Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Leo stood at the edge of the rooftop, staring out at the city stretched beneath him. The skyline flickered with neon signs and distant headlights, casting a dull glow over the streets, but he barely registered any of it. He was supposed to be patrolling, keeping watch, making sure the city remained safe, but tonight—tonight, he felt heavier than usual, the weight pressing down on his chest in a way that made breathing feel like a conscious effort.

It had been almost a year.

A year since everything changed.

A year since their father had been taken from them.

Leo had spent nearly every day of that year pretending he was fine—pushing forward, making decisions, training his brothers, keeping their lives as structured and functional as possible. Because if he stopped, even for a second, then the grief might swallow him whole.

But he wasn't fine.

He hadn't been fine since the moment he had sprinted toward his father's falling body, barely catching him before he hit the ground. He hadn't been fine since he'd pressed his hands against a wound he already knew was fatal, choking out broken prayers for just one more moment , one more second .

He hadn't been fine since Splinter's heart had stopped.

And Leo had heard it.

Some nights, he still did.

He'd never forget the way the world seemed to fall silent in that instant—the way the sounds of battle blurred into nothing, drowned out by the sudden absence of the one heartbeat that had always been there.

That silence had followed him ever since, lingering at the edges of his mind, creeping into his dreams, stealing what little sleep he had left.

Leo had always been able to endure a great deal. He was strong, disciplined, and responsible. He had spent his whole life preparing for the possibility of leading, for the moment when his father would pass the mantle to him. He just never thought it would happen like this—so soon, so violently.

He wasn't supposed to have to do this alone.

But there was no one else.

Their father was gone. Their mother had never been in the picture. And their relationship with their sister was fragile at best. He didn't don't really talk to Kirby. And Kurtzman wasn't someone he felt comfortable enough with to burden.

So it was just him.

He and his brothers.

And they were all depending on him to hold everything together.

There was no room for failure.

No space for weakness.

No time to grieve.

Because if he broke—everything else would, too.

So he swallowed it all down—the exhaustion, the grief, the guilt, the fear. He buried it beneath the responsibilities that had been forced onto his shoulders, convincing himself that as long as they were okay, then he didn't matter.

Except—he did matter.

Didn't he?

Leo exhaled sharply, rubbing his fingers against his temple as he tried to will away the thoughts that threatened to spiral out of control.

It was hard being the eldest.

It meant carrying more than anyone else, shouldering the blame when things went wrong, and making sure everyone was okay, even when he was falling apart.

And the worst part?

No one saw it.

Not because they didn't don't care—because they did. His brothers loved, relied on, and trusted him.

But he never let them see it.

He was too good at hiding things.

He had perfected the art of keeping his suffering silent.

He smiled when he was supposed to. He kept his posture straight, his tone calm. He made sure his voice never wavered when giving orders and made sure his exhaustion never showed when his brothers needed him to be strong.

But it was showing.

In small ways.

He didn't meditate anymore. His mind was too restless.

He didn't really read—not at all. His focus wouldn't hold.

Even Space Heroes —his most consistent comfort, the one thing he always turned to—felt hollow.

And it wasn't like he hated taking care of his brothers.

He loved them. He would give anything for them, would die for them without hesitation. He wanted them to be happy and feel safe.

But there was no one to do the same for him.

That was the reality of leadership—of being the eldest, of being the protector.

There was no space for vulnerability.

Not for him.

Leo dragged in a slow breath, pressing his hand against the rooftop railing.

He was tired.

Not just physically but in a way that no amount of sleep could fix. 

Because even when he did manage to sleep, it wasn't restful.

It wasn't peaceful.

It was haunted by things he couldn't change.

And maybe, deep down, he knew—this wasn't sustainable.

He knew something had to give.

He just didn'tdidn'tdidn'tdidn't know how to let it.

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Casey was worried.

And that was saying something, coming from someone who never worried about anything.

