Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Leo wakes in an unfamiliar bathtub to the steady drip dripping sound of water.

…And to the image of his oldest brother sitting next to him, looking like someone just dumped the aforementioned tub of water over his head.

It’s horribly disorienting for a minute, mostly because it feels like someone just woke him up from a year-long nap, but also because he can count on one hand the times he’s seen Raph look this stunned. 

(Unprompted, the image of himself being pulled into an escape pod by the Technodrome’s sinking wreck comes to mind. He’s sure there’s some connection there, but the hit-by-a-truck feeling permeating his body is consuming his attention a bit. He’ll think of it later.)

“L- Leo? ”

Forcing his eyes open again, he looks to his left to see Raph with one hand raised towards his shoulder, like he’s worried that if he actually makes contact Leo will disappear in a wisp of smoke. He’s trembling a little, Leo notes dimly, and the cotton in his brain at least allows him to realize that something must be wrong, so he gives his best attempt at a reassuring smile.

“Did you get the number of that bus?”

His voice feels shredded mangled, and evidently sounds it too because Raph reels back before clumsily grasping his older brother’s shoulder, a little choked noise working its way out of his throat.  “I- I gotta-”

He grips the edge of the bathtub and blinks hard at Leo, seeming to determine that he’s not some cruel hallucination or lucid dream, then turns over his shoulder to yell out the bathroom door.

“Guys- GUYS! GET UP HERE!”

Seconds later, the rest of his family practically skids through the doorframe. For a split second their faces are surreal mirror images of Raph’s until Mikey shoots over to cling to him with way too much momentum, tears welling out of his eyes and shaking Leo with a wail:

“LEO! You’re back! DUDE!”

Donnie had stopped short just beyond the door, the usual question or sarcastic remark cut short in his throat as he stared down at the tub and mumbled the leader’s name in disbelief. His expression melts quickly into relief while Mikey nuzzles his cheek against Leo, churring happily. (The shorter turtle only stopped shaking him once he mentioned the fact that it hurt like hell.)

Gently, Raph pulls him back and loops an arm under Leo’s, finally smiling a bit.

“Take it easy, Mike.”

Then, to Leo, his voice still shaky:

“Let us get you out of here.” 

All too soon he feels himself being pulled out of the tub, and the nauseating vertigo that ensues doesn’t ease until he finds himself seated on an unfamiliar couch, Donnie checking him over with a concentration so intense it looks painful. 

The trip downstairs had been uncomfortable enough (even being practically carried the whole way), but his brainiac brother took the excruciatingly long ten minutes to ramble his way to the point that Leo had officially been in a coma from December 12th to March 18th.

“So we’ve been here three months… I’ve been out that long?” 

April pipes up: “You had us worried sick, Leo. Raph barely slept.”

He glances over just in time to see Raph’s shoulders hike up about a foot. “Ah, that was nothing.” 

His voice is strained as he stares resolutely at the wall, inspecting a scuff on the living room’s faded wainscoting.

Another thing to figure out later. He’s developing a list of those.

Blunt as always, Casey chooses that moment to butt in from his spot across the room. “So, like, why does he sound different?”

Donnie grimaces. “He’s sustained damage to his throat.” He hesitates, gaze skittering from Leo’s neck to plastron to knee and back up somewhere above his left shoulder.

 “...And pretty much everywhere else, for that matter.”

…Damage. Huge, metal feet smashing down on his knee, razor-sharp blades sinking into his plastron, crushing grip around his ne-

 The memories rush forward dizzyingly fast, and Leo flinches hard, trying to push down first the wave of panic and then the wave of pain that results from the motion-

A hand on his shoulder. He jolts again, eyes snapping up in hopes that the owner of the hand (Donnie) will accept it as another response to the stabbing pain in his… well, in his whole body, if he’s being honest.

The purple-masked turtle doesn’t mention the reaction, but his eyes narrow and Leo can practically see him making a mental note of it for later.

“Take some more of my special patented mutagen medicine. You’ll be healed in no time.” 

He says it with impossible confidence, because Leo feels like he’s been dragged out of a grave and “no time” doesn’t feel remotely in the time frame for that to wear off.

Leo swallows the offered spoonful of “medicine” and notes that he’s finally found something worse-tasting than worms and algae before the nausea from earlier makes its reappearance.

“Agh- that tastes like it’s supposed to come out of me, not go into me.”

Donnie smiles apologetically, capping the bottle and turning to Casey to snicker about some comment he’d made (That’s new. Maybe he was out for a year.), and Leo falls victim to yet another brother crashing into him with too much speed. This time it’s Raph.

He leans firmly into Leo's side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders in a way that borders on clinging.

“First thing tomorrow, we’re gonna start training again. You and me. I’ll have you on your feet again in no time, bro.”

...And there it is again. If a speedy recovery could be brought about by sheer will, Leo’s pretty sure he’d be healed already. 

 The way Raph says it is different, though: he doesn’t sound sure. In fact, he sounds desperate, and he’s smiling the way he does in losing battles, one last attempt at bravado before they retreat with the mission a lost cause.

Leo nods meekly and does his best to look enthusiastic about it, but there’s a sickening pit opening in his stomach and he finds himself hung up on the parallel.

… a lost cause.

He hopes that’s not what he is now.

Chapter Text

It’s becoming clear to Leo that he underestimated exactly how injured he is.

Between the barrage of information he’s received about the past three months and the woozy, distant feeling that evidently follows a coma, he hasn’t exactly been taking stock of how he feels beyond “complete and utter shit”. 

On top of that, lying unconscious in a tub is a little less taxing than being smothered with affection and questions (so many questions- it’s getting difficult to avoid some of them) on a level that has his family toeing the line of “endearingly concerned”.

Luckily, Donnie’s there to describe his wounds. At length. In detail.

He’s been shuffled to lay back on the couch, propped up by what feels like an unnecessary amount of pillows, and his tallest brother has been murmuring to himself and making notes for a solid fifteen minutes without looking away from his clipboard.

“-lder, laryngeal trauma, cracked plastron- that’s healed pretty well, actually- 6 cracked ribs, also doing well, and… your knee.”

He looks up, wincing as if it hurts him just to describe it. 

“It’s bad. Displaced patella fracture, comminuted, I’d guess at least four pieces. I performed surgery as soon as your condition was stable enough, but it’s more complex than anything I’ve tried before and without physical therapy following the operation I don’t-”

“Don. Calm down.” He’s unaccustomed to his new voice, deep and grating and wrong, but the interjection’s necessary here because Donnie can nervous-rant almost indefinitely if not interrupted. “Just tell me what this means for- for training and missions and all that.”

He realizes as soon as he asks that his brother’s in Stressed Doctor Mode™ right now, meaning he isn’t going to phrase anything to spare Leo’s feelings. 

It doesn’t make the response any easier.

“You’ll be in crutches for at least a couple weeks, and even after that you’ll need a cane or a brace of some kind, your knee just won’t be stable enough. Obviously you’re going to need physical therapy to regain mobility and strength… I don’t estimate a complete recovery. We’re talking maybe eighty percent use of your knee after six months. And that’s if you’re careful."

He gives Leo a pointed look at that. They both know asking him to take a break is like asking the world to stop turning.

Leo, for his part, looks like his world just did.

A beat. Neither of them speak- one not knowing what to say, the other knowing there’s nothing he can say.

“So I- I can’t train, or- I can’t walk. My knee’s never going to be the same.” He wants to beg Donnie to change the diagnosis, tell him it’s not as bad as it sounds- “You said I’d be ‘healed in no time’.” His voice is cracking over the syllables, vocal chords straining painfully, but he needs his brother to tell him that he’s going to be himself again.

“The mutagenic medicine will accelerate your healing, yes, but it does most of its work on surface-level wounds. This involves your joint, tendons, everything, not just the bone itself. I-” Donnie has to physically force the next words out of his mouth. “I can’t fix this. Not completely.”

The silence in the room feels suffocating.

After an eternity, Leo nods numbly, avoiding his brother’s eyes, and shifts as much as he can to face the back of the couch.

The silence remains unbroken.

**********

The rest of the evening goes by in a blur of fussing from April and his brothers. (Rather than fret over him, Casey opts to return to his seat across the room and watch Leo with a hawk-like intensity that’s even more objectionable: “Casey Jones is not a nurse, thank you very much”).

He manages to avoid dinner, claiming that he’s not hungry. It’s technically true, but he’s also certain that any attempt at solid food would end up back from whence it came almost immediately (three months of not eating will do that, apparently- how'd they even keep him from starving to death?).

The others insist on eating in the living room anyway, plates balancing on laps or end tables. 

Leo’s simultaneously touched and annoyed at the effort. 

He’s never liked being injured or sick- not only is it uncomfortable and inconvenient, but he hates the feeling of uselessness that comes with it. The most he can do for his family on bed rest is listen to Mikey’s recaps of his latest favorite comics or plan training if he’s not half unconscious, and currently it seems he’s the least fit in the room even for that.

The conversation circles around him occasionally- reiterations of how relieved they are he’s okay or inquiries about the day of the invasion- but more often he’s listening to accounts of his three-month hiatus. 

He can’t decide whether he’s relieved or troubled by the descriptions.

Immediately after the invasion, Donnie overworked himself to the point of passing out making the mutagen medicine, Raph didn’t sleep for two days straight watching over Leo, and Mikey’s best efforts managed to keep everyone’s spirits up for about a week before they found him sobbing behind the chicken coop. He’s pretty familiar by now with how his family deals with stress, so the events are upsetting but hardly a surprise.

In the long term, they've all found their own ways to keep busy: Apparently April went through a month-long knitting phase when she realized how under-stocked the farmhouse was with blankets, producing, among other colorful works, the orange and green monstrosity tossed over him now. Donnie and Casey have been restoring an old car they found in the barn, Mikey's picked up most of the farmhouse chores as a way to keep himself busy, and Raph...

It sounds like the red-masked turtle really stepped up in his absence. Planning training, dragging Donnie out of the barn after too many late nights or taking Mikey on various woods adventures to take his mind off everything...

They're all things Leo would normally take care of.

Of course he’s proud (god, how could he not be?) and grateful that the second-oldest looked out for their brothers when he couldn’t, but he can’t help but feel like they must not need him as much as he thought.

(Maybe it’s for the best, knowing they’d be okay without him- he can’t walk on his own, what kind of “fearless leader” is he going to be now?)

Around ten April heads up to bed, hugging Leo gingerly and warning encouraging him to get some rest, and Casey follows not long after, giving him a pat on the shoulder and a short good-night.

The brothers are left alone.

It’s already been determined that Leo’s sleeping on the couch tonight (at least one of his prayers has been answered- a trip back upstairs sounds beyond hellish), but it’s immediately apparent none of his brothers want to leave him there alone.

Donnie volunteers to stay first, being the one with the medical skills in case something happens in the night, but Raph butts in immediately that he’ll stay too to “keep watch”. 

No one points out how they’re in the middle of upstate farmland with no other houses for miles around- his voice has that strained, anxious quality to it again and none of them feel like arguing at this hour.

By then Mikey sleeping downstairs has become a given, due partly to his hatred of being left out but mostly to how he’s dozed off against the couch hugging Leo’s arm.

Two twin mattresses are dragged downstairs, Raph takes the armchair because he “likes to nap there anyways”, and after Mikey forces Raph and Donnie to “stop hovering like mother-hen vultures and rest”, they decide Leo isn’t going to spontaneously implode and are conked out in five minutes flat.

The injured leader in question, on the other hand, isn’t sleeping tonight and knows it.

It’s not that he isn’t tired- there’s a bone-deep exhaustion pinning him down right now, seeping through every limb and joining the dull ache that’s evaded numerous types of painkillers- he just can’t relax.

The couch isn’t anything to call home about, but the dark noiselessness of the room feels like it could swallow him whole, fended off only by the quiet whistling of Donnie’s breathing and the crackling hum of the ancient kitchen radiator.

It hasn’t been this quiet since-

Wind whistles through the fencing slats around the construction site, snow drifting in its wake.

New York’s winter has come harsh and fast this year, but the numbness in his limbs isn’t from the temperature: he lost feeling after the ninth Footbot came at him. He can hear them now, everywhere, the hums of their machinery crackling sharp through the air-

Ten more Footbots and adrenaline’s starting to take over. He can feel his movements getting sloppier, more panicked, left arm dangling at a concerning angle as he clings to his one remaining katana with his right. A hand pushes his leg out from under him-

He’s falling into the pit, rocks and broken glass stinging his skin there’s noone here to catch him noone noone NOONE -

He hauls himself out of the frigid pool at the bottom of the site, trembling with exhaustion. 

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping him standing now.

Shredder’s voice echoes off the walls of the pit:

“Now, you may finish him.”

He was supposed to die there. The realization hits him slowly, the knowledge that every rasping breath struggling through his lungs right now is Shredder’s mistake. The last minutes of consciousness in that cursed pit were supposed to be his last, every blow delivered with killing intent-

He can’t breathe.

