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He stays awake for about an hour after Mikey closes the portal. Raph’s surprised he lasted as long as he did.
Although, once he makes his final quip about Staten Island, he starts to nod off. Slurs his words, forgets previous conversations, goes to shut his eyes. Donnie practically begs Raph to keep him awake, to keep him conscious and interactive.
Mikey watches him from the ground, eyes wide. “Why can’t we let him sleep?” His voice is thick, and he’s ready to cry from the whole ordeal, Raph knows it.
Out of all the stressful situations they’ve been in, Mikey’s stunt with literally opening another dimension certainly took the cake. Raph watches as the glowing burns on the boxshell’s arms grow and pulse, and sees the hard winces and flinches Mikey has when he tries to pry at the spider-like burns.
He extends a free hand towards his baby brother, who is quick to snuggle up and allow Raph to put his arm around him.
“Concussions are no joking matter,” Donnie replies, “we won’t know if he’ll wake up again if he dozes off.” He scans over Leo — who only offers a small lopsided smile in response — and hums. “Keep him awake for at least thirty minutes, I need to monitor his heart rate and brain activity.”
“Sounds good.”
“After that, he can sleep. We just need to wake him up every two to three hours for medication and…”
Raph’s head snaps up from checking over Mikey’s wounds. “And what?” He doesn’t like the lilt in Donnie’s tone. It sounds hesitant, and Donnie is never hesitant.
Donnie cringes, an apologetic look on his face. Raph notices the mistiness of his eyes. “…making sure he doesn’t slip into a coma.”
That sends a jolt of terror down Raph’s spine, but he nods. Taking charge is easy for him, and he slips into the role quickly. Their leader is down, but Raph is still up. “Okay. Let’s just wait for April to get here, before we think ahead.”
His younger brother nods, and begins to check over all of them, rattling off the facts and statistics. He knows Donnie doesn’t do it maliciously or to stress them out — even if hearing some of the injuries he describes scares Raph a bit. He’s only simply stating the facts to calm himself down. With all the things they’ve done in the past two days — has it only been two days? — Raph’s proud of his brother for staying so strong. For the past day, it’s been nothing but sensory hell for the softshell, he knows.
So he lets Donnie fuss over everyone, ramble about the injuries, and collect his data. It seems to soothe him in a calm and collected way.
While he does that, Raph spends his time talking to Leo, keeping him updated. Even if he’s not entirely responsive — he only offers a hum or a “yeah,” every so often — Raph still talks to him, explaining everything that’s going on. What’s he doing, where they are, that they’re safe, and how far out April, Splinter and Junior are.
Leo takes it in stride, despite his injuries. His inhales are shallow and his exhales are raspy. His head keeps lolling off to the side. His eyes are unfocused and his body is a canvas of bruises and blood. Raph’s pretty sure he’s even paralyzed from the waist down, he hasn’t seen a single leg muscle spasm, or a twitch of a toe since they pulled him out.
But he’s alive. His brother is alive and breathing, and in his arms. He’s not in a dark, cold, and desolate dimension with a fate worse than death.
Mikey sniffles beside him, burying his face into Raph’s side. His head sinks a bit, mouth covered by the lip of his plastron. Raph runs a hand across his baby brother’s shell.
“Hey, Big Man,” The snapper moves to shift his posture, and tilts Mikey’s face to face him, “it’s okay. You saved him. He’s okay.”
Mikey swallows, and dares a look at Leo. Bruised, broken Leo, who doesn’t even look at him, eyes glazed and staring at the sky. Raph sees Mikey begin to cry, and hugs him close. “We’re safe. They’re all gone.” He assures, a whisper in the wind that only his brother can hear.
His baby brother breaks, and presses himself into Raph’s bicep, sobbing into his scales. He holds onto Raph like a lifeline, head thunking against the snapper’s plastron, claws wrapped around his chest.
“I thought it wouldn’t work,” Mikey’s muffled voice rumbles from Raph’s chest, “I thought we lost him for good.”
And Raph’s heart breaks all over again.
———
Donnie tries his hardest to get them back to the lair, and he’s somewhat successful.
The Turtle Tank is in horrible shape, barely even able to be driven. April confesses it suffered a lot at the hands of her herbicide, a bashful look on her face. Donnie is glad she’s sympathetic — the upgrades did take a while and was his pride and joy, after all — but be could not care less about that situation if he tried, no matter how much he pretends to scold her for the damage.
It’s a slow process, getting everyone in without pain. But once they get in they leave quickly, and that’s that. Driving past the wreckage and recovery of the city, and back home.
He doesn’t even want to even think about all the damage he will have to repair in a few months. In fact, he will file it away later, and focus on more important things. Family is a top priority in moments such as these.