Casey had always been the kind of guy who just went with the flow. He had to be. Being the eldest child in a single-parent household meant learning early on how to fend for himself, how to shoulder responsibilities without complaint, and how to prioritize what mattered most. Over the years, his focus had narrowed to just a few things—his family, his closest friends, hockey, and mechanics. Simple. Straightforward.

But when something did manage to shake him, when something dug deep enough to truly concern him, it was always bad.

And for the past year, that concern had settled fully on Leonardo.

Casey wouldn'twouldn'twouldn'twouldn't say they were close friends. Sure, he had bonded with Raph right away—hot-headed, aggressive, always looking for a fight. Raph had been easy to get along with. Then came Donnie, who took a little longer, but once Casey cracked through that nervous exterior, they found their own rhythm. Mikey had been instant—like stepping into a storm of relentless energy that never let up, but Casey wouldn't have had it any other way.

Leo, though?

Leo had always kept people at arm'sarm'sarm'sarm's length.

It wasn't personal, and Casey knew it. Leo wasn't cold, he wasn't rude—he just never connected with people in the same way his brothers did. He was cautious and calculated, always carrying too much on his shoulders. If Casey hadn't known better, he might've assumed Leo just didn't like him . But that wasn't it.

It was something more profound.

Something broken.

And Casey understood that better than most.

He knew what it was like to be the eldest, to be the one expected to shoulder responsibility when the people who were supposed to do it weren't there. When his mom walked out, he had been forced into that role, taking care of Angel, making sure she ate, ensuring she got to school, and making sure their dad didn't buckle under the weight of being a single parent.

It hadn't been easy, but at least he'd had his dad. At least when things got terrible, he had someone to turn to.

Leo didn't have that anymore.

Splinter had been everything to them. Not just their sensei, not just their leader—but their father . Casey had respected the guy, even if, at first, he had freaked him the hell out. He'd never been a fan of rodents, and nothing was going to change that, but once he got past that initial reaction, he saw how much Splinter cared for his sons.

And now, Leo had lost that.

More than anyone, Leo had been closest to him. He had modeled himself after their father, had taken his words to heart, and had carried that legacy with pride. And now, that connection had been severed in the most violent, irreversible way possible.

Casey had watched it break him.

It had been almost a year, and Leo was still not Leo .

Mikey had bounced back the fastest—he still grieved, but he carried it outward, wore it in his expressions, and shared it with his brothers. Donnie had shut himself away, but they managed to get him out. Raph had bottled it up, but even that had been expected.

Leo, though?

Leo had collapsed .

Not in an obvious way—not the way others might see it. But Casey saw it. April saw it. He wasn'twasn'twasn'twasn't talking the way he used to. He wasn't laughing. He wasn'twasn'twasn'twasn't living, not really. He was doing what needed to be done—training, leading, protecting—but there was nothing left for himself. It was like watching someone disappear in slow motion, slipping further and further into the weight of responsibility until he was barely recognizable anymore.

And Casey hated it.

Hated watching Leo suffer in silence, hated that Leo thought he couldn'tcouldn'tcouldn'tcouldn't lean on anybody .

But that wasn't even the worst part.

Because the worst part—the thing Casey had been trying so hard to ignore—was the fact that his concern for Leo ran deeper than simple friendship.

At some point, without realizing it, he had developed feelings for him.

And it wasn'twasn'twasn'twasn't some stupid crush, wasn't something that was just going to go away. He had been carrying this for months, and with every passing day, it only got heavier.

It wasn't just admiration.

It was something more substantial, something real, something terrifying.

Because Leo wasn't the kind of person Casey could just throw a pickup line at and expect things to happen.

Leo didn't let people in.

And even if Casey wanted to tell him—what would be the point?

Leo had way too much on his shoulders already.

He wasn't about to add himself to the pile.

So he kept quiet.

For now.

But the worry never left.

And no matter what, he wasn't going to let Leo go through this alone.

Even if he had to break through that wall himself.

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Now, you may wonder why Casey has taken such an interest in the blue turtle. Especially if, while they are friends, they've never really been that close before. Besides the fact that Casey is a decent enough human being who cares about others regardless of how close he is to them, he's had a major secret that he's been keeping for almost a year now. He's developed just the tiniest bit of a crush on the eldest Hamoto brother.  