It’s like that huge, gloved hand is crumpling his trachea again, body paralyzed not from injury now but from fear. His knee throbs agonizingly, and now he wants nothing more than to shake one of his brothers awake and let them fuss over him to their heart’s content but he can’t.

He can’t move except to cling to April’s blanket like a lifeline, and his vocal chords feel dead in his throat, strangling out every noise except his quiet wheezes.

He’s sure every second of the next ten minutes that he’s dying once more. It’s like he’s trapped inside his own body, muscles locked and unwilling to do anything but shake violently while his mind pinwheels around those last moments of waking nightmare.

The worst part about it all, he thinks, is not that he barely made it out of that gauntlet alive but that if he didn't, it wouldn't have done any good.

He's not scared of death, per se, at least he thought so before, but if he's going to die he needs it to be for a reason.

To save his brothers, to save the world, whatever it may be- he has to have a purpose.

That way, it's martyrdom rather than failure.

(Rather than weakness.)

Finally, finally, the painful squeezing in his chest eases and his muscles relax, achingly slow.

The sound of rapid, socked footsteps comes from the stairwell.

Damn it.

He settles into his best impression of someone asleep and not coming off the heels of the worst panic attack of their life just in time for the visitor (April, he can tell now-her footsteps are much quieter than Casey’s) to rush into the room.

“Is everyone-” The question dies on her lips, but she sounds so genuinely concerned (and a little out of breath) that he almost wants to sit up and ask her what’s wrong. Leo’s sure she wouldn’t have been able to hear him from her room, but he wouldn’t be surprised if freaky psychic Kraang powers come with the ability to read minds. Or something like that.

He stays deathly still on the couch, breathing as deep and convincingly as he can while she circles the room once, checking on each of them in turn. She lingers a second before leaving, then tiptoes back upstairs.

Leo gasps a little as soon as she’s out of earshot, lungs burning from the effort of slowing down his breaths from hyperventilation to “peaceful sleeping” speed.

That was close.

Avoiding “talking it out”, as Mikey would suggest, is going to be way more difficult than he thought.

Chapter Text

The first thing April thinks upon waking up is thank god for space heaters.

The O’Neil farmhouse technically has heating (if fifty year-old, questionably-functioning radiators count), but it’s big and drafty, and early spring in upstate New York isn’t exactly tropical. 

The issue’s even more pressing when four of the house’s occupants are cold-blooded.

Just over a week into their stay, both April and Casey had noted that all three conscious turtles were behaving more and more like their coma-bound brother- Raph looked half awake most of the time, as did Donnie (normal, considering how many all-nighters he’d been pulling, but April really got concerned when she discovered he’d actually been sleeping through the night), and Mikey had barely any appetite, which was the final straw for her to ask exactly what was wrong with them all.

Donnie, after staring dazedly at her for a solid minute, had explained that the colder temperatures outside of the sewers were causing them to start to brumate, and upon elaborating that it was a semi-waking version of hibernation, seemed to realize that all four turtles being unconscious most of the time wasn't ideal and started working on space heaters the same day.

Reluctantly, she unbundles herself from the double layer of quilts she’d wrapped herself in and gets dressed, adding one of her grandfather’s old flannels for good measure. 

“*Yawn*- Up and at ‘em, O’Neil.” 

This morning is particularly harsh because she’s running on a criminal lack of sleep: Hours after going to bed the previous night she’d done nothing but toss and turn, plagued by an anxiety she couldn’t quite put into words.

The restlessness started Sunday night. It kept her up for hours, her chest inexplicably tight, until finally-

Like a pile of bricks, she’d been hit with a panic so seizing she’d thought it was a heart attack.

About two minutes in, unable to move or speak and head aching like someone took an icepick to it, she realized what she was feeling must be secondhand, psychic sensitivity picking up on someone else’s distress like it did with Master Splinter on the invasion day.

(No less concerning, but at least someone else might have a reason to feel like they’re dying in the middle of the night.)

As soon as she could, she’d checked on Casey’s room and the sleepover downstairs to see who the source was, and found everyone to be dead asleep. 

Allegedly.

She hasn’t mastered her psychic abilities, but she could clearly sense someone in that room was awake and very, very far from relaxed.

If any singular member of the house is likely to be in extreme distress and refuse to tell anyone, it’s Leo. (Raph’s a close second, but considering three months have gone by living in the same house as him she figures she’d have noticed something like this before.)

There’s no lack of reasons why Leo might have some emotional turmoil after everything that’s happened- actually, she has a harder time finding reasons why he wouldn't be upset- what worries her is how much he's keeping it under wraps.

The leader in blue is famously remiss to open up, and the past week has only served to cement that reputation.

He’s dodged almost every question regarding the day of the invasion beyond surface-level details: yes, Shredder was responsible, no, he didn’t see Master Splinter before it all went down, and a telling silence when asked how he got any one of his injuries.

As crummy as Leo's mental state must be, she guesses it's being aggravated by his equally crummy physical state. Even she can't help but wince when she sees the lingering bruises around his neck, or when she hears his knee crackle when he stands.

Today, April’s determined to get some information out of him.

If not for Leo's sake, then at least for her sleep schedule.

**********

By noon, the day’s warm enough that the occupants of the farmhouse have made their way outside: Mikey’s putting on some sort of romantic tragedy with the chickens, Raph has been dragged over to watch, Donnie’s sitting at the entrance to the barn toying with an old engine part, and Leo’s meditating farther out in the yard, crutches leaned against a tree next to him.

April has been chopping wood for the past hour or so, and when she looks up from her work she finds Casey sitting on the porch steps, staring into the middle distance.

…Exactly where he was when she started.

He’s been uncharacteristically quiet recently- she’s certain it has something to do with Leo waking up, maybe feeling out of place with the brothers in such a whirlwind, but it’s still unlike him. 

Over the past three months she’s spent more time with Casey than anyone. The two of them are the only ones able to make trips into town, and they’ve bonded over being isolated from their families for so long (maybe over losing their families forever- Casey has no clue where his dad and sister ended up and April had to watch her father be mutated for the second time, god only knows what's happening to them right now).

They’ve known each other over a year, and she can confidently say now he’s her best friend.

All right, figuring out Leo’s conundrum is going to have to wait.

She makes her way over to the house casually, dodging a fleeing chicken in Shakespearean garb and a frantic Mikey trying to recapture his lead actor. 

Casey starts just a bit when she sits down, relaxing once he turns to see her. “Hey, Red. Tired already?”

He’s teasing her as a deflection, and she knows it, but she entertains him anyway.

“As if. Compared to kunoichi training, this is nothing.” Her heart pangs at the memory of Master Splinter. She pushes it down. Priorities. “I’ve never done so many situps in a row.”

He snickers, then pauses as he squints at her. "Actually- I don't wanna be rude, but... you look beat. You been havin' trouble sleeping?"

"...Yeah. Like you wouldn't believe."

Casey frowns, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Nightmares? I thought they weren't so bad now."

"Not exactly. They're not mine. Someone's been freaking out in the middle of the night, and because of my wonderful secret Kraang powers I get to freak out too. It's like we're mind-melding."

He whistles, patting her on the back. "Sounds like fun, Apes. You know who it is?"

"I have my theories," She stares pointedly over at Leo. "But keep this between you and me for now, okay? It's- I hope they'll seek someone out on their own."

"Roger that. My lips are sealed." He mimes locking his mouth and tossing the key, grinning.

She takes the silence that follows as her opportunity, toeing at a loose board on the porch step beneath her feet. “So what's going on with you? I’ve never seen you sit still for so long.”

A slow shrug. “Just… thinking. About everything that went down.”

She hums in understanding, but says nothing.

“I still can’t believe it’s real. I mean, aliens from another dimension, invading Earth? That’s crazy by New York standards. They don’t put that in the job description when you become a super metal, crime-fighting vigilante.”

He can say that again. If someone told her two years ago she was created by an alien race and had psychic powers, she’d probably refer them to her father for an appointment.

Casey fidgets with his bandana tails for a minute, and she waits for the kicker. She already knows he has a hard time coming to terms with half the stuff that happens to them- probably a side effect of being the only actual human on their little team.

“...and I guess it hadn’t hit me that I could- that we could die. Doing that job.”

There it is.

Seeing your friend on the verge of death for months on end tends to give you a reality check on your own mortality.

She follows his gaze to where Leo’s sitting, jagged scars across his plastron pale in the dappled sunlight.

“When I was looking for my dad and sister, y’know, in the van, I couldn’t stop thinking about what it’d be like if I got zapped into oblivion right then. Nobody would- nobody would know what happened, or where I was, and there was so much going on…I saw people die that day. Leo nearly-”

She scoots closer to press against his shoulder, the same way he did when she talked about what happened to her dad.

"I get it," She murmurs. "It really makes you feel small."

“We’re six teenagers, yo.” He breathes. “I can’t see how I’m supposed to help save the world with a hockey stick.”

It takes a moment for her to find a response because he’s right, really. They’re kids trying to fix what the entire United States government couldn’t. That last day in New York City had terrified her- sure, they've had close calls before, but this was a loss, point blank.

...In more ways than one. The city, her father, Master Splinter, nearly Leo- there's so much they didn't save and so much more that they couldn't.

The whole situation feels beyond her, but more than that she’s pissed about it.

It’s not fair they’ve had to grow up so fast, that she’s involved in an inter-dimensional war at the ripe age of seventeen. It’s not fair that she and Casey are never going to get a normal experience in high school, or that the turtles are probably never going to high school, period. It’s not fair that Leo seems to think of himself as a soldier first and a sixteen year-old second.

(She wants every single one of those nasty pink aliens OUT of her city, wants to rip Shredder limb from limb for what he's done to her honorary little brother, but it's not the right time.) 

Maybe their time at the farmhouse is a blessing in disguise. Leo’s healing already, if slowly, and for the first time in what feels like forever they’re far away from the regular threats of New York City. For the next couple months, maybe they can just enjoy that.

“We’ll do our best.” She decides. “We may have left New York, but we’re all still here. We could have died. I think we deserve some time to appreciate the fact that we didn’t.”

Casey nods, flashing a sliver of his gap-toothed grin. “Thanks, April. You always know what to say.” He doesn’t have that all-encompassing confidence in his gaze anymore- maybe he hasn’t for a while- but he doesn’t look like he’s carrying the weight of a city on his shoulders, and for once April feels the same.

They sit quietly after that, watching the rare carefree moments unfolding in the yard before them. Even Leo seems relaxed right now, watching Raph and Mikey tussle while Donnie mock-referees. 

She’ll figure out what’s going on with him, but it’s nice to know that even for a day now he doesn’t have to worry about Shredder or the Kraang, or any of the threats she knows he stresses over.

He doesn’t have to be a soldier here.

She can only hope that Leo realizes that too.

Chapter Text

“Reflexes seem normal, no lingering effects from the concussion, shoulder has almost full mobility… physically you’re doing better than I expected, as shocking as that sounds.”

This is the fourth checkup Leo’s had, and so far it’s going infinitely smoother than the first three. Right after he woke up, Donnie had given him a rudimentary examination, mostly reassuring himself that yes, his brother was still breathing. The second consisted of realizing Leo’s knee was, pardon his French, pretty fucked, while nearly crying from relief that the rest of him wasn’t. The third…

He knew Leo wouldn’t listen when he said not to try walking unassisted for a couple weeks- in fact, he’d made the timeline extra generous anticipating it. 

He did not know that Leo would decide to go running through the forest pulling flying kicks with his bad leg and not telling Donnie about it until his knee dislocated and nearly refractured entirely-

That particular appointment consisted of Donnie berating his idiot older brother for a solid half hour after resetting his knee and wrapping it in an almost prohibitive amount of bandages and bracing out of spite.

Leo had stopped arguing about halfway through the tirade, but not before making a couple muttered remarks about how he “can’t lead the team like this’ and is “useless” until he gets better, and the tallest turtle’s kept them in mind ever since because of course he’d develop some sort of complex over this and equate his entire self-worth to the function of his leg.

Needless to say, being untrained doctor to the world’s worst patient is stressing Donnie out.

Right now he’s got said patient sitting on the makeshift operating table he set up in the barn, making note of any lingering effects he’s observed.

Leo’s voice is as Batman-esque as it was three weeks ago and easily worn out. When he’s particularly chatty (a relative term- the blue-masked leader has been as much of a brooding loner as Batman, too) he can’t speak above a whisper by the end of the day, and a few times they’ve found him unable to speak at all, often late at night.

His knee’s been hurting as well. Unsurprisingly.

Between the severity of the injury and Leo’s refusal to let it rest properly, Donnie only had to observe him closely for a couple days to check “chronic pain” off his growing list of symptoms.

Finishing his notes, he sidesteps Raph (who’s insisted on hearing every update on Leo’s condition almost obsessively) to stand in front of his oldest brother and ask the question he’s been dreading having to get an answer for.

“How are you doing mentally?”

Leo stiffens. Try as he might to escape it, Donnie’s drifting towards an iceberg of issues he’d rather leave unturned.

“Uh, fine.”

"..."

“I mean, obviously I’m not having the time of my life like this, but I’m okay.”