He has the tank on autopilot, taking the safe and quickest route home. He’s not sure anyone trusts anyone with driving, with all the head trauma and concussions they all have.
Donnie doesn’t even trust his own hands behind the wheel, if he’s completely honest. But he’s the only one with a somewhat legal driver’s license, so he can’t really do anything about it.
He looks back at everyone, keeping an eye on their injures. He slips on his goggles, and visualizes the notes that pop up as he looks at each family member. Documenting each person’s inflictions and wounds, Donnie takes note of all the healing needing to be done in the next hours to weeks.
His dad is the closest, his tail completely dead, only swaying back and forth with the tank’s movements — probably paralyzed from Krang Sister’s brute force and bite. It’s hastily bandaged and dripping a bit of blood from the bite he suffered from, and Donnie sees scrapes and lost fur on his arms and legs.
He notes that for future reference — looks like he needs some gauze and band-aids for that. Ointment too.
Mikey’s sitting beside him, knees brought up to curl himself into a ball. His arms are covered in red and gold, deep and severe third degree burns indented the skin of his arms, all the way up to his shoulders. It looks unbearable, Donnie’s own arms are numb and shaky at the sight. Burns are no joke, he knows that. But to see that on his youngest brother, it’s a sickening sight.
Mikey’s claws are shaking extremely badly, though, and it doesn’t look like he can control it. He seems to feel discomfort from them, too, if the flinches and his scrunched-up face is anything to go by. Some cleaning ointment should soothe the pain. Bandaging is the best course of action to help them heal, changing the dressing every day, until the infection lessens or goes away altogether.
The shaking is what unnerves Donnie the most, however. How his baby brother grabs his shoulders to ground himself, but still quivering from the pressure and mystic energy. It’d be best to call Draxum for that.
His gaze flits to Junior, who suffers from a bleeding head wound, and bruises everywhere on the visible skin. To top it all off, he’s also covered in grime everywhere.
When they get back, Donnie will drag him to the shower if he must. He can only imagine the disgusting habits that kid could have, growing up in the apocalypse and all.
Other than that, he seems fine, checking up on everyone and talking with no issue. April appears to be in the same state, only having a few scrapes on her arms and a gash on her cheek.
Donnie is willing to bet she’d want to see her mom after checking on the boys, he reminds himself to ask later.
Raph’s in the very back, the left side of the lip of his shell jagged and broken off, the skin on his left collarbone scarred, bleeding sluggishly. His arms and shoulders are scabbed as well, sores covering his claws and upper body skin. Probably from the possession, if Donnie had to guess. That Krang matter covering him did not look very comfortable.
His eye is the worst of it. It suffers the same fate as his hands and arms, the skin around it being covered in sores, while also red-rimmed around the eyelid. The eye itself swelled shut, probably due to the bruising around it, and the involuntary body response of keeping the infection from spreading. Donnie is glad Raph took off his mask when he did; any brushing with other materials could irritate the skin, which is not something they need.
Lots of ointment and cleansing wipes will be needed for him, as well as a medical eyepatch and some bandages. Leo would also probably take him to the eyewash station they have to flush out the eye of an infection. Maybe even remove the eye altogether to keep it from infecting him bad. Donnie notes that as a last resort.
After taking data points, the softshell looks to the last occupant of the tank, the brother that really makes Donnie’s heart skip a beat.
Leo’s propped up in the back, hand holding onto Raph’s bicep like it’s his lifeline. He’s laying on the seat, head cushioned on Raph’s thigh, and body slack on the rest of the backseat. Raph’s rubbing his chest, hissing sympathetically whenever the tank runs over a rough patch of road, jostling Leo a bit.
His plastron is an assortment of scrapes and cement indents, chipped from impact. His shell is probably worse, but Don can’t get a good look. His face is bruised and bloody, a black eye and a forming bruise on his cheek on his left side. His arms are bruised too, and on his neck is an assortment of marks, black-and-blue. Donnie nearly vomits at the sight, but he keeps his goggles on and keeps checking him over.
Fractured ribs, if the shortness of breath is anything to go by. Possible paralysis in the waist-down — if the lack of foot movement is anything go off of — which makes Don’s heart skip a beat.
If Krang Prime was not already in the Prison Dimension, Donnie might just go back and kill him himself.
Leo’s shouts of pain and begs of mercy over the transceiver still haunt Donnie, he visualises it whenever he closes his eyes.
“You think you’ve won, you wretched-“
Donnie only listens with grit teeth as Leo’s screams are heard from the comm, yelps and begs accompanying them. He flinches at the impact of the beating as he hears it.