At first, Casey didn't think much of it.

Why would he?

Leo wasn't exactly the easiest guy to get close to—hell, even after nearly two years of knowing each other, Casey wouldn't say they were tight . They were teammates, they had mutual respect, and yeah, Casey thought Leo was cool as hell, but it wasn'twasn'twasn'twasn't like they had ever had the same kind of connection that he had with Raph or even Mikey.

Leo had always kept people at a distance as if there was something constantly weighing on him , something that made it impossible for him to fully relax. Casey noticed it early on, but he didn't question it—he didn't don't need to.

Leo was the leader. The big brother. The guy who had always been the responsible one, even when things got tough. It was just who he was.

And that was fine.

But then, things changed .

When Splinter died—when the world got darker, when their whole family felt like it had cracked down the middle —Casey started paying more attention to Leo.

Not because they suddenly became best friends overnight, nor because Leo reached out or made any effort to let Casey in.

No—it was because Casey couldn't ignore it .

The way Leo withdrew, the way he buried himself in his responsibilities, the way he stopped smiling, stopped joking, stopped being himself.

Leo had always carried a lot, but now?

Now, he was drowning , and no one seemed to see it. 

Casey hated it.

Hated the way Leo thought he had to handle everything alone . 

Hated how no one else seemed to realize that he was hurting .

Hated that Leo was actively disappearing into himself , and nobody—not even his own brothers—could pull him out of it.

So Casey started watching him more closely. 

Started lingering a little longer during patrols. Started offering to help out when he could. Started paying attention to things no one else seemed to notice.

It was subtle at first, but the more he watched, the worse it got.

The way Leo barely ate.

The way he barely slept.

The way exhaustion seemed to weigh heavier on him every single day , but he refused to let it show.

And somewhere along the way, concern turned into something else .

Something Casey hadn'thadn'thadn'thadn't expected.

Something Casey wasn't ready to deal with.

Because the problem wasn't just that he was worried about Leo.

The problem was that he had a crush on him.

A full-blown , undeniable, totally inconvenient crush.

And God , did it mess with his head.

Casey had never been good at keeping secrets, but this was —

This was one he was taking to the grave.

Leo had too much on his plate already—he didn't need Casey dropping something like this on him.

So Casey kept his mouth shut.

He pretended it didn't exist.

Ignored the way his stomach twisted every time Leo was near him. 

Ignored the way his pulse spiked when Leo actually looked at him, actually talked to him in that quiet, serious voice of his.

Ignored the way he caught himself wanting to be around him more than before—wanting to be the one person Leo could lean on.

Because that's the thing, isn' it?

Leo doesn't lean on people .

He never lets himself be vulnerable.

So even if Casey wanted something more, even if he could imagine a world where maybe—maybe—Leo needed him back…

It wouldn't matter.

Leo wasn't looking for anyone to take care of him.

He was too used to carrying everything alone .

And that?

That was precisely why Casey was keeping this crush locked away, buried so deep that hopefully— hopefully —he'd get over it someday.

Until then?

He'd keep watching from the sidelines.

Keep worrying.

Keep caring.

Because Leo needed someone to look out for him.

Even if he never asked for it.

Casey sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the rooftop railing.

He really didn't-didn't  know how he had gotten himself into this mess.

He wasn't supposed to feel this way about Leo.

But it was already too late, wasn't it?

It had been a year.

And he still hadn't stopped caring .  

And what most people would say is that it wasn't just a phase or that he wanted to mess with Leo. He knows that for almost two years, he has been driving everyone crazy with his feud over who gets to be with April. And besides the fact that they shouldn't have been treating April like a prize to be won, he never showed any interest in anyone but April that his friends had seen.