Contrary to popular belief, Leo’s a good liar when he needs to be, but there’s no way he’s fooling his brothers right now and they all know it.

“Bullshit, Leo, there’s no way you’re just-”

“Raph. I can handle this, thank you.”

Reluctantly, the hothead sits down on a nearby workbench and holds his tongue.

“So you’ve been sleeping well? No anxiety, nightmares, nothing?” He’s being specific on purpose. It’s been three weeks of pretending like Leo doesn’t look like he’s about to keel over from exhaustion, they’re all fed up with dodging the subject.

“Nothing terrible. I- I’ve had a couple bad dreams. Just memories, really.”

Clever. He’s revealing a little to divert suspicion.

“That’s interesting, because April’s barely slept since you woke up and she’s been having panic attacks in the middle of the night for no apparent reason. Psychic sensitivity and everything, it seems significant, no?”

“I- I’m not-” Leo’s stiff as a board now, eyes darting nervously between his brothers. His voice is strangled. “I can handle this on my own, you don’t need to-”

“Leo,” Raph speaks up now, half a step closer than he was before. “This isn’t going to help you. Whatever’s going on, just tell us so we can work it out.”

There’s no backing down now. Getting the oldest to open up is always a battle, but they usually don’t regret it after the fact. Usually.

“Raph’s right, refusing to process your emotions is only going to intensify them. What happened to you… I know you were alone then but you’re not now. We’re not in danger here. You know that, right?”

There’s no response. 

That’s unexpected, actually- normally these kinds of interventions result in a fight-or-flight reaction- but right now Leo looks paralyzed. He’s staring wide-eyed at a spot between Donnie and Raph’s shoulders, breathing rapid and shallow, and-

Oh.

Shit.

Both brothers seem to realize what’s happening at the same time; Raph backs away with a quiet string of curses right as Donnie bends down in front of the table.

He’s not quite sure how to approach this.

He’s seen Leo panicking before, seen him after nightmares, anxiety attacks, etc., but this isn’t how he normally acts.

If it’s an option, the oldest turtle tends to curl up or go into his shell when he’s scared, but right now he’s just pressed up against the wall in the exact same position he was a minute ago, good knee bent up to his plastron and bad one lying to the side at an angle that can’t be comfortable. 

He’s stock still, save for the violent tremors wracking his body, and he hasn’t made a noise since his last halfhearted protest. Also strange. When he’s really distressed like this he usually chirps or whines at least. 

“...Leo? Can you hear me?”

There’s no response. Donnie concludes he’s either unaware of where he is right now or unable to answer, maybe both.

“I don’t think he can move, Don.” Raph’s standing awkwardly far away, like he’s afraid to get too close and make the situation worse. “He hasn’t moved his knee at all, it’s- it’s gotta be hurting like that.”

“You’re right,” Donnie murmurs. April had actually mentioned not being able to move, but he'd taken it more as a “too panicked to do anything else” thing than a full-on freeze response. “So what are we supposed to do? I don’t think touching him is a good idea, he can’t react to us in any way…”

Under other circumstances he’d get April to use her powers on him, snap him out of it psychically, but she’s bound to be in a similar state right now. 

Thankfully, Raph steps up, picking up on how absolutely out of his depth Donnie is.

“Hey, Fearless,” His voice is quiet in the way it only gets when he’s trying to be calming. “I know you’re… somewhere else right now, but I promise you’re safe, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

He hesitates.

“And… and we’re safe too. All of us.”

He continues for a couple more minutes, speaking mindless little reassurances while Donnie watches the exchange, scratching anxiously at the backs of his hands.

Eventually, Leo starts to relax and his breaths even out, head sagging to rest on his good knee as he shudders quietly.

Thank god. If this continued much longer they’d probably both have been sick with guilt.

Raph tries to angle to meet their oldest brother’s eyes, making an aborted motion to touch his shoulder before thinking better of it.

“You with us, Leo?”

As soon as he hears Raph’s voice, Leo tenses up all over again, clearly embarrassed. 

There’s a long pause. Then, voice still weak and raspy:

“...Yeah. Yes. I’m fine now, you can-”

He fumbles for the words for a second, glances quickly to Donnie, then the door-

And promptly snatches his crutch from its spot against the wall to make a break for it.

Neither of them have the heart to stop him now, even though it’d be easy with him hobbling on still-shaky legs- what are they supposed to do, corner him and make him panic all over again?

At least Donnie can check off a couple symptoms on his list.

It doesn’t feel like a win.

**********

Mikey steps into the yard to announce that lunch is ready just in time to run face-first into his oldest brother.

He blinks a couple times, reorienting himself, and finds Leo in front of him looking like he just ran a marathon. 

He’s leaning heavily on his right crutch, entire body trembling as he gasps quietly. Clearly he’d been in a hurry to get somewhere (or leave, Mikey suspects), and it looks like he’s equally eager to get away now. He’s trying unsuccessfully to steady himself, eyes darting around for an escape route.

“You good, bro?” Mikey’s careful to keep his voice quiet, because whatever was bothering Leo before doesn’t look like it’s quite worn off.

“Fine,” He grits out, stumbling towards the porch. “Just tired. I’m going to- ngh- t- to take a nap.” He stops short of the first step and looks like he’s steeling himself, jaw clenched in what Mikey now realizes is pain. 

“Let me help.” His knee must be hurting bad right now- he’d been able to make it up and down the stairs without too much difficulty last week.

“You don’t need to-”

Mikey ignores his protests and wraps Leo’s right arm around his shoulders, bearing as much weight as he can. It’s still slow going up the steps, and every movement has him wincing, looking more and more frustrated each time Mikey has to help keep him balanced.

When they reach the porch he pulls away almost instantly, faltering when he sees the stairs to the second floor, but Mikey grabs his shoulder before he can bolt.

“...You don’t have to do everything on your own.” 

They both know he doesn’t mean the stairs.

 “We’re all here for you, Lee. I know you don’t like talking about the stuff that bothers you, but I’m always free if you want someone to listen.”

Leo moves to say something, meeting his eyes for the first time as he leans just barely into the hand on his shoulder, then thinks better of it and mumbles a quiet thanks before pulling away towards the stairs.

This time, Mikey lets him go.

He leaves Leo’s lunch outside his door and finds it later right where he placed it, untouched and cold.

**********

Dinner is… tense, to say the least.

Despite skipping lunch, Leo does emerge from his room to eat, much to Donnie’s relief; They don’t need him developing malnutrition along with everything else.

April’s got a migraine, and manages a couple bites of food before going to lay down upstairs. Casey finishes most of his and then goes up to check on her, leaving the brothers on their own at the table.

They eat mostly in silence, broken intermittently by Mikey’s valiant attempts at conversation: describing the fateful end of his play, asking how Donnie’s work on the car is going or what diabolical exercise Raph’s got planned for training, and skirting carefully around Leo’s checkup. 

After an excruciatingly awkward half hour, Leo stands (with a crackling sound from his knee), thanks Raph and Mikey for cooking, and heads outside to meditate a bit more before it gets dark. Raph follows shortly after, stating that he’s going to stack the rest of the wood in the yard- if he just so happens to be able to keep an eye on Leo from there, it’s pure coincidence.

Alone in the kitchen now, Mikey and Donnie clear the dishes and load them into the sink (the farmhouse lacks a dishwasher, among other more modern appliances).

For a couple minutes they clean up to the quiet sound of Mikey humming the Crognard theme until he speaks up:

“...What happened with Leo today?”

Donnie winces, unintentionally directing his look of pure guilt at the pan he’s been scrubbing.

“I- I tried to get him to open up to us about how he’s been feeling. I mean, we’ve all been so worried and he won’t talk to us at all, it was driving me crazy and I just- I pushed him too far.”

“Did he actually tell you anything?”

“Not really,” Donnie mumbles, listlessly rinsing the pan for the third time. “He sort of… showed us.”

“He freaked out.”

A nod. “He felt cornered, I guess, or maybe it was something we said, but he just- froze up and he couldn’t speak and I didn’t even know how to help him-”

He trails off when Mikey gently takes the pan from him to dry. “It’s not your fault, bro. He’s been shoving all his issues down for three weeks, it was bound to boil over a bit at some point.”

“I know, I just wish he didn’t feel like he has to shoulder everything on his own. It’s like he sees it as some personal shortcoming that he got hurt.”

Mikey hums in agreement. “And how about you?”

“...Me?”

“I know stuff like this stresses you out. You wanna fix it, but you don’t know how, and you try and handle it all by yourself because you think it’s your job. Leo’s not letting himself be helped, and it’s stressing Raph out too, so you probably feel like it’s all on you.”

Donnie blinks, struck once again by how insanely perceptive his little brother is.

“...I think you just about summed it up.”

Mikey nods, satisfied. “Ninja skills of observation- never doubt them.”

Donnie drags a pot over and starts working at the charred remnants of what was supposed to be spaghetti (Raph really can’t be left unattended in the kitchen, how do you burn pasta?).

“It’s not just Leo I’m worried about.”

Mikey grimaces. “Me too. Raph took it so hard while he was out, I think he was hoping everything would just go back to normal once he woke up.”

It makes sense that this kind of disrupt to their normal dynamic would bother Raph the most. Loath as he’d be to admit it, he looks to Leo for stability- his only older brother, the leader, the voice of reason- and right now that brother doesn’t seem to think he’s fit for any of those roles anymore.

It sounds stupid even to think it, but Leo’s never taken being out of commission well: he practically climbs the walls when he’s forced to rest because of an injury.

(He also gets uncharacteristically morose, which probably should have prepared them for the constant undercurrent of misery that’s been following him the past few weeks.)

Donnie snorts out a short, humorless laugh. “They both want the same thing, really- for things to go back to normal- but they’re pushing for it in opposite directions.”

“Ugh, you’re right- Raph wants to help Leo get better so he can lead again, and Leo wants to push everyone’s help away so he can lead again. It’s so weird.” 

They continue the washing in silence for a bit, relaxing now that they’ve broached the subject everyone had been tiptoeing around.

As he’s drying the last dish, Mikey speaks, almost at a whisper:

“...I miss Master Splinter.”

Donnie freezes. They’ve barely talked about their father’s supposed death, though he’s not sure why. Maybe it’s too much for any of them to address properly, or maybe they’re all still holding out hope he’s alive and they won’t have to address it at all.

“Me too, Mikey. Now more than ever.”

“He’d know how to help. He always knew what to do, how to he- how to help us,” There’s a tremble in his voice now, and Donnie whips around to see his only baby brother’s eyes welling with tears, speaking quieter with every word like he’s not supposed to be saying it. “But-but now everyone’s u-upset a-and I can’t-”

I can’t make them feel better. Donnie curses internally that he hasn’t thought to check on Mikey in the past couple weeks- this is exactly what happened after the invasion. 

He’d been single-handedly keeping Donnie and Raph from losing hope, a practical ray of sunshine while the rest of the house drowned in worry or guilt or grief, and for some reason none of them had realized he was feeling the exact same way until he had a breakdown a week in.

The past three weeks have been much of the same pattern (if a little less direct on Mikey’s part), but it’s been rare for Donnie to see him without a smile or at least a goofy antic.

He doesn’t waste another second in wrapping his little brother into a hug.

“I’m so, so sorry, ototo,” He murmurs, tucking the smaller turtle’s head under his chin. “I should have realized this was hurting you too, all the worrying, and how distant we’ve been... Why didn’t you talk to any of us before?”

Mikey chirps quietly before responding. It’s okay. “Y-you were all so stressed about Leo, I didn’t wa- want to be a distraction, and April hasn’t been feeling good and I don’t kn-know how to talk to Casey about this, ‘nd I-” He lets out a muffled sob, clinging to Donnie tighter.

“It’s not okay, Mike, you shouldn’t feel like you’re responsible for cheering us all up. I never want you to feel like you can’t talk to us if you’re upset, all right? Even if we’ve got other stuff going on.”

The shortest turtle nods against his shoulder, sniffles, and after a minute mumbles: “O-only if you promise to sto- to stop going all Doctor Mode when you’re worried about Leo. ‘S the same thing.”

“...Touché.”

They stand like that for a long time more, Donnie rocking them slightly back and forth as Mikey’s cries die down. He may or may not shed some tears of his own, but he knows better now than to assume the younger doesn’t notice. 

This has been long overdue for both of them.

The water’s gone cold in the sink when Mikey pulls back and says, “We should talk to them.”

As unpleasant as this particular confrontation is going to be, Donnie can’t disagree. “...Yeah. Yeah, we should.”

“You know they’re not going to work it out on their own, Dee.”

“True. I just don’t want to- to mess it up again.”

Mikey bumps his head against Donnie’s shoulder one more time, smiling reassuringly. “You won’t, bro. We’ll make sure no one gets overwhelmed. It’s about time those two had some emotional breakthroughs, anyway.”

“...Mikey?”

“Yessir.”

“You’re really smart.”

“Glad to see someone appreciates my genius.”

The tension that had permeated the kitchen at dinner is gone now, and for the first time in weeks both turtles feel like they can take a full breath. 