“-little-“
“No-“ The softshell breathes, frozen as he hears punch after punch, beating after beating, all targeting Leo.
“-pest?!”
He presses his hand to his mouth to stop the bile threatening to spill over. The crunch of his brother’s shell from Prime’s beating rings in his ears. When he blinks, he can almost see the blood pouring out from his carapace, barely conscious.
Possibly even dead.
Donnie shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. No doubt about it. Leo needs medical attention immediately. They all do, but while the others are still banged up and heavily injured, Leo is barely clinging to consciousness, and needs to get out the tank as soon as humanely possible. He can’t even walk.
He needs to lay down. He needs to be hooked up to medicines and IVs stat. He needs- he needs-
Donnie gives an irritated growl, a grimace on his face. Panicking and overthinking will make this worse. He swallows and thinks after a moment.
What would Leo do?
Leo would… extract him from the tank carefully and swiftly, rushing him to the med bay. Leo would set him on the bed and clean his wounds. Leo would hook him up to a monitor, to hear his heart rate. Leo would put in nutrients via IV fluids into him, and let him sleep after it all.
So when they reach the secret entrance quickly, Donnie already knows what to do.
Leo groans and grumbles throughout it all, Raph carrying him to the med bay. Donnie makes good use of the time, scanning and checking over all injuries. Charting new ones and confirming the ones already identified.
“Don’t go nerding out on me, Don-Tron.” Leo teases weakly, his tone dull. But Don can see twinkle in his eyes, and he breathes a sigh of relief.
Never will he ever complain about his twin’s jokes again. If it means he can hear him speak, it’s worth enduring the horrible one-liners.
“Glad you’re persona is unchanged, dear Nardo.” He quips back, giving a small smile.
Leo smiles back, his gaze unfocused. Donnie only watches as Raph rushes him to the nearest bed in the med-bay.
It’s gonna be ok, the purple pixels barks to the blue blaze.
I know, the blaze replies.
I’m glad you’re alive, the pixels say.
The blue blaze does not reply, it simply wavers, the flames dying out.
It cannot recognize those it loves. Not now.
———
Watching the Hamatos work in the med bay brings a sort of warped déjà vu to Casey.
Sure, it may not be the same, but it’s so similar that it makes Casey falter. It’s like he’s in the past — or rather, the future — again.
He watches as the family scans over each other’s wounds, bandages and antibiotics tossed around with ease.
Mikey is first up, quickly being given Ibuprofen and cleaned of his horrid burns. Casey only watches as April carefully dresses his hands in gauze as Raph holds him close, and Splinter rubs his shell comfortably. He only cries into his father’s shoulder, a stark contrast from the invincible and strong mystic warrior, Master Michelangelo. Casey nearly falters at the sight.
Donnie is commanded by Raph to remove his shell, his sensitive shell being rubbed with antibiotic creams, and bandaged gently. He pretends not to care, but Casey sees the recognizable look, the same look Uncle Don had. The softness between the brows and the relaxed quirk of his lips.
Raph’s eye is — as expected — infected, and Donnie worries heavily about it. Casey proposes to remove it, hoping that they listen. The Hamatos seem to take it into consideration, and Casey beams at helping out. For now, the oldest brother is patched up from the sores on his body, alcohol wipes running across his scarred shoulder and claws. The left side of his face is wrapped up in bandages, a similarity to Uncle Rafa and his eyepatch.
When they all are patched up and resting, there’s a tense silence as they study Leo’s sleeping frame. The gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his brow scrunches and relaxes as he dreams, the way he barely moves in the cot.
Casey is unsure who leaves first, but eventually it’s just him and Raph, who sits beside his brother in a chair too small for him.
He thinks about leaving, letting Raph have his time with his brother, but he acts against it. He sees the tension in the snapper’s frame, shoulders hunched and elbows braced on his knees as his tired expression focuses on the bedridden slider.
“Raph?” He asks, his voice a bit shaky. Maybe it’s because of the adrenaline winding down, maybe it’s because the sight sends a jolt of nostalgia down his spine. Casey’s not sure, but he continues. “I could watch him.”
The snapper looks up, green eyes studying Casey. It’s a sight that scares him a bit, but also warms his heart. Seeing how protective Leo’s brothers are of him. The teen raises his hands in faux surrender, edging closer.
“I promise not to disturb him or hurt him,” Casey promises, slowly making his way to Raph’s spot, “I just wanna monitor him and let you rest.”
Raph relaxes at that, and he nods, standing up and sending one last look to his brother. His shoulders shudder a bit, but he looks to Casey before he can cry.
“You sure you got him?”
“Affirmative.”