And yeah, he fully admits that he was head over heels in love with April there for a little bit. Who wouldn't be? April O'Neil is a force to be reckoned with and one of the greatest, most amazing people to exist. He'll admit that anyone who ended up with April would be the luckiest person alive, but that person wasn't wasn't him. He realized a while ago that, although he loved and cared for April very much, he wasn't in love with her. He viewed her more as a friend and a sister-like sister-like figure than a possible romantic interest. He realized this long before he and Donnie reached a truce on their so-called rivalry-called rivalry, but he kept it going for a bit. Was that a crummy thing for him to do? Yes, but he never claimed to be the smartest or greatest person alive.  

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After he realized his feelings for April were merely platonic, Casey went on with his life. They still talked, they were still friends, and that'sthat'sthat'sthat's all he really cared about. He treated April like he usually would and resigned himself to the fact that he hadn't found the one for him yet. Besides, this was during their time at the Farmhouse Farmhouse Farmhouse during the Invasion. Hence, they had bigger fish to fry and more things to worry about than Casey's nonexistent love life. For a good part of this realization, Leo was still out of commission and comatose in the bathtub upstairs. Casey would never say this out loud, but he was terrified out of his mind during this period.  

He only consciously acknowledges his feelings for the younger teen about a year ago, but Casey is mature enough to admit that it's probably been way longer than that. Watching Leo be thrown through April'sApril'sApril'sApril's apartment window, Casey could have felt his heart stop. He can remember every minute detail about that day. The shattering of the glass, Leo lying there prone on the floor, not breathing.

The pure terror, fear, and adrenaline rushed through his veins, trying to get everyone out and in the van before someone else could get hurt. Driving around the city trying to find his own family, Leo lying unconscious in the back, hoping that by the time he met up with the others, at least Leo would still be alive. Those 3 months that Leo spent in a coma were some of the hardest in his life. They were arguably harder than the first couple of months after his mom skipped town, and those were rough.

For 3 months, Casey held his breath, hoping and praying that Leo would be okay. And he wasn't a particularly religious person. Still, he would spend hours at night praying to anyone who would listen that his best friend wouldn't have to bury both his father and his older brother.

Once they got to North Hampton, Casey had to play the hurry-up-and-waithurry-up-and-wait game for over 3 months, and it was agonizing. At the time, he had just chalked it up to being worried about his best friend's brother, who was also sort of his friend. Looking back on it now, though, Casey realizes that was probably when it all started. Ever since he admitted his feelings to himself, Casey wonders sometimes what he would have done with himself if Leo had died, and he was always too scared to answer that question. But he's sure of one thing now, though, he hasn't been this worried about the eldest Hamoto in a long time, and he's scared of what's coming next.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

After a long, miserable day at school—after an even longer, grueling night of patrol—Casey was ready to call it quits on the whole concept of being functional and collapse straight onto the lair's couch.

The thought of lounging back, throwing on some mindless television, and letting his friends' familiar presence ease the weight of his exhaustion sounded like the best idea he'd had all day. He wasn't picky about what was on—just as long as it wasn't another documentary that Donnie insisted was "actually fascinating" because Casey swore his brain would melt straight out of his skull if he had to process one more piece of educational material today.

It wasn't just today, though. The school had always been rough for him.

He had never had a stellar relationship with it—never quite found a rhythm that made it enjoyable, never figured out how to care about test scores and assignments when everything outside of those walls felt so much bigger, so much more important. And lately, it had been worse than usual.

Senior year was supposed to be the time when things started feeling exciting when the horizon of adulthood stretched out in front of him with endless possibilities. But Casey mostly just felt like he was dragging himself toward graduation, one exhausting day at a time, counting the moments until he could throw his backpack in the trash and never look back.

It wasn't that he didn't want a future. He did. He just wasn't sure what that future looked like.

There were days when he entertained a dozen different ideas—things he could do, places he could go—but none of them ever solidified into a concrete plan. The only certainty he had was that he wanted to keep moving forward, that whatever came next would be better than the monotony of sitting through lectures he barely paid attention to.

And, if he was being honest with himself, school wasn't just bad because of his general disinterest.

It was bad because of Leo.

Casey hated feeling helpless.