Soon enough, they’ll get Raph and Leo to feel the same. The two eldest may be stubborn as hell and possessing the emotional fluency of brick walls, but they’re still their brothers- they’ll let the others in eventually.

How hard could it be?

Chapter Text

"Now, you may finish them."

He’s lying on the frozen ground of the construction pit, right knee and left arm bent at grotesque opposite angles. The gouges in his plastron are bleeding sluggishly (his shoulder is another story- he can feel blood pooling fast underneath it, concerning warmth flooding the icy gravel beneath him).

Familiar territory. He’s been beaten into a pulp by Shredder’s head goons, and now Saki himself is going to end his life. Huge, gloved hand crushes his windpipe, and the last thing he sees is his terrified reflection in the kabuto’s shiny metal.

Something’s wrong this time.

He’s being held in the air, scrabbling for purchase against unforgiving metal gauntlet, but the black flickering at the edges of his vision isn’t spreading. It isn’t ending, what-

Finish them, Shredder had said. 

He blinks and suddenly it’s not him dangling in Shredder’s crushing grip. It’s Raph, swinging desperately with his sai as his eyelids flutter and he gasps for air. It’s Donnie slumped against the flimsy slatted fence, arm wrenched to the side and hunched over in pain. Oh god oh god it’s Mikey draped over the edge of the pit below, two slashes clean through his plastron and practically coated in blood.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. HE failed not them not them not them-

Why isn’t he MOVING, he can SAVE THEM-

He’s rooted to the ground somehow, gaze richocheting between his brothers’ crumpled forms and as he looks to Raph his oldest brother returns his gaze with pure contempt, eyes glazed white and bloodshot before Shredder drops him like a ragdoll-

Leo shoots awake with a strangled gasp.

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize where he is, heart racing and trembling with leftover adrenaline.

He’d really hoped he was done with this.

It’s been weeks since he’s had a nightmare this bad. Thankfully the whole “wake up paralyzed with fear routine” has worn off (for the most part- Donnie doesn’t need to know), but he’s no less terrified than he was the last time.

He glances quickly to where Raph’s sleeping across the room and finds him blessedly unconscious. He’s lying on his back, arms folded tight across his chest and brow just barely furrowed-

The way Raph had stared at him, like he was disgusted to have taken his place, like he hated-

Leo flinches, squeezing his eyes shut. 

To the kitchen it is.

**********

It takes him a while to get downstairs (pretty hard to tiptoe with a bum leg), but he thanks every deity he knows once he reaches the kitchen that no one’s woken up.

“Nice try.”

Oh, shi- never mind.

He whirls around to find April sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in a blanket and looking impressively awake considering the hour.

This isn’t the first time he’s run into her in the middle of the night. Surprisingly, she hasn’t pushed the matter much since their first encounter, which consisted of her questioning him intensely in a funny sort of whisper-scold and garnering very few answers. She’s given up with interrogations by now, and usually when they meet each other she makes them both cold cocoa and sits in the living room with him until one of them falls back asleep.

“...Hey, April.”

She gestures to the chair next to her, a second mug already awaiting him (god, how long did it take him to calm down?), and reluctantly he takes a seat.

She’s not going to let this slide, he can already tell. It’s the first interruption in a week of surprisingly few incidents, and while he knows she can’t see the content of his dreams, she feels what he feels and this was… upsetting, to say the least. 

He can see a faint tremor in her hands, the only sign she’s still sensing how freaked out the dream left him.

“...Sorry about that.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t get the worst end of it,” She deadpans.

A wince. “I know, I just- you shouldn’t have to deal with this. It’s been over a month, I’m supposed to be improving.” He can’t help the frustration that creeps into his tone, and her face softens a bit.

“There’s no time frame for it, Leo. What happened to you was extremely traumatic, of course you can’t just forget it in a couple weeks and move on.”

“It shouldn’t have happened at all. I’m supposed to be better than this, I-.”

“Better than what?”

April’s looking at him like she already knows the answer. This is a trap, she’s baiting him into spilling his guts, and he knows that but suddenly he’s really sick of not talking about it.

“I’m supposed to take care of them.” The subjects of that sentence are obvious. “It’s my job, and I couldn’t handle one fight on my own and now I’m-” There’s a million words on the tip of his tongue. Broken. Weak. Useless. “-injured,” He decides, “and I might never be the same again, how can I- how can I claim to be worthy of being the leader when I let everyone down?”

April looks shocked, and for a horrible moment he wants to laugh at the expression she’s making. “You didn’t let us down, Leo, you-”

“But I did! I mean-” He can’t help laughing now, short and strained. “I’ve known for so long that I was going to fight Shredder. I think I knew that before I even knew who he was.” 

He can’t put into words the kind of failure he’s describing. 

He didn’t just lose a battle- he lost the mission he’s trained almost his entire life for, was truly defeated by the man who took absolutely everything from his father and would do it again in a heartbeat. This was his chance to prove he was worthy of the title Splinter gave him, of his position as the oldest determined not just by age.

“We lost him. Because I failed.” His voice cracks a little. He’s been too scared to say this out loud until now.

(Too scared that someone will agree with him.)

Leo couldn’t kill Shredder. Shredder killed threw Splinter down the sewer drain. If Leo had killed Shredder, Splinter would be alive with them now.

Ergo, it’s Leo’s fault.

He’s always known, inherently, that someday he’ll die for a cause. He’s understood since he was a kid that they have enemies, whether from Splinter’s past or their mutations, and that those enemies will try to kill them someday.

As far as they can assume, one of those enemies succeeded. Yet he’s still here.

It should’ve been him it should’ve been him it should’ve-

Suddenly, April grabs both his hands and pulls him to face her, expression steeled into one of pure conviction. 

“Leo, you’re sixteen. You are not a soldier, you’re not some- some means to an end to avenge Splinter’s past, and you are not a failure.” She pauses here, holding his gaze and making sure the words sink in. “What happened in December wasn’t your fault or your responsibility- Shredder is an evil man, who stacked the deck against a teenager because he can’t handle his own grudges.”

He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to hear those words. Not your fault. Not a failure.  

“And,” She continues, “you don’t have to carry every single threat you guys face like it’s your personal mission. You and your brothers are a team for a reason. They’re here to support you, not just vice versa.”

That’s something of a revolutionary concept.

He’s too overwhelmed to speak now, trying to convey everything he wants to just by returning April’s stare. He’s bitten his tongue for so long about this, shoving away all his fears and regrets and insecurities because he’s too scared of how they’ll react, and now that he actually wants to respond he can’t.

“It’s okay,” She squeezes his hands gently. Her voice sounds a little forced, too, and selfishly he’s grateful for the whole mind-melding ordeal. He doesn’t have to talk- she knows.

They finish the cocoa slowly, then April follows Leo back upstairs and bids him a quiet good night (or good morning, technically- there’s only a few hours till sunrise). 

When he lies down, he’s shocked to find how much more relaxed he is, like a weight’s been lifted off his chest. He closes his eyes without flashes of Splinter and his brothers’ broken forms for the first time all night.

Maybe talking about it won’t be as bad as he thought.

**********

The next morning is Saturday, so Leo sleeps, better than he has in months, until nine.

Casey makes pancakes with some Bisquick he found at the store, everyone sits through a couple episodes of Crognard (Mikey listing off fun facts the entire time), and upon heading outside they find the morning pleasantly warm and sunny.

It’s almost surreally peaceful.

...Temporarily.

On the weekends they only train in the afternoons, and Splinter would usually give them a fun mission or challenge within the sewers instead of traditional exercises. No one has anything specific planned for today, so right now everyone is paired up and sparring.

Surprisingly, Leo’s ended up with Raph this time. Lately the red-masked turtle has been avoiding fighting him like the plague, but Mikey and Donnie paired up suspiciously fast and April just shrugged before heading off with Casey, so there’s no escape for either of them.

The hothead's weirdly tense today.

Fighting is usually his element. In fact, often he’ll ask Leo for a spar when he’s stressed or just antsy, and on good days he moves through each match with an easy grin, totally at home. 

Now, though, he keeps missing wide openings to take shots, sai clenched stiff in his fists and lacking their usual twirls and tosses. His face is stuck in an unreadable frown.

Despite it all, he pins Leo easily the first time, but lets him up without a teasing comment and looks vaguely sickened when he takes a minute to find his footing again.

After a few matches Leo’s elated to find that his knee barely hurts. They’re fighting more carefully than usual, slower, but still there’s a comforting familiarity in training like he used to.

He ups the intensity a bit this round, and Raph matches him, putting his full force behind each jab of his sai as Leo slashes faster with his katanas.

He’s relieved to see that Raph’s loosened up significantly, a smile tugging at his lips as he circles and dodges.

Finally some normalcy.

A couple more minutes of sparring leaves them both flagging, and Raph senses his opening for victory. Smirking, he ducks under Leo’s left sword and sweeps his good leg out from under him, barring an arm over his plastron immediately to keep him pinned.

Leo absolutely does not panic.

That’s what he tells himself as his weight drops suddenly out from under him, exactly like it did when that Footbot pushed him into the pit, and he slams into the ground so fast he doesn’t have time to think before kicking Raph square in the chest with a likely excessive amount of force.

Definitely excessive, actually, because as soon as his foot hits his brother’s plastron he feels a spike of pain run through his right leg and his kneecap twists sickeningly out of place with a loud *pop!*.

Raph hits the ground hard, too surprised by the kick to break his fall. “Fucking- what the hell, ma-” He stops when he sees the blue-masked turtle clutching at his knee.

“Oh, shit- Leo? Leo, are you okay?”

“Peachy,” He rasps. This hurts just as much as the first three times it happened.

“I’m sor- I- DONNIE!”

Their other two brothers come rushing over, Casey and April right on their heels.

Donnie practically growls in frustration as he witnesses the scene before him: “I told you not to push it too hard, you-” He takes a deep breath, already tugging off Leo’s kneepad. “What happened?”

“Uh, Raph pinned me and I kinda-” He trails off guiltily, “I kicked him- OW, Donnie, that hurts- off of me.”

Donnie grimaces as he gets a look at Leo’s knee, tension steadily building in his shoulders. “Every time you dislocate it you lose progress, Leo. The tendons in your knee aren’t even fully healed. No matter how fine it feels, you have to be- WHY am I even telling you this?” 

Leo shrugs lamely. He’s gotten used to Donnie’s ire whenever he aggravates his injuries, and he does actually feel bad, but there’s no excuse he can make now.

The genius straightens out the leg, ignoring Leo’s groans of pain, and shakes his hands a couple times before starting to maneuver the kneecap back into place. It takes a couple of agonizing minutes, and when he finally sits back he growls a little again, clearly upset.

Before he can say anything else, though, Mikey grabs his shoulder and fixes him with a Look™. They stand off for a silent moment until he gestures to where Donnie’s hands are still fluttering agitatedly at his sides: “I think you should step away for a bit, bro.”

“But I have t-”

“They can handle it from here, Dee. We know the drill- ice for a couple days, heat after that, more rest. Don’t need your genius brain for this one.”

Donnie opens his mouth to protest again, but upon seeing Mikey’s expression unchanged sags in defeat.

The two of them help Leo up and Raph darts to his side, wrapping an arm around his shell.

Ten minutes later, Leo’s lying on the couch with his bad leg propped up on a couple pillows and a bag of frozen peas on his knee. Raph has taken up his usual spot in the armchair, arms folded stiffly.

He’s frowning again, but now his expression is angry-guilty rather than angry-… actually, Leo couldn’t tell what he was thinking before.

“That was a good fight,” Leo offers, “We haven’t sparred in forever.”

Raph gives a terse nod, still avoiding his gaze. “...Yeah. Things have been weird.”

Leo hums. He knows all the disruption- training, no missions, being away from New York, in particular his reluctant hiatus- is bothering his brother way more than he’s letting on.

He does his best not to feel guilty about it, but regardless of whether or not he’s still fit to lead (personally, he thinks, the jury’s still out there) he can tell Raph wishes he was back to normal.

In the time after his coma his oldest brother has been a strange mix of overbearing and distant- he nags Leo to take care of himself almost as much as Donnie, but otherwise he occupies most of his time training and avoiding the family at large. 

Many times he’s been seen hanging out with one or both of their brothers, helping Mikey with the cooking or chatting with Donnie while he works in the barn, but as soon as Leo walks in he finds a convenient excuse to leave within a couple minutes. Even when everyone’s together, he strays as far as he can from the oldest and often makes an early exit.

Scratch that. Not avoiding the family, just Leo.

Clearly Raph’s disappointed that he’s not recovered yet, but worse Leo can’t shake the suspicion that he’s frustrated with him personally.

Again that look from his dream, his brother staring at him in disgust- 

“You should plan training this week.”

Leo’s head snaps up. “I- sure. Why, you’re not enjoying it? I thought you might like the freedom.” He waits for the comment about how it’s about time he picked up the slack again, or how he’s not acting like much of a leader, or some other disgruntled Raph-ism.

What he gets is a meek shake of the head. 