Raph snorts at Casey’s formal response, but beams nonetheless. Then before Casey could process it, the snapper practically crushes him in a hug.
It’s tight. It’s warm. It’s comforting. It’s just like Master Raphael’s hugs, back when Casey was a kid. He can’t help the hiccup that escapes his lips. Spirits, Casey missed this hug. So much.
Raph either doesn’t hear the sound or ignores it, and lets Casey go after a moment, and goes to leave, but not before squeezing one of Leo’s hands as he sleeps, and whispering a promise.
“Anata wa hitori ja nai.”
You are not alone.
A mantra the Hamato family implemented into Casey since birth. It makes him teary-eyed when he hears it.
With a nod to Casey, Raph leaves. The younger sits back down in the chair overlooking the cot, studying Leo’s face.
He can’t help but take note of Leo’s state and looks, never really stopping to look at the similarities.
They’re there, Leo is definitely Master Leonardo, but there are other differences.
Where Sensei has three stripes along his arms, Leo has two. Sensei has three small stripes running down his chin, Leo doesn’t. Leo’s markings and skin is more vibrant, Sensei’s is dull and ashy-toned. Leo has two swords, Sensei has one.
Leo still has his brothers, Sensei doesn’t.
Most of all, Leo kept that semblance of hope and happiness and joking demeanor. According to many members of the resistance, Master Leonardo had abandoned that character soon after the apocalypse had began. All the smirks and winks and grins that Leo gave, Casey could never seem to imagine them on his dad’s face. If he smiled, it was genuine.
Not that Sensei had time to smile, anyway.
Casey still remembers the last time he’d been in a med bay. He was a freshly turned ten year-old, eyes bright and hair mussed from training. He wanted to be so much like his Sensei and uncles.
He held his wooden sword with confidence, practicing the moves Master Rafa and Sensei taught him. He was gonna make them proud. He was gonna make his momma proud. He was so ready.
Then the Krang found their bunker, and it all turned sour quick. Master Michelangelo and Sensei stayed topside and fought off the monsters, swearing that they will keep all of them safe.
He still remembers the way Uncle Mikey’s hands flared with flames and sparks, his eyes glowing with unreleased mystic power. Chains winding around him as he flew out to the battlefield.
And how his dad’s sword gleamed mystic symbols undecipherable, and pulsed with a blue blaze, licking at the steel of the blade. His mask tails winding in the wind as he stood proud, ready to defend the rest of those he cared for and trusted.
Little Casey had never seen them fight until that day. Granted, he only saw snippets and flashes of the fight, but to witness his own family fighting for their freedom?
To see Uncle Angelo raise his hands and shoot out scorching chains that illuminated the battlefield and destroyed Krang dogs? To see Master Leonardo swiftly dodge the lasers and slice through Krang flesh mercilessly? That was something that stuck with Casey for the rest of his life. That is how he still remembers them.
But once they all fled, and the battle still raged on, Casey worried for them. The hours while they were gone, away from the fleeing resistance were some of the longest hours of his life.
Uncle Don was quick to upgrade and move his tech, using it to hold up the crumbling shelters. His holograms glitching and ninpō flaring as he tried his hardest to evade everyone from the battle above. Casey remembers him counting heads, sighing with relief that somehow, they lost no one that day. No casualty but one.
Master Raphael. Joint leader of the resistance with Master Leonardo, and the bravest hero Casey had ever known.
Out of all the uncles he had in that time, Casey loved him the most. Uncle Rafa was so big and strong, seemingly invincible.
Casey still remembers crawling on his shell, learning battle moves from him, and finally being assigned to him as his apprentice when he turned nine. He grew up with Uncle Rafa, it was like a phantom limb with him gone. Still is, even if Casey is seeing him again, many years younger.
Master Raphael was a loyal and compassionate leader. Always the first to save stragglers and set up meetings. He wasn’t quite as cunning or swift as Sensei, but still smart enough to fool the Krang with his ninpō tricks. His sai were all he needed in a fight.
Uncle Rafa could do anything, Casey thought. Anything he needed to do to survive and help the resistance, he did it.
Take down an army of Krang with his ninpō.
Set up new shelters and bunkers whenever needed to.
Create plans with the other leaders of the resistance when times called for it.
Teach Casey self-defense.
Destroy Krang dogs with nothing but a single sai.
Jumping in front of a Krang laser beam to save Sensei.
Losing his arm from the blast of the beam.
Installing a robotic arm in order to keep fighting.
Helping people evacuate the bunker as he witnesses his younger brothers fighting for their lives.
Staying back to protect the rebellion as they escaped.
That was the last noble deed Master Raphael had done, Casey remembers. People talked about it for weeks. Said that without him, no one would have made it.