It was one of the worst feelings in the world—watching someone you care about struggle, seeing the weight on their shoulders grow heavier, knowing they were barely holding it together but not being able to do anything about it.

Leo had been different lately. Not just tired, not just overworked—something more profound. The kind of exhaustion that didn't just come from lack of sleep but from carrying things alone, from shoving problems so far down that they started eating away at you from the inside.

And Casey had seen enough of the world, enough of people to recognize when someone was drowning.

Leo might've been good at pretending, but Casey wasn't stupid.

There was a tension in him that never seemed to ease, a sharpness to his expression that hadn't been there before. Some days, he was almost normal—laughing, making sarcastic remarks, and going through the motions of leadership with the same confidence he always had. But on other days, Casey could see the cracks.

The way his eyes lingered too long on nothing, in particular, lost in thoughts he wouldn't voice.

The way his shoulders stayed stiff, his jaw clenched like he was holding something back.

The way, when he thought nobody was looking, the exhaustion in his face became so painfully evident that Casey almost wanted to shake him and make him talk about it.

But Leo wouldn't.

Because Leo never talked about it.

And that scared Casey more than anything.

He let out a long sigh, shaking his head as he turned the corner and headed deeper into the sewers toward the lair. The exhaustion in his bones wasn't just from school, nor was it just from patrol.

It was from carrying this weight, too, from caring too much.

And Casey had never been great at just sitting back and watching. 

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As soon as the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Casey took off like a shot out of his last class.

Math had been the final hurdle between him and freedom, and he had barely endured it without losing his mind. Whoever decided that calculus needed to happen at the end of the school day clearly had a vendetta against teenagers. He wasn't even sure if he had absorbed anything from the lecture—something about functions, maybe? Who cared? Not him.

He had already made the executive decision that whatever homework had been assigned today wasn't going to happen. His teacher had barely finished yelling at the class to remember it before Casey had bolted, weaving his way through the flood of students spilling into the hallways, all equally eager to escape.

It wasn't just any weekend—it was a long weekend.

He still wasn't entirely sure why teacher workdays existed, but honestly, he wasn't asking questions. If it meant an extra day off, he was entirely on board. And with his dad out of town for work and his sister pulling off another masterful con to get herself invited for a whole weekend at her friend's place, he had the perfect excuse to spend all his time at the lair with the guys.

That thought was enough to give him an extra surge of energy.

It took him less than thirty seconds to toss his books in his locker, slam the door shut, and officially free himself from any obligations that required him to think about school until next week. He didn't even bother taking anything home. He was caught up in everything except math, thanks to April, so in his book, he basically had a free pass to enjoy the weekend without any lingering school stress.

Speaking of April—he needed to find her before heading out. They had already planned to go to the lair together, but he had gotten out of class first and was now on a mission to locate his best friend before she ended up leaving without him.

It wasn't difficult.

April wasn't exactly hard to spot with that bright red hair of hers, and sure enough, she was at her locker, packing up her things, wholly absorbed in organizing her books.

Casey grinned, a mischievous idea forming immediately.

He hadn't done anything stupid in the past hour, and that was just too long.

Quietly, he snuck up behind her, lowering his voice as he leaned in just slightly. " Boo. "

April didn't even flinch.

Without missing a beat, she reached back, elbowing him in the ribs hard enough to make Casey stumble a step backward.

" Ow! " he yelped, clutching his side.

April sighed, shutting her locker before turning to him with a deadpan look. "You have got to stop trying that, Casey. It never works."

"I was so stealthy this time," he protested.

"You were not."

"You didn't even see me coming!"

April raised a brow. "I knew you were coming. Big difference."

Casey opened his mouth to argue but then closed it, choosing to accept defeat.

Shaking his head, he nodded toward the doors. "You ready to go?"

April slung her bag over her shoulder. "Yeah. Let's get out of here before the hallway gets clogged up."

They fell into step beside each other, weaving through the crowds and making their way toward the exit.