“It’s fine, I’m just not- It’s not my area. You’re… better.”

Ironically, this feels like far more dangerous ground than if Raph had responded with annoyance or sarcasm. Leo can’t remember the last time he’s seen him so unsure.

“Okay,” He chooses his next words carefully. “I want you to know you’ve been doing a good job, though. While I’ve been, uh, out. You wouldn’t be bad, taking over as leader.”

Raph whips around to face him, and clearly Leo didn’t choose carefully enough because he looks suddenly irked.

“Well, I’m not taking over. You’re here, you’re in one piece, it’s not gonna happen.”

I know, he wants to retort, but finds he can't say it with the conviction Raph probably wants. As much as his heart-to-heart with April helped his regrets about what happened in New York, it didn't do much for the doubts regarding his role on the team. 

"I just mean that I appreciate it. You really stepped up."

Raph blinks at him, expression halfway between frustration and surprise.

"...Yeah. My pleasure, Fearless." Even the sarcasm is halfhearted.

An uncomfortable hush falls over the living room.

As fas as Leo can tell, the only reason Raph hasn’t left yet is because he doesn’t want him to be alone, but he’s clearly uncomfortable, so after about fifteen minutes he makes an impressive display of “falling asleep”. 

Knowing that any attempt at meaningful conversation will go nowhere right now, the least he can do is give his brother an out.

Eyes closed, he listens as Raph shifts a little in the armchair and gives a harsh exhale, but still doesn’t leave. 

Eventually his breathing goes slow and deep, and the oldest turtle chances a look at him to see he’s settled facing the couch, one arm dangling next to Leo’s head like he tried to reach out before drifting off.

Huh.

With some complicated shuffling, he manages to reach over and toss a blanket over Raph, then lays back on the couch and closes his eyes in earnest.

When he wakes up, the armchair lies empty, but there’s a fresh bag of peas on his knee and the blanket he gave Raph has been carefully tucked back over him.

Chapter Text

“So, what’s the plan?”

“You’re the leader, shouldn’t you have one?”

All six of the farmhouse’s occupants are gathered in the doorway to the barn, equipped with their weapons, T-phones, and in Raph’s case a very strong desire to quit standing around and do something.

Since the whole mutant-warrior-frogs fiasco a few weeks back, the team hasn’t seen a shred of real action.

(He’s not counting their stint with the Dream-Beavers, because while being trapped in a nightmare as your life force is slowly drained is far from boring, he was technically asleep the whole time.)

For a lack of anything better to do, they’ve decided to try and track down either the mutagen canister the frogs lost or any mutants it’s created. Personally, Raph’s really hoping for the latter, because if something doesn’t take his mind off how out of sorts his life is right now he might go insane.

Issue number one is that his older brother has decided to pull a full 180 on his role on the team: leader, as he’s apparently forgotten.

He never thought he’d be complaining about a lack of bossiness on Leo’s part, but said brother has been as hands-off as possible in their endeavors so far- overseeing training with sparse suggestions, if any, taking the others’ leads on expeditions into the forest or combat strategies, etc..

Even now, when they’re going on an official (if mind-numbingly simple) mission for the first time in months, he hasn’t given a word of direction the gathered team. Beyond earning a furtive glance in his direction, Raph’s complaint seems to have at least given him some initiative.

“All right, fine. We go in pairs, each searching an area in the general vicinity. Mikey and I will skirt the river. Donnie and April, check the surrounding forest with the mutagen scanner. Casey and Raph can follow the highway.”

He doesn’t elaborate further, so Donnie checks his T-phone. “It’s 10:30. Let’s, uh,” He glances to Leo, but receives no response. “Meet back here at noon?"

There’s a collective agreement, and everyone sets off in their respective directions.

At least he ended up with Casey. 

There’s no chance the hockey player won’t notice something’s bothering him- he’s probably the only person besides Mikey who knows all of his tells- but so long as Casey’s characteristic tactlessness holds up they won’t be dancing around the issue, and he prefers that to the elaborate schemes his brothers pull trying to get him to “open up”.

They follow the road for an uneventful half hour, Casey rambling about his and Donnie’s progress on the hot rod and Raph chiming in occasionally until they reach a bluff overlooking the road and forest below.

Casey leans on his shoulder as he pulls out the binoculars, trying to utilize their new vantage point at a safe distance from the highway itself. 

“See anything?”

Raph groans. “Nada. I think I’ll die of boredom before we find this stupid canister.”

The human chuckles, patting him on the shell. “I feel you, man. What I wouldn’t give to have some Purple Dragons to stomp right now.”

He’s waited surprisingly long to question Raph, but after they walk for a couple more minutes it seems he can bear it no longer.

“All right, spill it- what’s got you pissed at Leo?”

Raph stops short. 

“...What?”

“It’s obvious you’ve got some beef with him. You’ve been avoiding him like crazy, I haven’t seen you guys talk in a whole week… and you, uh, kinda snapped at him back there.”

“I’m not- I’m not mad,” He defends, but already he can see Casey’s right. No matter what he actually thinks about his older brother right now, he’s been coming across like a grade-A asshole.

Nice going, Raph. He’s already miserable about a million other things and here you are shunning him.

***** January 12th, 2015 *****

Snow is falling past the bathroom window, huge white flakes that settle like bits of cloud in the farmhouse yard. It’s well below freezing, but the bathroom is kept almost excessively warm with its full-time inhabitant in mind.

Well- its unconscious inhabitant. 

Raph’s been spending most of his time in the gray, tiled room, sitting hunched over the tub until his back aches and his legs cramp up from the stillness. He’s fallen asleep there too many times to count, but it’s a 50-50 whether he jolts awake falling off the creaking wooden stool or tucked carefully into bed, a cold plate of food left on the nightstand.

He hates that this is the most he can do.

Never has he felt so helpless, knowing that his brother’s life is completely out of his hands. Donnie’s told him time and time again the best thing for Leo’s healing is to let him rest (not that he can do anything else), but it feels so wrong to just leave him here.

It’s like if he looks away from the tub for even a minute Leo’s going to slip away from him.

The same way Master Splinter did, pulled away down the sewer drain while all Raph could do was stand there, and he can’t even think about what will happen if he loses both of them-

He startles upright as a tentative knock sounds on the bathroom door.

“Co-come in,” He has to clear his throat after speaking, voice brittle with disuse.

It’s Mikey who slips through the doorway, posture stiff and hesitant as he approaches.

“Hey, Raphie, uh- April and I made cookies, if you wanna come downstairs and have some.”

Raph grunts noncommittally, already searching for an excuse, but as soon as he meets his little brother’s eyes he falters.

Mikey’s looking at him like he’s the one about to slip away into nothing.

“I know you’re probably not hungry,” A common excuse. Overused, sure, but every once in a while they accept it. “But we found some board games in storage, or we could play Charades, or-”

He trails off as Raph stands, face flip-flopping between hope and apprehension.

“...Board games sound fun.”

The orange-masked turtle’s face lights up at the words, and guilt wells up unbidden in Raph’s chest. He misses you, jackass.

He lets himself be tugged downstairs, trying to ignore how shocked everyone looks when he enters the living room. Donnie pointedly shoves the plate of cookies his way and he grabs two, making sure to tell both Mikey and April how good they are.

They play two rounds of Clue and one of Candyland, being the only two games not missing pieces. Inexplicably, Casey wins the first two games, despite his only strategy being to accuse “whoever looks fishy” and always guessing the revolver (“It’s a gun, why would you bother with a freakin’ candlestick?”). 

Raph can’t deny that he feels a bit better as the night goes on, but anxiety is still simmering in his chest, surging every time his mind wanders to Leo, or Master Splinter, or the invasion, or New York-

This is the most normal he’s felt in weeks and yet it’s still not right. Leo’s absence is palpable no matter how much he tries to distract himself, despite how the rest of his family is right here and clearly trying to cheer him up (At least try and act comforted, they’re doing this for you).

He tunes back in to the conversation just in time to hear Donnie recounting the time Leo tried to make muffins for Master Splinter’s birthday and blew up their oven (to this day, no one understands how).

The story gets some good laughs, and Mikey remarks that as soon as Leo wakes up he’s going to have to put the kitchen on lockdown for everyone’s sake, and suddenly Raph can’t take it anymore.

There is no when. 

They can’t know Leo will wake up. 

They can’t even know if he’ll be breathing in a week- the if of it all makes him want to hurl.

He stands abruptly, spitting some bullshit about being tired and heading to bed early- Tired, yes, but sleeping? Absolutely not- and flees back upstairs.

He can hear concerned murmurings behind him (Mikey’s voice, high and distressed, babbling about how he shouldn’t have said anything, and Donnie’s, quiet and hurrying to reassure him) and he slams the bathroom door far harder than intended before he has to listen to any more.

He sits unmoving in the bathroom until sun peeks through the snowy bathroom window, clinging to Leo’s hand where it rests, limp, on the edge of the tub.

**********

“Yo, Raph?”

He zones back in to see Casey’s glove waggling in front of his face.

“...Yeah. What’d you say?”

“Just wondering what’s buggin’ you if you’re not angry with Leo.”

He has to consider this for a moment. It’s not any one specific thing, really, but Leo's the center of his discontent.

“All right, I might be a little ticked. But it’s just because he’s being so- so weird! He’s awake, he’s healing way faster than Donnie expected, but he doesn’t seem to wanna think about going back to New York, or fighting Shredder… he won’t even lead the team!”

“Okayyy,” Casey looks a little incredulous at this explanation. “So you’re annoyed because he’s not acting like his old self?”

Raph sighs, frustrated. “Not exactly. It’s like he doesn’t want to be his old self. I get that he’s shaken up from his fight with Shredder,” He shudders, recalling the numerous times he’s found his brother in the grips of a panic attack or flashback in the past couple months. “But we’ve all been trying to be here for him and it’s like he won’t let us! All I- all we wanted was for him to be back with us, and now he is, and it’s like he’s not even happy about it.”

The human shrugs. “The guy’s a mystery, can’t disagree there. Is that all, though? You’re acting pretty bothered by standard Leo avoidance.”

Oh, that is definitely not all.

Raph pauses, staring down at the pebble he’s been kicking as they walk.

“...He keeps on saying shit about- about me leading. How well I handled everything during his coma, and how I’d make a good leader, and I guess, uh, it’s freaking me out a bit.”

Casey nods, keeping his expression nonchalant. “Why?”

“I don’t want to take over for him. At least not now, god- I don’t care how well he thinks I’d do, three months of that was hell enough.” Just the thought of being put in a situation like that again sends a bolt of unease through him. He’s back, it’s over now, he’s back to normal- “Maybe he’s trying to make me feel better, I don’t even know, but it’s just- I’m not cut out for it.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Let’s not kid ourselves, Case.” He laughs a little, expecting to see humor or sarcasm on his friend’s face, but when he turns Casey’s looking at him totally seriously. It’s a little off-putting.

“Raph, I’ve never met anyone who cares more than you about protecting the people you love.”

“...That’s not the same thing. I make sure they stay alive. I’m not like Leo, I- I don’t make inspirational speeches, or plan team building, or-”

Casey tries to butt in, but he barrels on, unable to stop the line of reasoning that’s been rolling through his head on loop.

“I can’t do what he does. He always takes care of us, when we’re feelin’ like crap, or we’re in a rough spot…” He swallows the aching lump rising in his throat. “Half the time I just make everyone feel worse.”

***** December 12, 2014- The Day of the Invasion *****

The drive from New York City is nothing short of miserable.

Casey’s at the wheel, left hand steering the party wagon (quite the party this is, Raph thinks bitterly) while his right squeezes April’s. She’s curled up sideways in the passenger seat, glancing intermittently at the brothers huddled in the back of the van. There’s a thin gash on her temple, likely a concussion to match, and Casey keeps shifting his free leg like it’s hurting. 

Both of them look utterly drained.

Mikey pretty much cried himself out in the first hour, sobbing incoherently against Raph’s plastron. The intensity of it had startled all of them- Casey had to pull over at one point for him to throw up- but now he’s totally wrung out, asleep and bundled up in the hothead’s arms. 

He whines quietly now, shifting in his sleep, and Raph starts up a tired rumble in an attempt to settle him.

Donnie, conversely, has been getting tenser and tenser as they drive, silently cataloging Leo’s injuries from where he’s pressed up against the back of the driver’s seat. His breaths are fast and uneven, tears periodically welling up and being blinked away as he hugs his knees. 

Currently, his eyes are fixed at the two gaping lacerations across Leo’s plastron, disappearing near his shoulder underneath a shoddy, blood-stained bandaging job.

(His hands had been shaking so badly Raph had to take over. The blood’s been only half-wiped off of both of them, metallic scent hanging in the air.)

Raph is staring, unblinking, out the front windshield, rubbing slowly at Mikey’s shell on reflex alone. He’s oversaturated with emotions, so many of them clawing at his chest that they blur together into a gnawing tightness between his ribs.

Distantly he wants to reach out and comfort his second-youngest brother, at least distract his focus from Leo’s mangled body on the van floor (Raph can’t even look at him, let alone analyze exactly how beat-up he is), but he just doesn’t have the capacity any more.

