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The storm has broken—its wrath unleashed—and each of us must face its torrential rage in his own way. Our individual techniques are as unique as each new crash of thunder. 

Master Splinter, TMNT Issue #1

Reality hasn’t quite sunk in yet, he thinks. 

It’s not until he takes a step back, not until his foot crunches on something hard and triangular, that the sheer weight of what’s happened crashes down on him. His body is trembling, his stomach churning, and there’s a hot stinging pain behind his eyes as he lifts his leg to get a look at what he just stepped on.

It’s no bigger than a bottle cap. Could be some bit of debris, but no, it’s caked in blood and patterned with an unmistakable texture. The little piece of shell is like a knife—it even drew a bit of blood from the bottom of his toe. And dammit, it’s not the only piece. He’s standing in a minefield of shattered turtle shell. 

Raphael thinks he might puke. 

For a moment, he just stands there. Breathing. Waiting for the trembling to stop. It doesn’t, so instead he turns around and draws his gaze up to the laboratory ceiling where there is no visible damage, no streaks of blood or bits of shell, and no dead Donnie.

But the scene behind him isn’t easy to forget or ignore. It’s etched permanently in his memory. He sees his father clutching Donatello’s pale and motionless body. He sees Mikey crouched beside them, pinching the bridge of his nose as he continues to sob. He sees Leo watching over the scene with fabricated serenity, not even willing to shed a tear, the asshole. He sees the shattered bō staff. He sees Rocksteady’s footprint in the blood that’s pooled on the floor. And he sees the shards of his brother’s shell scattered around his feet.

The teleporter rumbles to life and casts its purple light over the ceiling beams, but Raph doesn’t bother turning to see who walks through it. The clank of metal footsteps is enough to tell him it’s the Fugitoid. He knows if he turns around, he’ll be tempted to attack the coppery old robot. It’s his fault, after all. Instead he crosses his arms and shuffles his feet, wincing when he steps on another damned piece of shell.

If he were a better brother, Raph might’ve gathered up the pieces of his dead brother so Mikey wouldn’t catch sight of ‘em. But Mikey was one perceptive turtle. Probably already noticed. 

“By the creator…”

That’s the professor’s shrill, robotic voice and Raph don’t want to hear any of what he’s got to say. He can’t stand to listen to another person walk in on the situation and—and react to the sight of Donnie. Of Donnie’s corpse. Even Mikey’s quiet sobs are grating to his ears. He wishes he could sink into the floor, into the concrete.

It’s not Donnie anymore, is it? It’s a body. It’s a something. He and Leo are gonna have to carry it out. And then what, bury it? Or did ninja have a different custom—

“He’s not dead!”

~ ~ ~

Raph thought of himself as a quick learner, all things considered. While he was alone on the streets, he learned quick because there was no other way to do it. He learned which dumpsters were the best for scrounging. Learned the paths and patterns of the humans coming and going to work. Learned which neighborhoods were easy, and which were rough. Learned how to hold his fist the right way to pack the hardest punch. 

When his family found him, Raph began learning the way of the ninja from his father. It came easy to him, like second nature. You are excelling, my son, Splinter had told him, faster and with more ferocious determination than any of your brothers.

He also learned how his family worked. The function of a family was new and foreign, yet also very familiar. Unlike Casey’s ass of a father, Master Splinter never yelled. He calculated every word before he said it. He was direct, deliberate, gentle. It was a gentleness that Raph had trouble adjusting to, but eventually he came to crave Splinter’s calmness, so strongly contrasting his own stirring thoughts. 

His father touched him. A gentle hand to the shell, or a scrape of a claw across the knuckles of his hand at breakfast. This, too, felt familiar and natural and right. 

Leonardo, though. That guy was an ass. A stuck-up idiot who hung on Father’s every word and hardly left room to think for himself. But he was dedicated. He fought like a demon, the fire in his eyes burning with each slash of his sword. Raph respected him. Understood him. 

Michelangelo was also easy to read: another idiot, too innocent, too optimistic. Fast, too. Insanely talented, more-so than even Leo (though Raph would never admit it to either of them). Mikey made sense, because you knew what to expect from the guy. 

Raph liked to think he was good at figuring people out. A quick learner, right?

But Donatello…that guy was a pickle and a half. 

Meeting him (or meeting him again) was strange. Not nearly as easy as it was with the other two. For one thing, Don never really spoke to him directly, aside from the initial greeting: Good to have you back, bro. But there wasn’t much emotion behind it. In fact, there never seemed to be. 

The asshole spent most of his time tucked in a corner, pulling apart old machines and putting them back together again in the exact same way. He was always ducking away during mealtimes or tucked alone in a corner while the rest of them hung out. Really, Raph didn’t see enough of Donnie to get a read on the guy.

Did it piss him off? Oh, you bet it did. 

Raph quickly fell into a routine in the sewer they called home. It was a tiny little shithole with a few tables and a single dingy couch that Mikey claimed as his own most days. Within the first week, Raph laid claim to a corner of the shithole, knowing he’d drive himself nuts if he didn’t have something to call “homebase.” The spot he chose was tucked between the wall and Master Splinter’s tea table. It was there that he caught up on a year’s worth of lost sleep. Glorious, really.