For a while, they talked about nothing in particular—weekend plans, random complaints about school, the weird lunch options the cafeteria had been pushing lately. It wasn't until they finally stepped outside, breathing in the crisp air, that Casey felt the weight pressing on his shoulders again.

And without thinking, he voiced the thought that had been gnawing at him for days.

"Hey," he started, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Have you noticed anything… off with Leo lately?"

April frowned, giving him a sideways glance. "What do you mean?"

Casey exhaled, kicking a stray pebble as they walked. "I dunno. He's just… different. Not in a huge way, but something's off."

April was quiet for a moment as if processing the thought.

"He's definitely been more serious," she admitted finally. "But that's not unusual for him, is it? I mean, he's always carried more than he lets on."

"Yeah, but it's more now, " Casey said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Like—he's trying too hard to seem normal, but you can tell he's not. And I don't think it's just the usual leader stress."

April bit her lip, thinking.

"I guess I have noticed that he doesn't joke around as much as he used to, " she said slowly. "And he zones out sometimes like he's thinking about something heavy. "

Casey nodded. "Exactly. "

They reached the subway entrance, pausing at the edge of the steps.

April sighed, turning fully toward him. "Have you talked to him about it?"

Casey grimaced. " Tried. But you know how he is—he dodged it, said he was fine, changed the subject. Typical Leo stuff. "

April crossed her arms. "He's not gonna admit something's wrong unless he has to. "

"That's what I'm afraid of. "

April studied him for a moment, then placed a hand on his arm.

"We'll keep an eye on him, " she said gently. "If it gets worse, we don't let him shove us out. "

Casey nodded, grateful for the reassurance.

And as they headed down the steps, disappearing into the subway tunnels toward the lair, he silently hoped Leo would let them in before things got too bad.

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Leo lay on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling of his room.

He had been there for hours now, unmoving except for the occasional slow blink, just existing.

Sleep had refused to come to him the night before—something that had become far too common these days. He had tossed and turned for what felt like hours, staring at the faint glow of the digital clock on his nightstand, listening to the distant sounds of the city above them. But no matter how exhausted his body felt, his mind hadn't let him rest.

And now, with their monthly movie night coming up, he had figured he might try to sneak in a quick nap before everyone showed up.

But even that wasn't working.

His body was heavy with fatigue, but his mind remained alert and restless.

Movie nights used to be one of his favorite traditions. He had always looked forward to them—and counted down the days until the next one.

Mikey loved them more than anyone, of course—his youngest brother had always been a walking encyclopedia of movies and television, his enthusiasm boundless. He could watch movies for hours without needing a break, endlessly fascinated by cinematography, storytelling, and any unusual trivia he could uncover about each film. Leo used to joke that Mikey had seen more movies than actual sunlight.

But what people didn't realize—what Leo had never actually said out loud—was that movie nights had always been one of his favorite things, too.

Not necessarily because of the films themselves but because of what they meant.

Their father had always insisted on making them a tradition. Even when they were young—even when they were still figuring out life in the sewers—Master Splinter had placed a quiet importance on it.

It was one of the few times that all four of them sat together in one place without fighting.

There was something deeply comforting about those nights—something about the way the world felt a little smaller, a little safer when they were tucked into their makeshift theater, bathed in the soft glow of a screen, surrounded by snacks they probably weren't supposed to have.

Their father had cared about it—not necessarily about the movies themselves, but about the togetherness.

Leo remembered the way Master Splinter would sit with them, watching with quiet amusement as Mikey rattled off excited commentary, Raph argued over plot points, and Donnie made overly analytical observations that made absolutely no sense to anyone but himself.

It had been a rare moment of peace. A moment where they weren't training, weren't running, weren't fighting.

Just being.

Leo had loved those nights.

But now…

Now, it was hard to summon that same enthusiasm.

He felt off —not just tired, but disconnected.

The things that used to bring him joy felt distant now, as if he were watching them through a pane of glass—aware of them but not fully able to reach them.

And movie nights were no exception.

Lately, they felt like just another thing on the list.