Casey still remembers seeing him hold up a giant steel wall with his bare hands, knees buckling under the pressure as resistance members ran by him, escaping the abandoned shelter.
Uncle Rafa didn’t have a goodbye, and he didn’t give a heroic catchphrase. He just flashed the escaping survivors a warm smile, his fanged tooth peeking out, before the building collapsed, burying him in smoke and rubble.
Uncle Don was quick to recover him, turns out he dug into the tunnels under the rubble, all while bleeding out. The softshell had moved him to the makeshift med bay, hooking him up to so many IVs and monitors, bandaging his wounds and removing his robo-arm.
It made Casey dizzy when he saw it. With all the others crowding around his uncle, the ragged breathing barely audible.
When he did muster up the courage, Uncle Rafa was waiting for him, laying on a cot. He was bruised and scraped up bad, blood seeping out of all his bandages. There was a falter in Casey’s step as he walked towards his uncle, the facts catching up to him. The powerful co-leader of the resistance was on death’s door.
Casey hugged him, cried and cried until he couldn’t anymore, and when he couldn’t, he still clutched to his uncle’s plastron, listening to the shallow breaths and dull heartbeat.
Uncle Rafa had tilted his chin up then, his good eye shining as he smiled at Casey.
“You’re okay,” he rasped, tooth peeking out as he smiled bright, “I’m proud of you, Junior.” He said, thumb moving to stroke Casey’s hair, ruffling it lightly. The little boy hiccuped, and hugged onto his uncle, listening to the fading heartbeats.
An inhale. A chuckle. “You got grit, kiddo. Keep fighting.”
So, yeah. With all the IVs Leo was hooked up to now, as well as the bandages wrapped around his skinny, bruised frame, it’s no wonder why Casey watches him intently, breaths deep as he calms himself.
The sound of the door opening, and Mikey walks in, waving a bit at Casey, before heading towards the cabinets.
“Painkillers on the second shelf, Donnie told me you’d need them.” Casey exhaled, not taking his eyes off of Leo.
Mikey falters, noticing his tone. He knows, because despite the completely different timeline he’s living in, there’s still some Master Michelangelo in him. So he hangs back, watching Casey as he leans over the bed, elbows on the cot.
“Hey.” Mikey says, and Casey looks over, swallowing his nerves. He smiles at the sight. Mikey has shuffled closer, a sad smile on his face as his sky-colored gaze flits from Casey to his injured brother.
If Casey’s honest, he’s still not used to this younger version of his uncle. This younger, unsure version of him that still somehow doubts his abilities. He’s used to Master Michelangelo being a tactical mystic warrior who smote down enemies with only his hands, but also soft-spoken figure who always gave Casey band-aids and sung him lullabies when he was little.
Uncle Angelo had a sort of loud presence, but a calm manner. When he walked into a room, people were quieter. More respectful. They valued his input, and when he talked, people listened.
But Casey also remembers when he first started to show side effects from his mystic training. How he saw the lines on his uncle’s face, and how they got more and more prominent as the weeks passed by. Where people aged years, Master Michelangelo seemed to age decades. Although he physically wasn’t any older than his brothers, he looked older, and he wasn’t as bouncy and swift as he once was.
People noticed, and they talked. Soon enough Michelangelo wasn’t respected, but pitied. Every time he was out and about, people followed him, asked for his input. Asked how wise he truly was. Asked him to predict the future using his mystics. Medics stayed near him, “just in case.” He was given a seat to sit in every time he came into a room, even if he was there for a moment. “Rest a bit, catch your breath,” they always said.
People at the resistance thought he was too weak to be their mystic warrior. Too weak to save their timeline.
If only they knew.
“Junior, you okay?”
Casey blinks, Mikey still looking at him, his head cocked a bit. He forced a small smile, nodding. “Yeah, I’m okay, just a bit…” his eyes drifted back to the bed, Leo’s motionless body still laying on it as the monitor beeps quietly.
“Lost in thought.” Mikey finished for him, following Casey’s gaze.
Casey nods, swallowing. It does nothing, if anything the stubborn lump in his throat grows. He feels his cheeks grow wet.
But then a hand wraps around his shoulders, and Mikey kneels down to hug him close. Casey folds, hiccuping and crying into his plastron.
“I thought I lost him again.” He confesses.
He hears Mikey sigh, rubbing comforting circles onto Casey’s back.
“Me too, Junior,” he says, a hitch in his words, “me too.”
They stay like that, crying and hugging each other and reminding themselves of each other’s presence.
———
“Wasn’t expecting visitors.”