He doesn’t understand where Leo finds the energy to be so comforting after battles, to sit with Donnie until he comes back to himself, brain finally settling after hours on overdrive, to coax Mikey out of his shell long after danger has passed, all soothing words and gentle churrs, to stay just close enough to Raph so that he doesn’t feel alone but give him just enough space to calm down, always there to talk or spar once the adrenaline has worn off.

It’s fucking exhausting.

When they finally reach the farmhouse, the hours that follow pass in a panicked haze. Painstakingly careful, they move Leo into the house and the kitchen is turned into a makeshift ER. Donnie is just barely calm enough now to handle his injuries, making do with the meager first-aid kit they grabbed from April’s apartment and a bag of medical supplies Mikey scavenged from an upstairs closet. When they’re not hovering anxiously around the “operating table” or enlisted as second hands in patching Leo up, the others take care of their scrapes and bruises as best they can.

Raph allows April to wrap up a particularly nasty cut on his forearm but nothing more, then paces around the kitchen until Donnie finally staggers back from the table and reports that there’s nothing more they can do at the moment.

“...Is he going to be all right?”

Subconsciously, Raph knows the idiocy of the question even as he asks it.

There’s no answer Donnie will give that could make him feel better. Obviously it’s not yes, considering they can’t even understand the extent of Leo’s injuries yet, and if it’s no, then- well, he doesn’t think anyone can handle that possibility right now.

The genius scrubs a hand down the side of his face, taking a quiet, shuddering breath. “I don’t know.”

He’d expected that response, and there’s nothing helpful or reassuring he can say back, but he needs to say something or the seizing dread and pain and loss in his chest is going to eat him alive.

“So that’s it? We’re just going to- to leave him passed out on a table not knowing whether he’ll be breathing tomorrow? Like he’s some science experiment?” His words are coming faster now, rising in volume. “HOW is that okay with you?”

Donnie’s eyes go wide and hurt at the words, and Raph really needs to shut up shut up shut up but he’s feeling way too many things at once and he can’t stop now.

“I- He’s too fragile to move right now, Raph, we can’t-”

“You’re damn right he’s fragile,” He hisses, fists clenching at his sides. “He nearly died, and you’re telling me all we can do is- is twiddle our thumbs until-”

“RAPH.”

He’s pulled suddenly backwards, and he whirls around to see April, glaring warningly and voice firm.

“You’re not thinking straight. Back. Off.”

The force of her tone is enough to snap him back to himself just a bit, and he goes silent, nails digging into his palms with enough force to draw blood. As soon as he collects himself he tugs his shoulder out of her grasp, fixing his gaze on the floor.

“Right. Sorry for caring.” He can’t help spitting the words, harsh and venomous, and he stalks out of the kitchen feeling worse than he did when he entered it.

Huddled in an upstairs bedroom, hugging himself crushingly tight in an effort to distract from the emptiness around him (no one else would be better off if he stayed downstairs, but he really doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts right now), he really misses his brother’s quiet presence, there like a salve on fresh burns.

He stays curled up against the bed as the voices from downstairs die away, singing steadily at the edges.

**********

It’s been a long time since Raph has seen Casey at a loss for words, but he has yet to interrupt Raph’s analysis of exactly why he’d be shit at leading the team.

That’s saying something, because even Raph realizes it’s getting long-winded at this point.

“-st can’t keep it in check. Master Splinter… he used to say emotion’s like fire. Powerful when focused, but let it slip out of your control and it will burn those around you. That’s the problem, Casey. I- who cares why I get upset, I hurt- ”

“That’s the most important part, man. Why.”

The human’s found what he wants to say now and by the determined look on his face Raph can tell he’ll make sure it’s understood.

“You might not like it, but you feel things stronger than most people. And I don’t just mean anger.” 

He looks to Raph at that, checking for objection, but the turtle just shrugs lamely. It’s true, even if anger is what he expresses most of the time.

“You can hurt just as much as you rage ‘n protect ‘n all that shit. And you can care just as much too. I think your family gets that. I think they need that sometimes.”

Raph splutters in disbelief, because there’s no way his brothers need him flying off the handle all the time, but Casey presses on.

“If what Master Splinter said, about feelings and fire and stuff, is true, holding onto all that too tight is gonna be just as bad as letting it all go. I mean, you’ve seen Leo these past couple months, you can’t argue that shoving everything down the way he does is healthy.”

…He’s got a point there.

“Anyway, I guess what I mean is the way you feel things can’t be worse than not feeling anything at all. Don’t try to be like that.”

Raph has to sit with that for a second- usually the advice he gets in regards to his emotions is just to... have less of them. It's never really worked, so maybe Casey's on the right track.

“I- thank you. That helps.” The words are a little foreign coming out of his mouth, even to his best friend, but it feels all the more important now that he says them. “...I think Leo could do to hear some of that, too.”

As different as they are in most respects, Raph understands his older brother on this level. He knows viscerally the fear of opening up, the awful exposedness of just admitting that you’re scared, for whatever reason.

Casey drops the matter after that, which he’s grateful for- he’s done enough processing for the day, thank you very much.

The mission ends unsuccessful, everyone meeting back at the barn and reporting thoroughly uneventful walks.

During their short debrief Raph takes the time to actually look at his blue-masked brother, searching his carefully neutral expression, and beyond that stiff, trained facade he can see something familiar.

It’s fear, faint but nonetheless present, a strong sense of imbalance that isn’t just the result of a limp.

Something clicks into place at the observation.

Leo’s out of his element too. On top of everything that’s happened to him, he’s scared of what’s to come, about where he stands now on the team. He’s doing a horrible job of expressing it, but the feeling is there nonetheless, manifesting itself in closed-offedness, avoidance, even frustration…

Exactly like Raph.

For once, he might be the best person to confront his brother on an emotional matter.

Aw, sewer apples.

Chapter Text

If Leo thought the past couple months were uncomfortable (and he did, on every level), then they’ve paled in comparison to the horror of the past week. 

It’s not physical, really; more uncomfortable in a “family members trying to corner him to talk at all times” way.

Wake up- Mikey’s sitting in the kitchen way earlier than he should be awake, trying to look nonchalant despite the already-brewed mug of Leo’s favorite tea on the table next to him.

Checkup with Donnie- The genius takes a ridiculous amount of time adjusting his knee brace, fiddling pointlessly with various parts as he remarks about conversation and the miracles it does for the psyche.

Evening training- Raph actually opts to pair up with him, rambling in an expectant way about how much strength he’s gained back and how he’s “almost at 100% again” as they spar. 

This is an obvious lie, if the complex surgical appliance on his knee is any indication, but maybe that’s the point. Raph’s trying to goad him into expressing his frustrations, or, Leo's guess, choosing to ignore how weakened he is and hope that his older brother can do the same.

He really, really wishes he could.

However, the glaring reality is that he’s just not who he was before - not Leo, the fearless leader, just Leo, decidedly possessing fears and in a questionable state to lead. The conversation everyone’s been trying to start must have something to do with that.

On a surface level it makes no sense for him to avoid it, considering they must know, as he does, that he’s something of a liability now, but deep down even he realizes that his thoughts on the matter won’t be the same as theirs.

(He remembers, uncomfortably, the tirade they’d gone on after the first Kraang invasion, failing to understand how they could be so upset when he literally saved the world …with some necessary self sacrifice, granted, but he’d always thought the pros outweighed the cons there.)

When his spar with Raph finally ends, he’s the winner.

And Raph… let him win. Subtly, still putting up a fair fight, but having left his stance open a moment too long and swung a second too slow unusually often. 

He hates it.

“Hey, uh- Leo?”

“Hm.”

Raph says the next sentence with what looks like Herculean effort. “...I think I- eugh- I owe you an apology. For how I’ve been… y’know. Acting.”

“...You’re apologizing.” He can count on two hands (one of April’s, probably) the times Raph has verbally given an apology. Granted, it looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm, but he continues on.

“Yes. I’ve- ugh- I’ve avoided you for a while, and I got impatient, I guess… and I was snapping at you- shit, this is hard-” He drags his eyes up to meet Leo’s. “I can tell you’re feeling bad about where you’re at right now. I wasn’t helping. So I’m sorry.”

He should appreciate this. Raph’s trying to help him out, trying to reassure him, and on paper that’s lovely, but he’s also looking at him like he needs help.

He can handle concern, or anger, or even fear, but this is dangerously close to pity.

Don’t shut him down, this wasn’t easy for him. He puts on a steady smile. “Thanks, Raph. And I’m sorry you’ve had to wait around for me all this time. It won’t be much longer, all right?”

Raph’s face twists up in confusion, then frustration. Somehow he feels he's missed the mark again. “That’s not what I-”

“It’s okay. I’m not gonna hold us back, I promise.” He gets it. He’s been moping, and everyone’s noticed it, and in a last-ditch attempt at reviving his spirits Raph is shoving down his resentment for the greater good.

“No- LEO, don’t walk awa-”

He’s up the farmhouse steps and inside in record time. Topic addressed, topic avoided.

Success.

(He misses how Mikey and Donnie had stopped their spar across the yard, listening intently to the exchange, and given each other a grave, silent nod.)

**********

The next couple hours are ambush-free, and Leo takes it as a sign maybe he said what he had to.

It’s for that reason he’s not suspicious when Donnie knocks on his door, announcing he’s made an exciting new development on the hot rod and wants to show him out in the barn.

He’s not suspicious when he sees Mikey dragging Raph out too, or when Casey and April trail behind the others a bit, or even when he enters the barn and sees the car pretty much exactly the same.

“Uh, Donnie? I don’t want to be a doubting Thomas-” Casey snorts at the phrase, silenced by a quick elbow from April as she drags him away into the yard. “-but… what’s the ‘big breakthrough’?”

A slam and the sliding of wood resonates behind him, and he turns to see the barn suddenly vacant and sealed.

…Except for Raph.

Donnie’s voice comes through the barn door, muffled and indignant. “You two idiots are about to have it.”

Twin curses ring through the air.

“Mikey and I have been trying to talk to you all WEEK and it’s like herding cats trying to-”

Mikey pipes up, and Leo can almost picture him putting a placating hand on Donnie’s shoulder. “What Dee means is that you two obviously need to have a little talking session, okay? Neither of us wanted to do it like this, but a turtle’s gotta do what a turtle’s gotta do.”

“I swear to shell, Mikey, open this door or I’m gonna-”

“You’ve got your T-Phones. Call us when you’ve worked things out.”

“There’s cots and pizza by the lab bench, dudes!”

He hears some reluctant shifting outside the door, then a determined huff that sounds like Donnie, and two pairs of footsteps recede back towards the house.

“This is unbelievable.” Leo huffs, plopping down on a wooden chair in the corner. “We don’t need to be locked in the barn just to have a reasonable conversation.”

Raph is pacing around the opposite side of the barn, grumbling under his breath, but he stops at the words. “...I don’t know what planet you’ve been living on, Fearless, but name one time we’ve had a ‘reasonable conversation’ in the past few weeks.”

“All right, granted you and I haven’t talked much, but I- we haven’t needed to. What do they even want us to say?”

The shorter turtle snorts in disbelief. “Oh, I can think of a few choice topics you’ve been avoiding.” He pauses, like he’s sifting through a long list of grievances. “For starters, why are you acting like the whole team’s under new management? You’ll barely train us, you won’t plan missions, you won’t even think about going back to New York-”

Dread is already starting to pool in Leo’s stomach. 

He knew Raph was disappointed in him, knew that he resented Leo stepping away from his duties for so long, but he’d been hopeful that he wouldn’t have to actually hear just how annoyed his brother is. “I’ve been off my game, and I’m sorry, I know that. But I’m going to pull it together, I swear-”

“Yeah, because fixing it all by yourself is working so well. ”

Leo grits his teeth. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Raph, I’m doing the best I can.”

“THAT’S the problem. You won’t let anyone help you out! You won’t even tell us what’s wrong!”

“I shouldn’t- I don’t need your help. And I don’t want your pity.” He’s getting defensive now, and he knows from experience adding anger to a fight with Raph is a recipe for disaster, but his brother doesn’t seem to have any faith that he can handle his own problems. “My knee is healing better than Donnie expected. I can fight soon, and- and you said I’m almost back to normal.”

Raph winces as if he regrets the words, fury waning for a moment.

“I know I’m disappointing you guys, all right? So if you’re mad that I’m a weak link to the team, that I’ve got a useless leg and that I let one battle get me down for months on end, let me take care of it. That’s my jo-”

“SHUT. THE FUCK. UP.”

The red-masked turtle looks absolutely livid. It’s been a while since Leo’s been startled by his brother’s anger, much less scared of it, but right now Raph’s physically shaking, stiff as a board and looking as him with so much fire in his eyes it looks like he’s about to burn up on the spot.

“I-”

“No. No, pull your head out of your ass and listen. You don’t get to assume how we feel about this. You don’t get to assume how I feel about this. Do you- honestly think,” He growls, raw and wavering. “That after three goddamn months of having my brother in a coma I’m not gonna be anything but annoyed?!”