Something he was supposed to enjoy. Something he knew he should be happy about.

However, the energy was no longer there.

He would sit there, listen to the conversations, watch the movie—but none of it felt the way it used to.

None of it felt real.

His fingers twitched slightly where they rested on his stomach, a faint flicker of frustration surfacing.

He knew he should get up soon, at least make himself look a little more presentable before everyone showed up. But the thought of moving felt exhausting in itself.

Still, not going wasn't an option.

Even if he wasn't feeling it, they were.

Mikey would be over the moon about the movie choice tonight—he had been talking about it all week. Raph would grumble about something, Donnie would analyze the special effects, and Casey would throw popcorn at someone halfway through.

It was familiar.

It was something that had been a constant since childhood.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough of a reason to show up, even if he didn't feel like himself anymore.

With a slow sigh, Leo rolled onto his side, finally willing himself to move.

Whether he wanted to or not, movie night was happening.

And maybe—just maybe—it would remind him of something he used to love.

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Casey and April walked into the lair that Friday afternoon with a little more weight on their shoulders than usual.

Usually, stepping into the lair was easy—it was familiar and comfortable, a place where they could shed the stress of the outside world and settle into the presence of their friends. But today, there was a heaviness between them, unspoken but understood.

Leo had been off lately.

It wasn't immediately apparent—not the kind of change that smacked you in the face. But over time, Casey and April had both started noticing the little things—the way Leo held himself, the way he spoke less, the way he seemed to zone out more often than usual.

And tonight, during movie night, they would pay close attention.

Not in a way that would make Leo feel cornered. He wouldn't respond well to that. If anything, he'd just shut down further, retreating behind that well-crafted leader persona that kept people at arm's length when he didn't want to talk.

But they would watch.

They would pick up on what he wasn't saying.

As they stepped inside, they were immediately met with Mikey's usual high-energy greeting—something about how he had made special popcorn this time (which probably meant it was drenched in way too much seasoning) and how he had meticulously selected tonight's movie for optimal enjoyment.

April managed a smile, nodding along, while Casey ruffled Mikey's head on his way past, letting him ramble without interruption.

Raph was already settling onto the couch, arms crossed, looking like he was preparing for an argument over the movie choice before the screen even turned on.

Donnie, as usual, had a commentary prepared.

And then—there was Leo.

He was already sitting in his usual spot, but there was something about the way he held himself that made Casey's stomach clench slightly.

Leo had always had a particular posture—a way of sitting that conveyed control without looking too rigid. But tonight, his shoulders seemed a little too stiff, his focus a little too detached, like he was present in body but not entirely in mind.

Casey exchanged a glance with April, who caught the shift immediately.

They both took their seats, easing into the casual atmosphere, pretending like nothing was wrong.

The movie started, and for the first half hour, things seemed normal enough—Mikey laughed at every joke, Donnie made occasional remarks about the cinematography, and Raph grumbled about something irrelevant.

But Casey watched.

And as he did, he noticed the way Leo barely reacted to anything.

No amused smirks at Mikey's enthusiasm. No side comments about the action sequences. No tired complaints when Donnie started analyzing the technical aspects.

Just silence.

A few nods and a few hums in response, but nothing beyond that.

At one point, Casey shifted slightly, nudging April subtly, and she nodded in silent agreement. She had noticed it, too.

Leo was there, but not really there.  

It wasn't until a theatrical scene played—a moment designed for tension, one that usually would've gotten some kind of reaction—that Casey saw it.

The tiniest flinch.

Barely noticeable.

But there.

And it wasn't from the movie itself—it was from whatever was running through Leo's mind.

Casey exhaled slowly, looking away so Leo would miss him staring.

Yeah.

Something was definitely going on.

He glanced at April, who was watching Leo with quiet calculation, clearly deciding how best to handle this.

Eventually, she leaned slightly toward Casey and murmured, "We should talk to him. But not now. "

Casey nodded.

Not now.

But soon.

Because whatever was going on—it wasn't just nothing.

And there was no way they were going to let Leo carry it alone.