Raph gives a small chuckle, approaching the cot. “Get used to it, tough guy,” He pulls up a spare stool, sitting beside the bedridden slider, “especially now that you’re awake and conscious for more than thirty minutes.”
Leo sighs dramatically, gently flopping back onto the pillows behind him. “Oh, the humanity, being coddled.”
“You love being coddled, shut it.” Raph teases, chuckling warmly as Leo sticks out his tongue. They laugh together for a moment, before Leo leans back, breathing deeply.
Raph only watches as his little brother adjusts and shivers as he sits in the bed. When Leo moves, he catches sight of the bruises peek out from the bandages, and Raph has to fight to not vomit.
In comparison to a couple weeks ago, Leo looks much better, it’s true. The pigment in his skin is more vibrant, and he started to gain more feeling in his legs and lower body. His black eye is healing, and the cuts and scrapes are scabbing over, too. He’s eating more every day, and he’s still cracking jokes to everyone.
But Raph can’t help but let his eyes drift to Leo’s lingering injuries. The chips in his plastron. The cracks split across his carapace. The bruises on his neck from Raph’s possession. How he’s given so many fluids in his IV because he couldn’t eat for weeks. How his legs still don’t support him much without crutches when he tries to walk around the med bay.
Most of all, how he cries and sobs himself to sleep quietly, thinking no one hears. How he wakes up violently from a night terror, and doesn’t recognize anyone for a full five minutes after. How he flinches violently whenever the others move too fast in his peripheral, like they’ll attack him. How his eyes linger a little too much on anything colored red. How he panics and begs Donnie to leave the nightlights on in the med bay, for it never to be dark.
“What’s wrong, Raph-a-doodle?” Leo’s voices snaps Raph back in the present. His words are teasing, but lack the usual flair Leo usually has for his jabs and jokes. His smile is there, the genuine Leonardo Hamato smile that always cheers Raph up. He rarely sees it anymore, even before the invasion.
Raph looks away, swallowing, and presses his teeth together.
“You hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
The response is immediate. Raph wipes his tears away for the fourteenth time, and buries his face into the curative bed’s sheets. The feeling of plush and covers on his face soothes him a bit, but he still hiccups and chokes on sobs all the same.
“Raph thinks you should.”
“Mind Raph’s a little delulu, then.” Raph hears Leo above him snicker, and a hand caresses the back of Raph’s head as he buries his face into the covers of the cot.
“No, Mind Raph’s never been wrong before.”
His little brother huffs another laugh. “Maybe he broke his streak.” He was about to say something else, but he inhaled too soon, and began to cough at the action.
Immediately Raph pops up, and is quick to lay one hand across Leo’s plastron, and the other hand on his shell, balancing him to sit upright, right on the pillow.
He lets Leo finish his little coughing tantrum, and sinks into the fluffy pillows. He flashes a smile at Raph in gratitude, before making grabby hands at the glass of water by the nightstand. The snapper sighs in mock-exasperation, but grabs it all the same. He folds at his little brothers, sue him.
Leo drinks the water like a parched fish in the desert, and Raph has to gently remind him to take a breath. He really doesn’t want Leo to start hacking up a lung because he choked on some H2O. Mikey would have a fit.
After a second of breathing, Raph sets the glass of water back on the table, and lays his arms across the bed, careful not to put too much weight on the slider’s legs.
He watches the monitor next to Leo’s cot through a glassy gaze. The quiet, high-pitched beeps are the only sounds heard for a moment, other than Leo’s raspy breaths. Raph buries his snout into his arm, letting out shaky exhales.
“I dunno, Leo. I just feel like I failed you.”
It’s silent after a moment, and Raph’s sure that the slider just ignored him, before he hears a question, in a small and raspy voice. “How?”
“How?” Raph swallowed a lump in his throat, choking out the word, and lets himself stare at Leo. “I put so much on you!” He exclaims, seeing the way Leo’s lips pull down in a frown. Nevertheless, Raph continues. Because he knows he’s right.
“I expected you to grow up too fast, I threatened that we could die if you don’t shape up, I left you to lead by yourself, I- I-“ Raph presses his hands to his face, beginning to claw at his eyes. “I nearly killed you.” He whispers.
Through his hands that cover his face, he sees Leo go frigid, and his brow pinch downwards. Raph closes his eyes, and wills himself to control his emotions. He’s the oldest, it’s not about him.
It has never been about him.
“Who does that?” The snapper whispers out, rubbing at his eyelids, trying to cover the tears in his eyes.
Leo frowns, a crease in his forehead, and the sight of his brother having his own Raph-chasm makes the snapper even angrier at himself. “I failed you.” He sobbed out pathetically behind his hands, “I failed my own brother.”