Leo can’t think of a response other than yes.

“Is that really all you care about? What- what this means for ‘the future of the team’?” The words are flooded with rage, but there’s something else boiling under the surface, something he can’t quite pin down. “Who gives a shit what happens to the team if we lose our brother?”

“...It’s important, Raph. I need-” I need to know you can do this without me. I need to know I won’t hold us back. “I have to be sure that this group will keep functioning. That’s what a leader does.”

“We don’t need a leader, WE NEEDED YOU!”

The voice is broken, desperate, and so not like Raph that it takes him a moment to register it’s still him speaking.

“...I needed you.”

All his instincts are telling him to find whatever hurt his brother like this and wipe it off the face of the earth, but he can’t.

This is on him.

When he looks up the other turtle’s face is void of anger.

“...Leo, if you didn’t-” Raph’s breath hitches, eyes widening in fear and anguish and oh fuck he looks so young- “-if you didn’t make it, I would have been head of the family.”

“Yes.” He’d been comforted by the knowledge, but the way it’s said now makes him nauseous.

“That was all I could think about when you were out. I mean- I couldn’t take care of everyone for a few months, I just… fell apart. It would’ve ruined us if we lost you.”

The last sentence comes as a jolt. He knew Raph was having a tough time during his coma- heck, everyone was- but the idea of his family actually crumbling without him? 

It ruins any pride he could have taken in his near-martyrdom.

“And when you woke up… I thought you’d never feel that far away again.” 

Leo rushes to speak, desperate to get that horribly lost look off his baby brother’s face. “I won’t, Raph, I swear, I will- I will never leave you all like that again-”

A panicked, incredulous laugh. “You’re doing it now, and you don’t even see it!”

Now he’s truly confused. He wants to be strong for his family.

 Why are they acting like he’s abandoning them? 

“...I’m trying to heal. So I can lead again.”

“You’re trying to ignore how hurt you are, Fearless. That’s not the same thing.”

Leo inches closer. The distance between their spots against the barn walls feels frighteningly far suddenly, and he gets a creeping sense of realization why Raph’s so upset.

“It just- it feels like you’re slipping away from us all over again. I’m angry that you won’t talk to us, that you’re shutting us out, after I waited months not knowing if I’d ever hear your voice again.”

‘Shutting them out’- Out of his problems, maybe, but that’s his burden to bear.

“And I’m scared,” Glassy, bright green eyes snap up to meet his. “That I’m going to lose my brother because all he cares about is his ability to lead a mission.”

A million protests die on his lips. 

All this time he’s been so concerned with his place as a warrior (soldier, April, had said, and only now does the label feel wrong) that he’s forgotten about his place as just… Leo.

What does it matter how well he can protect his family in battle if Raph is standing in front of him with tears in his eyes, saying out loud how terrified he is that someday Leo won’t be there at all?

For once, he shoves away the guilt that rises as he looks at his brother. All those times he hasn’t been there, skipped meals and stunted conversations and internal reassurances that Raph can protect them, Raph can look out for them where I can’t, fall away because in this moment, he can take care of his family exactly as he always has.

“I’m here.”

He opens his arms, only a few feet from the shorter turtle now. He doesn’t move closer, doesn’t say anything beyond those two little words.

Raph sways, still trembling with dredges of his outburst and hugging himself in a way that makes Leo’s heart hurt, and for a moment it seems like he might bolt or lash out again.

Then, he barrels into Leo’s plastron so fast he stumbles a bit, good leg shooting back to steady the two of them. 

The oldest wastes no time in holding him closer, nuzzling gently at Raph’s temple as the hothead lets out a fragile sort of keening sound. He rumbles low in his throat, more gravelly than usual but refusing to falter even as a faint, choked sob reaches his ears.

I’m here now. I’ve got you. We’re okay.

The shorter’s cries only build in intensity, until Leo actually has to pull back and remind him to breathe. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen Raph shed this many tears, if he ever has, but it’s clear that this has been building up for a while.

It makes him wonder what his other brothers have been holding back.

(And if he might cry like this, if he allowed it.)

At some point his leg can no longer bear both of their weights, and they end up sitting on one of the worn green cots Mikey dragged in. Raph pulls away (though it takes a while) and leans back against the side of Donnie’s desk, the stiffness he’d been carrying in his stance strikingly obvious now that it’s bled away.

“...I think I’m the one that owes you an apology.”

Raph just presses into his shoulder, silent and waiting. He doesn’t meet Leo’s eyes yet.

“I didn’t realize that I was scaring you so much. Still.” 

It hadn’t occurred to him that someone else could feel as terrified as he did that day in the pit, let alone off of a battlefield, but when he pictures any of his brothers in his place- still and silent for months on end, hurting and withdrawn for months after- the spike of anxiety is just as intense.

“I guess… I didn’t want to be hurt- not just in my knee, but, uh, that was probably obvious- because it meant that- that Shredder hurt me.” He can’t help but tense at the name, but a quiet churr sounds at his shoulder, and Raph wraps an arm around his. “And if he hurt me, hurt me so bad I nearly- you know, then that meant he could hurt you guys.”

The silence that follows feels safe, so he waits with it before speaking, listening to the muted peeps of tree frogs and crickets through the barn wall.

“I couldn’t handle the thought of that. If- if I’m not strong enough in a battle, if my leg gives out or I get startled and let something distract me, then whatever happens is on me. I mean, it’s always sort of on me, I’m the leader, but now it’s like there’s this… constant reminder that I’m not-”

“Invincible?”

“...”

Raph turns a little to face him. He looks like he understands. 

Of course he does.

“Yeah. We had plenty of time to think that over while you were out.”

“It’s- it’s fucking scary.”

Unexpectedly, his brother laughs a little. “If I knew all it took was telling our deepest fears to get you to swear, I would’ve tried it earlier.”

“Oh, shut up, I curse all the time. I just censor myself for all of your… impressionable ears.”

“It sure isn’t working. Last week Donnie called the door frame a ‘shit-ass motherfucking cunt’ when he stubbed his toe.”

Leo grumbles, but he can’t quite hide the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Fine then, just for Mikey. You two are a lost cause.”

“Knock yourself out, but I bet I can corrupt him first.” 

It’s nice to joke around like they used to. The lighter mood is a welcome change of pace after an hour of soul-baring, but before long Raph’s smile drops and his next words are totally sober.

“You can’t keep bottling everything up, Leo. I meant it before.”

“I know. It’s just… hard.”

“Noone’s upset with you. Or disappointed, or whatever. We’ve just been worried as shit.”

“Mhm.”

“Look, if it bothers you that much you don’t have to talk about what happened. We’ve gotten the gist, just- don’t shut us out anymore, okay? If… if you need someone to lean on, physically or otherwise, you can say so.”

“...I think I do want to talk. To all of you. I think,” He takes a deep breath. “It’d be good for me to get it all out.”

Raph blinks, eye ridges raising almost comically. “Seriously? I thought Donnie was gonna have to dose you with truth serum or something.”

“Yeah, it’s rea- wait. Are you kidding, or was he really going to drug me if this dragged on any longer?”

The red-masked turtle just shrugs vaguely. “Uh, doesn’t matter now, does it? Take it up with Don.”

Leo mumbles something under his breath about invasions of privacy and banning their brother from psychotropic drugs, then pulls out his T-phone.

“I guess I can let them know we worked things out, then.”

“Sure. But,” Raph shoves himself off the cot to stand. “I’m holding you to that ‘talk it out with everyone’ idea. We’re not done unpacking all your complexes, there’s way too many of them.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. I don’t think I could escape it now if I tried.” He takes the hothead’s offered hand and pulls himself up, teetering just a bit as weight is thrown back onto his knee.

When Raph wraps a steadying arm around his shoulders, he doesn't shrug it off.

**********

It’s midnight when Mikey and Donnie arrive to let them out of the barn, pleasantly surprised to find their older brothers alive, intact, and on good terms with each other after only a couple hours (Apparently, Casey had been estimating a time frame of two to three weeks).

Before they head back to their respective rooms, Mikey pulls Leo aside in the hallway.

“Talking helped, didn’t it?”

“Yeah. A lot, actually. Your idea, I assume?”

“You know it, brah! Happy to help.” He glances around before continuing, quieter now. “Between the two of us, Raph really needed that cry, and he wouldn’t’ve done it in front of anyone else. So thanks for being there for him n’ all.”

“How did you kno-”

“I know everything, Lee-Lee. I’m psychic.”

“At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised.” He feels a sudden rush of gratitude towards his littlest brother- the one who seems to know how they all tick without even trying, so open and patient in the face of what must be infuriating layers of older brothers’ emotional walls. He pulls him into a hug, and the shorter turtle hums happily, squeezing him back without hesitation. “Good night, Mikey.”

“‘Night, Leo. Love you too.”

Psychic. Really.

Before they go to bed he hugs Raph, too, and something warm settles in his chest when the second-oldest doesn’t grumble or pull away. He doesn’t get to speak to Donnie before the genius is passed out on the downstairs couch, but when he wakes him up and tugs him upstairs he barely stumbles on the steps.

Knee brace be damned. He’s doing pretty well.

Chapter Text

Almost six months into their stay at the farmhouse, Mikey can finally say it feels like home.

Now, nothing can match their life in the sewers, and he misses his full collection of comic books dearly, but he’s settled into a sort of routine at the O’Neils’.

His chores, at least, helped to create a sense of normalcy, but nevertheless having one brother unconscious and two others about to combust from stress put a pretty weird vibe over the first half of their retreat.

The second half had been… also weird, in a slightly different way. Raph and Donnie’s stress levels remained pretty much the same, except this time Leo was awake, definitely not healed, and determined to convince everyone that he was.

He hasn’t made a huge deal of it, for the aforementioned reasons, but all the turmoil and miscommunications were getting to be a lot for him. Emotionally speaking.

In their family, Mikey’s the best at handling feelings by far, and as proud as he is of that title it gets to be a full-time job in situations like this one.

A super-duper difficult job, for the record.

Anyway, things are settling now. Raph’s had a much-needed cry-fest, Leo’s finally promised to talk about his issues with the gang, and as a nice side effect he’s being a pretty good patient for Donnie, meaning the genius can relax for the first time in… realistically, six months.

Today, Mikey’s attempting to pin down a date for that talk. 

He trusts his brother’s word, truly he does, but he also knows Leo is going to put off their household chat if left to his own devices, out of anxiety and awkwardness and a whole bunch of other stuff. He’s just taking the initiative so the oldest doesn’t have to (and so he can get a much-needed break from therapizing after everyone’s expressed themselves).

First up is Donnie.

The genius is, as usual, holed up in the barn tinkering. Casey’s with him, despite their work on the hot rod being complete- the two have taken to hanging out even when only one of them is working.

“Hey, Dee. Hi, Casey.”

It takes a minute for Donnie to detach himself from his blueprints. “Hang on, almost doneee... there.” 

He looks up right as Casey kicks himself over to the desk in a wheely chair, his momentum halted by a well-placed foot from the tallest turtle. “What’s up, Mikester?”

“You remember how Leo promised he was gonna talk to all of us about how he’s been doing?”

“Mhm.” Now, Donnie’s really paying attention. “Why, did something change?”

“Nah, I just wanted to see if you guys are cool with that happening tomorrow. Like, officially, so long as Leo’s up to it.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that sounds good,” The second-youngest glances over to Casey, who shrugs.

“Cool with me. I’m just glad it’s happening.”

Satisfied, Mikey heads out of the barn and behind the house, where Raph and April are hanging up laundry from the humans’ recent trip into town.

Repeating the plan, he gets agreement from both of them, though it’s far more animated on April’s part.

Before he goes back into the farmhouse, Raph gives him an awkward pat on the shell. “Hey- thanks for getting the ball rolling on this, Mike. And… shell, I can’t believe I’m saying this- thanks for locking Leo ‘n me in the barn. It… helped. To get everything out.” 

There’s a vulnerability to the last part of the sentence, but Mikey doesn’t point it out; candidness like this from Raph is rare, and it’s best not to make a big deal out of it, especially in front of April.

When he enters the house, the downstairs is empty, so he climbs the stairs to Leo and Raph’s room and raps lightly on the door.

“Come in,”

Leo’s sitting in a chair next to the bed, left leg extended straight in front of him. As Mikey somersaults onto the mattress he lets it drop slowly (one of the exercises Donnie gave him to help stabilize his knee) and gives him a small smile.

“Hi, yoko. What’s going on?”

“I wanted to talk to you. About… talking to us.” Mikey flops over onto his plastron, watching as Leo straightens in his seat.

“...Oh. Of course. I haven’t forgotten, I swear, I just-”

“It’s okay, I know,” He waves his hands reassuringly, like he’s trying to bat away the tension in Leo’s shoulders. “I’m not trying to get on your case about it or anything, but I think it’d be good to, y’know, put it on the schedule. Does tomorrow sound good?”

Leo nods, but it’s hesitant. “That’s soon.”

“Yeah. Are you feeling up to it? We’re not gonna force you or anything, but I think, like, the sooner the better, right?”

