he couldn’t rest anymore].
“Any change?” Donnie asked, nodding towards their baby brother.
“Nope.”
“Mhm.”
Leo fiddled with his nails, briefly wondering if he should cut them soon. Maybe he could get Mikey to paint them, give him something to do. He didn't like the idea of the box turtle using his arms and hands unless necessary, but he started to wonder if Mikey, too, needed stuff to do to stay sane. If his breakdown from earlier was anything to go by, Leo hit the nail straight on the head with that assumption.
“I think..” he started, catching a glance by his companion, “Mikey needs us. I mean, obviously he does- we all need each other right now, including you, Dee-”
He didn't call out Donnie's bitten scoff, though he didn't deny that Leo was incorrect. Donnie was far from stupid nor idiotic, and Leo knew he would be a fool to think otherwise, you see.
“He said somethin’ – ‘bout how we don't talk to him anymore. No one does, apparently. I think it really bothers him that we, y'know, aren't open about emotions and stuff right now. We’ve denied any use of Doctor Feelings and Doctor Delicate Touch. And – and we're scaring him, Don.. He said he's worried and scared, dude. It hurt to see him so upset, blaming himself for not being able to cook for us.”
“It.. it hurts, Dee.”
Donnie had slipped his phone into his hoodie pocket, giving his other half his undivided attention [weird that Donnie did that more often now]. He swallowed thickly, something akin to recognition in his amber eyes. “I had.. suspicions. He asks me if I need help with my projects or if he can do anything to help find Raph.”
Neither acknowledged the amount of tremendous weight the name added to the atmosphere.
“Have you found anything new?” Leo asked, though he already knew the answer.
“No. I've hacked into every camera, every recording device, hell- even our trackers-”
“Wait, those can record things?”
“But nothing new. So many cameras were destroyed, plus a lot of the power to the city was fucked, so our options are extremely limited and scarce. I'm- I'm doing what I can right now, I promise, I swear I'm going to find something of use-”
Leo grabbed Donnie's hand, causing the other to freeze in place, eyes widening. “Don, you're literally the only reason we haven't gone insane yet.. I know you're doing everything you can, bro.”
“I can be doing more-! I've sent all my drones, every piece of my tech, out looking, but nothing–! I should be out there too, Leo-! Raph's out there and he's alone-! I’ve lost his tracker, it’s gone–!”
Leo, faster than he thought possible with his current condition, hurriedly wrapping his arms around Donnie, tucking his head against his shoulder. The softshell twitched and tensed, gripping onto Leo's sides like a desperate lifeline. At that moment, he was, and he would be a damn good lifeline. Donnie trembled, the weight on his shoulders folding in on him until he was huddled against Leo's plastron.
Leo didn't move an inch, willing every ounce of strength to not quiver at the quickly increasing aches in his legs and shell. It was fine. He would hold Donnie as long as he could. As long as he was allowed.
Donnie whimpered, the sad sound vulnerable and frightened, a tone so rare it caught his twin off guard for a few moments.
Leo tightened his cradle on Donnie, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, his slinged arm dangling helplessly in its hold. He gazed at the far wall, eyes hardening into a glare when he imagined the hell on earth that New York City became that day.
The hell he caused.
The hell he stopped.
The hell he would take responsibility for. For Raph.
Leo bit back a low growl, teeth baring at nothing but lit brick and cement.
“We'll find him. We'll find him if we have to search every damn crevice in the city.”
Because Raph wasn't gone.
He was missing and alone, but he was out there, waiting to be taken home.