“Hey, no.” Leo’s unusually gentle tone snaps Raph out of his moment of weakness, and gentle hands pry away his large claws. He looks up to see Leo holding Raph’s claws with his own, yet he looks at him with awe, with pride.
Raph never liked his claws. They were always too big. He never liked how easily they shaped into fists to fight instead of open palms to hug. He hated how they always tensed and scarred. So he doesn’t understand why Leo looks at them like they are sacred. Like they mean so much to him.
Seeing his little brother handle them so softly and gently, it made a sense of protection wash over Raph, he didn’t know how to handle it.
He was always the protector, the fighter. Never the weak, never the scared.
“Raphael, you are not a failure.” Leo says firmly, shushing Raph dramatically when he opens his mouth. He presses his hands firmly into Raph’s, holding his older brother like he’ll collapse.
Raph’s breaths grow shallow, and he squeezes Leo’s hands, only to ground himself. He prays it doesn’t hurt him, he’s done enough to hurt Leo.
The slider only smiles at the gesture, and Raph hears him begin to softly count. Raph follows the gesture, his lungs loosening with each inhale and exhale. He lets himself fall into Leo’s chest, his head hitting Leo’s plastron with a soft thunk.
Leo continues after a moment, “You are the bravest and strongest guy I know,” He smiles tearfully, reaching up and wiping away a stray tear, “and it kills me that you don’t see that in yourself.”
Raph folds into Leo, and hugs him close, the slider still speaking. “You have saved me countless times, you fought a literal alien when it possessed you, and after all that, you still managed to stay alive after sacrificing yourself.”
Raph has the decency to give a wet sniffle and a chuckle, and moves a hand to ruffle Leo’s head. “Like you’re one to talk, Fearless.” He jokes, smile widening when Leo laughs.
“Yeah, fair.” The injured brother says, but he makes no move to end the hug, and only stays close, eyes on Raph’s face. The snapper breathes deeply, and wraps his hands around Leo, running his claws along the grooves of his shell.
They stay like that for a while. Feeling each other’s heartbeats, having the presence of each other, if only to keep them from breaking down completely.
“Don’t leave.” Raph says, hugging Leo. The strongest seeks his brother for comfort, and for guidance.
“I’m right here.” The proudest humbles for the strongest. For he knows that everyone has a mask that can crack and break.
And in the midst of it all, their ninpō flares, bustles with love for each other. The hum of the energy speaks things they do not say, but feel.
You mean so much to me, the red flame roars, encircling the blue blaze.
I cannot do this without you, the blaze reverberates.
The two circle and engulf each other, fighting and living together, side by side, the way that only two leaders would know how to do.
———
Leo was always the strongest, in Mikey’s eyes.
Mentally, of course. Raph was always the physically burliest out of the bunch, duh.
Still, Leo was practically Mikey’s hero.
Never needed help, always supported his little brother’s passion for art, always had a plan or a backup plan when they go out, Leo is the definition of strong.
After the invasion, after two weeks of staying in bed and only waking for food and medication, Mikey thinks that it’s the weakest he’s ever seen him. It hurts the boxshell, to see his supportive, loving brother so broken and tired.
But he started to talk again, started to joke. He listened to the conversations around him. He was filling into the family more and more, day by day.
And the day Mikey sees him stumbles his way out of bed, crutches under his arms, he thinks that yeah, Leo’s still the strongest guy he knows.
He watches with a smile as the slider hobbles further and further, day by day. He insists he doesn’t need help, so they hang back, and don’t crowd him. They congratulate him whenever he ventures further. Mikey decorates his crutches. Raph hugs him tight and puts him to bed. Donnie explains the upgrades he has.
But every time, after every walk-around, he sees Leo grimace in bed. His beak scrunches, and his eyes dim. His tone sours when he speaks, always claiming he’s tired after the walk.
Mikey watches him now, ignoring all the cheers and congratulations from the family. The way Leo’s face droops and his brow wrinkles. The way he turns away and pushes his family away, saying he needs a nap.
“You coming, Big Man?” Raph asks him, his uninjured eye sparkling with ecstasy. Gentle, loving Raph, always there for his brothers. Mikey’s heart melts at the sight, but he hangs back.
“Nah, I wanna show Leo a quick sketch I did.” He declines politely, only half-lying. He did make a quick sketch, but he’s not going to show Leo. Not now, anyway. “I really think I’m improving.”
His big brother beams even more, and gives a thumbs up. “Nice! Raph wants to see it later!”
Mikey nods, practically shining with appreciation. Bless his big brother, they’re all lucky to have him.
“You will! I just need Leo’s opinion.”