A shaky sigh. “There’s- there’s a lot, Mikey. I don’t even know where to start.”

It hurts to know that his brother’s been having such a rough time the past few months, but it hurts more to be in the dark about it, unable to help.

“Just say what you feel. Say what you want us to know. It doesn’t have to be like your poetic leader speeches.” He elbows Leo playfully at that, and the smile is back, more relaxed now. “And you don’t have to do aaaall the talking. The rest of us have got plenty of feelings about what happened, too, and we’ll be happy to share them. It’ll take some pressure off you, yeah?”

“Okay.” He nods, firmly this time, and takes a deep breath. “It can’t hurt, I guess.”

“That’s the spirit!” 

Mikey leaves the room with a sense of triumph, like he’s found the “light at the end of the tunnel” and is carrying it in his pocket. Against unsermonable odds (or however Donnie says it- insummountial? Inseve- whatever.), Leo, Mr. Poker Face himself, is going to have a heart-to-heart with their family of his own free will, and on top of that the family in question is cooperating.

Mikey, you have done it again.

As soon as this is blown over, he’s taking a well-earned vacation.

**********

The next day at noon, like clockwork, Leo is summoned into the farmhouse kitchen.

His brothers and April are seated around the kitchen table, doing their best to look casual despite the situation. Casey had been outside as well learning a kata, but now he plops down next to April, leaving an empty spot between her and Raph.

He takes his seat.

“Soooo,” Mikey, unsurprisingly, speaks first. “We’re all here! This is looking really formal, I know, but let’s try not to make this stressful. Uh, Leo… whenever you’re ready, I guess?”

Five pairs of eyes turn to look at him, and wow he really should’ve planned what he was going to say first because how do you start a conversation like this-

“He didn’t attack me himself,” The words rush out of his mouth before he can think.

A subtle shift moves across the table- he’s given almost no details, still, about the day of the invasion itself.

“Not at first, at least. There were Footbots- uh- a lot of Footbots, I lost count, and some archers. They sort of- drove me into this… construction pit.” Leo swallows hard. “For a while it was just them. They were wearing me down, I think.”

Someone inhales quietly across the table, but he doesn’t look up to see who.

“I- I was doing okay, there were just so many... one of them got a chain around my arm, sort of dragged me back against a fence, and that’s how it got dislocated. But, um, Rahzar and Fishface were with him, and Tigerclaw- they were just watching. Waiting, probably. He said-”

His breath hitches.

“He said he wanted to see me suffer. Be-before they ‘finished me’, and- well. They did their best. I think it was Fishface that messed up my knee. Someone stomped on it, but I don’t really remember who.”

Leo gestures weakly to the two scars across his plastron. “...That was Shredder. My throat, too. He choked me until I passed out, I guess, but at that point I couldn’t really move anyway. It’s the last thing I remember.”

His knee is throbbing from the retelling and he’s stiffer even than when he sat down. Stay calm, stay calm.

“It was actually sort of a surprise, when he stepped in.” He winces. “I told him to face me himself- stupid, in hindsight- but he wouldn’t. He- he didn’t think I was worth getting his hands dirty.” 

When he finishes speaking, the room is so silent that he looks up and-

Maybe he underestimated the effect this recounting would have on everyone.

Raph’s absolutely seething, staring at the wall like he’s going to set it on fire, and next to him Mikey’s gaze is filled with concern, hands balled up on the table. Casey’s arms are folded tight across his chest- he looks a little scared, weirdly enough. When Leo turns to April, her face is one of sad understanding, and Donnie…

Donnie looks wrecked.

His hands are twisted together in his lap, mouth pressed into a thin line, and his eyes are so wide and pained and guilty a stranger might think he was the one who sent Leo off to his dea…

Ah.

“It- it was a trap.” His voice is small and watery. “He wanted us to try and fight him, he was expecting us, and you had to go through it all alone because we-” He stares down at his hands, shoulders pulling inwards. “I left you.”

“Hey,” Mikey pushes lightly at Donnie’s shoulder, angling to meet his eyes. “No blaming yourself. None of us knew Shredder was trying to get at us.”

“Donnie,” The genius’ head snaps up when Leo speaks. “What happened was never your fault. I know we argued, but I chose to go off on my own. And not because of that. Honestly,” 

They’re not going to like this next part, he already knows. 

“I’m… glad, that none of you were there. I wasn’t ready to face him on my own, obviously, but- Shredder didn’t get the chance to hurt you guys. If being alone like that kept you all safe, then I can’t regret it.”

Raph’s fists loosen just a bit at the words, he and Mikey turning to look at Leo as the youngest turtle frowns.

“NO- no, don’t say that, you can’t- you nearly died.” If anything, Donnie looks more upset now, voice raising. “Do you understand that?! Your pulse almost stopped.”

He hadn’t known that particular detail. His chest siezes at the knowledge.

“Donnie, I’m not gonna wish that any of you had to go through that. You could’ve ended up like me. All of you.”

“Sure, or maybe you would have made it out of there conscious. Maybe you wouldn’t have- have nearly bled out on the floor of the van-” He stops short, trying to slow down his breathing.

Leo’s watching helplessly as Mikey tries to calm him when Raph speaks up for the first time, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘ended up like you’?”

“...Hurt.” And a bunch of other words, one’s he’ll refrain from using because he’s already got one brother upset in this conversation and he does NOT need any more. “I’m weakened, okay? Permanently. My knee’s screwed up, my shell’s scarred, not to mention everything- else…” He trails off there.

“Leo, it doesn’t matter to us how ‘weak’ you think you are now. You’re here. If we all got beaten in that fight, then fine. We’d work through it together. But if you hadn’t made it?” Mikey shudders. “There’s nothing we can do to fix something like that.”

“Hold on,” Raph butts in. “You said ‘everything else’. You weren’t just talking about injuries and shit.”

“Uh- yeah.” God, he can’t get anything past them. Openness is kind of annoying. “Maybe I haven’t been… entirely honest about how ‘over it’ I am. Mentally.”

The hothead nods expectantly. “Well, now’s the time for honesty, Fearless. You care to share with the class?”

Donnie seems to have regained his composure a bit, though he still looks upset, and is looking across the table half like he’s curious about what Leo will say and half like he already knows.

He struggles to find the words, at first. 

How can he describe how fundamentally that fight changed him? How sometimes, on cold days, or when his knee is hurting particularly bad, he’ll keep a finger on his own pulse just to make sure he’s still here? How he can’t handle being cornered or pinned anymore, even the thought of it making his throat seize up? 

“I don’t really know where to start.”

April’s voice sounds out quiet, but not hesitant, next to him. “You’ve been having nightmares, right? And panic attacks.” She phrases it like a question, for Leo’s benefit.

He nods faintly. Those two after-effects are far from unexpected: They’ve all had their fair share of freak-outs in the past, whether from this particular trauma or their growing list of others.

“They’re not as bad now as they were, but I still… you know. Some days are worse than others. Sometimes I just feel… unsafe, for no reason, like I’m about to be attacked any second, or I wake up and my voice is gone, and I don’t know why it happens, but I just can’t-” He makes a frustrated noise. “I can’t move past it. I fought Shredder six months ago, and I still can’t forget how- how insignificant he made feel.”

If he’s really being honest with them, he may as well commit.

“I’m scared to go back to New York, and I’m scared to face Shredder again. I hate it, but it- I can’t shake that fear- that he’ll hurt me again, worse this time, or that he’ll get to one of you,” 

Such a simple statement, and yet something eases in his chest now that he’s let it go.

“I feel so stupid about it. Like I should- I don’t know, be able to move on? Physically I’m doing better, but I don’t feel- I’m not healed.”

Casey tugs at his sweater sleeve for a moment, then speaks up. “I still get nightmares. About the invasion. Running from Kraang Prime, and all that.”

Raph gives a sympathetic hum from across the table, and Mikey pipes up next. “I can’t watch Crognard too late at night, ‘specially not any of the episodes involving aliens. Which is… almost all of them.”

April nods. “I’m terrified of needles, and that’s from the first Kraang invasion. Our point is,” She gestures to the rest of the table. “We’re all messed up from the stuff we’ve seen, no matter how long it’s been. That’s not stupid, it’s just how trauma works. And forcing yourself to ‘get over it’ won’t work.”

Leo snorts humorlessly, shrugging. “Yeah. I’ve been realizing that.”

Mikey interjects quickly at his tone. “It’s not, like, a personal flaw, bro. You get that, right?”

“Yyyeahhh?”

The youngest turtle scoffs lightly. “That’s a no.”

Leo shrugs weakly. “I know I’ve got a lot of, uh, self-worth-slash-leading-slash-fear of failure problems to work out. I’ve been trying, really, but… I’ve been thinking like this for a long, long time. It’s not coming easy.”

“That’s okay, Lee. Nothing happens overnight, yeah?” Mikey lets out a long-suffering sigh. “That’s become super obvious trying to get all you dum-dums to open up.”

Raph chuckles, patting him on the head. “You did it, though. We oughta’ give you a medal or something.”

The conversation pauses for a long moment, until finally the blue-masked leader mumbles:

“How do I go back to who I was before all this? How- I don’t feel like I can be the same Leonardo anymore. Like Shredder took something from me.”

His strength. His peace. His father. Every loss feels more permanent than the last.

“You don’t.” Donnie says it simply, a little bitter, maybe, but with absolute conviction. “Stuff like this changes you, like it or not. I think all you can do is… focus on what you are. Not what you aren’t, not what you’ve lost.”

He chews on his lip, the way he always does when he’s thinking hard on his next words.

“Sure, you’re not invulnerable, or unscarred, or ‘fearless’- noone is, really- but you’re the bravest person I know.”

“...You think so?”

“I mean, you didn’t hesitate to take on an army of Footbots, henchmen, fucking- Shredder himself? You throw yourself into danger without a second thought, and it drives me insane,” His shoulders hike up a little, but he forces them back down. “But you do it because you want to protect us, to protect the world. And… you do a damn good job of it, always- no matter how hurt or beaten you think you are.”

Oh no, now he’s gonna cry- Mikey’s nodding furiously across the table, April’s hand has wormed its way into his, squeezing gently, and as the initial shock of Donnie’s impromptu speech wears off the others voice their agreement one over the other.

Raph, unable to fight back the faint smile on his face or no longer trying, punches him lightly. “You look out for us, right? That’s never gonna change, even if you never picked up your swords again. That’s what brothers are for.”

Leo manages a little nod, blinking rapidly, before Mikey practically teleports around the table and envelops him in a hug. “We love you, Lee. And that brother thing goes both ways- we’ve got your back, okay? No matter what.”

He lets out a watery “Okay,” as Raph’s hand makes its way to his shell, and Donnie’s chair squeaks quietly before he joins the hug, churring hesitantly at first but stronger as Leo cries in earnest.

It’s not anything like Raph’s breakdown, incidentally. His tears are quiet, slow to build and slow to fade away, but with every second that passes the awful knot that had been tightening in his chest for months unravels more. 

He’s mumbling, he notices distantly, weak apologies and muffled thanks and far less coherent feelings than the ones he’d voiced before, but every word gets a response, whether in Mikey’s tiny chirps or Donnie butting his head against his shoulder or even Raph muttering “Shut up and let us look after you,” with no trace of bite in his tone.

Hours later, when his head is stuffy with long-shed tears and everyone’s too tired for any more honesty, his family (all five of them) drags every mattress and pillow and hideous quilt in the house into the living room for a proper fort, complete with roof and walls. Mikey announces that he’s going on hiatus, and with no further elaboration, falls asleep sprawled on top of Raph’s carapace.

Before he drifts off, he looks down to where Donnie's slumped against his side and murmurs, "Thank you."

The younger blinks up at him, tired but curious. "For what?"

"You did a really good job, taking care of me all these months. I know I've been a shitty patient, and I made it hell for you, but... I could tell how hard you were trying. And how much you care, and I understand what it's like to be scared about people you feel responsible for."

Donnie smiles, caught a little off guard. "...You're welcome. It was hell, thank you for noticing, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat. It's just what we do-"

Brothers don't leave brothers behind.

Days later, he and his brothers head into the woods with weapons all their own, different from Splinter’s hand-crafted nunchaku and sai, staff and swords, but still like an extension of their very souls. When he leaves the forest his knee aches, just a bit, but he feels lighter on his feet than he ever has. 

It still feels like he’s lost parts of himself, but maybe he didn’t need to carry them with him. Like a soldier shedding armor, almost- bloodied metal and rusted chainmail falling away until he stands away from the battlefield, out of that cold, snowied pit or off of the mountain, held aloft by the air in his lungs and a hidden confidence that if he falls, he’ll allow himself to be caught.

Weeks later, Casey and April and his brothers pile into the party wagon buzzing with adrenaline. The farmhouse recedes behind them, curtains drawn and heating turned off, until rocky forest turns to the concrete jungle of New York City. He sits in the back of the van and recites their plan of action in a voice gravelly but refusing to falter, hands steady against his swords as they cross the bridge.

He’s home.