Leo cheers from his bed at that, pointing at Raph with a smirk.
“Ha! I have a more artistic mindset than you!” He calls, whooping. Raph rolls his eyes, but huffs with a relieved laugh, and heads out of the door. Once all the family is gone, Mikey turns to Leo.
The slider’s smile slips off quickly, replaced with a sour smirk. He huddles closer to his comforter, and smiles sheepishly. His arms shiver a bit, and he curls more into the sheets of the cot. “I sense Dr. Feelings is in the room with us.”
Mikey allows himself a small giggle, sitting beside the curative bed. “You’d be right.” He chirped.
The slider’s lips quirk downward, before he nonchalantly leans back, hands bracing his head.
“Hit me, Mikester.”
The boxshell watches as Leo keeps up his facade, and sighs. For once, he wishes he could break down those walls, and read Leo as well as he reads them. It hurts Mikey.
So, he braces himself, leaning closer.
“Why’re you so sad about the crutches?”
It’s short, a subtle movement, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, but it’s there. Leo flinches a bit, a sheen of anger spread across his face. He grimaces, eyes narrowed.
Then it’s gone. Leo’s smirk is plastered on again, and he shrugs. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
Ever the master of deception.
Luckily, Mikey’s a master of reading people.
Even if his big brother has stone walls built around his emotions.
Two can play at that game, Leon.
“I was just wondering, since it’s something that happens a lot.” Mikey grumbles out, making a show of checking his claws. He notes the way Leo clenches the sheets, and reels it back.
“Not that we blame you, being cooped up here sucks, but…”
He studies Leo. Invincible, brave, smart Leo. The brother who always kissed Mikey’s scrapes after he put band-aids on them. The brother who always watched Jupiter Jim and fought over who wore the costume with Mikey.
The brother who always loosened the leash Mikey always had as the youngest brother, and trusted him to go out alone.
The brother who hugged him close and assured him nothing bad will ever happen.
The brother who locked himself in with death itself.
The brother who Mikey tore open the dimensions for.
The brother that breaks and slumps over in his cot, exhausted. His face is contorted in a slight snarl, discomfort written across his visage. Mikey had never seen him look so old and tired.
“…It’s not the crutches.” The slider breathes, curling into himself.
Mikey presses a hand on the other’s shell, breaths small and quiet. As if Leo would skitter if he dares to be any louder. “What is it, then?”
The older brother swallows, and dares a look at Mikey, vulnerable and uncomfortable. The boxshell holds him close, churring and comforting and reminding him he is here. He is present.
“It just feels like I’m going too slow.” Leo growls out. He glares at his legs, which are covered by the sheets. “I walk with crutches, but only to short spots.”
He pushes away to flutter his claws, a prominent scowl on his face. Mikey scoots away, letting him spill out his frustrations.
“I mean, I’m not even making it to the kitchen! What’s my record, the bathroom?”
His hands are fast as he talks, his eyes lined with discontent, and facade slipping away. Eventually, he slows his fluttering, and drops his hands, huffing.
The boxshell swallows, before reaching a hand, hovering over Leo’s. At his nod, the youngest holds his hands with his own.
“It took me weeks for my hands to stop shaking.”
He confesses, rubbing Leo’s palms absentmindedly.
“They still shake sometimes, but I was so mad at myself before. I figured that I wouldn’t be able to do what I loved anymore.”
Mikey’s breath hitches a bit at that, and he clutches Leo’s hands harder. He heaves a sigh. The thought of never making art or cooking again scared him then, and still scares him now.
“Everyday, I would do the things Donnie had me do.” He reminisced about the small exercises and hand messages his older brother would have him do, chuckling despite himself. “And everyday, I would only improve a little.”
Leo’s eyes shine, and Mikey notices his lip wobble. He’s quick to hug his big brother, letting him wipe his tears on Mikey’s shoulder. He knows it’s a bad look for Leo, but he doesn’t care. He’d go through a million tearful hugs if it meant he could see his brother and know he is alive.
“You are so strong for doing this, Leo.” He assures when Leo pulls back to lean on his pillow.
The slider smiles, a tear running down his cheek. Mikey wipes it away, a matching tearful smile of his own on his face.
Leo chuckles, pulling Mikey close. “You really are wise past your years, huh Mikester?”
Mikey chuckles, pressing his arms around Leo and hugging him close.
Maybe Leo’s not entirely invincible, able to hide from feelings and be awesome his whole life. Maybe he’s just a kid who saved the world, and didn’t get anything in return.
But he is the sky, a limitless thing that begs the others to reach for it. He is the Earth that ties them together.
He is their brother, who has good days and bad.
And they will all be there for him throughout, just as he was for them.