Three nights in, he woke up to the sound of drilling. Drilling.

He rubbed the sleep and frustration out of his eyes with both fists and sat up, surprised to find that there were only three snoring lumps scattered around the room instead of four. 

“He’s drillin’ in the middle of the night?” he mumbled to nobody.

Of course, it had to be Donnie. That turtle always had some sort of tool in his hand or tucked in his belt like a fucking security blanket. Raph dragged himself to his feet, grumbling to himself. The sewers echoed like crazy, but it didn’t take long to find the source of the noise. Donatello had something like a goddamn traffic light on his forehead, which illuminated his work zone as well as most of the tunnel.

Raph blinked at him for a while. He was drilling into the wall, for god’s sake, but he still hadn’t noticed Raph standing behind him. The drilling sound echoed down the tunnel so loudly that even once it stopped, a faint ringing continued in his ears. 

“Done for the night?” Raph asked out loud.

Donnie jumped and dropped what he was holding, cursing as it splashed into standing water. He spun to look at him, light shining directly into Raph’s face.

“Ow,” Raph grumbled, shutting his eyes.

“Sorry.”

He didn’t open them until the light disappeared under his eyelids. Donatello had taken off the headlamp, letting the light shine down at his discarded supplies. He bent to pick them up as Raph blinked spots out of his eyes.

“Yes, I am.”

“What?” Raph croaked.

“Done. Drilling.” Don didn’t look at him as he gathered his tools into a duffel bag. “You can go back to bed.”

Fat chance. Sleep was rapidly leaving him as anger resettled in his mind. Yeah, he was angry. Angry because this asshole wouldn’t make eye contact. Angry because he’d gone all quiet and still again, all anti-social like. It pissed him the hell off.

“Do we got a problem?” he blurted.

Donnie caught his eye.

“You hear me?”

“I did,” Donnie said calmly. “We don’t have a problem.”

“Why won’t you talk to me?”

“Because I don’t have anything to say.”

“Well, you fuckin’ talk to everyone else,” Raph snapped.

“If I have something to say to someone, Raph, I say it.”

His voice was still deadly calm. Dammit, that only pissed him off more. It was the kind of anger he had trouble controlling. An anger that has burned inside you since the day you were born, Sensei told him, whatever that meant. He wanted to hit a wall. Scratch that, he wanted to hit Donnie, but then he’d really be in trouble. 

Save it for training, he thought to himself. You can hit him hard tomorrow. 

It took him a moment to realize he’d been standing there, seething in silence. Donnie was already getting to his feet and moved like he was about to return to the lair. He seemed hesitant, though, eyeing Raph with a wary look. 

“What?” Raph demanded.

“Do you need help with something?” Donnie answered levelly. 

Did he…no. The question didn’t make any sense. Help with what?

Raph uncurled his fists. “No, I don’t need fuckin’ help. Just need that sound to stop.”

“It’s stopped.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

Donnie nodded to the side. “Then…let’s head back?”

Raph had half a mind to spit at his feet and walk the other way. But that would be…uncouth, as Leo would say. He dug his teeth into his lip and nodded. “Yeah. Whatever.”

~ ~ ~

He’s not dead.

The words don’t register right away. Even once they do, Raph stubbornly decides not to believe them, and stubbornly refuses to turn around. He hears his father’s voice, soft and quivering with disbelief. “Still…alive?”

“Barely,” says the Fugitoid. “My sensors are picking up a pulse, but it’s weak and…”

Raph’s thoughts drown out the professor’s rattling voice. He kneels, because there’s still bits of shell on the floor. He doesn’t look down as he scoops them closer to himself. If he does, he’s afraid he’ll puke. 

Pickin’ up bits of his dead brother. What a nightmare. The tears roll freely down his face now. He can’t even picture what the living Donnie looked like now that he’s seen the dead one. He’d only stared at the body for a minute, two tops, and already the memory of his life is fading and it’s driving him crazy—all he can picture is the damage that Bebop and Rocksteady left behind—all he can do is wonder whether Donnie was conscious enough to remember the hit. The pain. 

Mikey’s voice draws him back to what’s happening behind him. “Hold on—we’re gonna freeze Donnie?”

What?!

Raph swivels around so violently that his neck pops. The pieces of shell spill out of his hands. He searches for the body first—and finds Leo pulling it into his shaking arms. Raph barely manages to keep the anger out of his voice when he says, “What’s goin’ on, Fugitoid?”

The robot spins towards him, limbs creaking. The words that spill out of him are so direct, so certain, he can’t help but think of the way Donnie used to sound. “What’s going on is we need to slow down Donatello’s cell metabolism. But that won’t happen if we don’t act immediately.”

“Raph,” Mikey says. He’s crouched next to Donnie, eyes wide and wet. Somehow he doesn’t look as terrified as Leo, who still hasn’t managed to shed a tear.

Raph meets his older brother’s eyes. There’s something desperate about his gaze. Leo is floating. He’s frantic. Raph reads his expression like a book: 

Help me. I need you. Help me. I need you.

It anchors him. Raph collapses next to his brothers and hooks both arms around Donnie’s knees, shivering at how limp and loose they are when he rises, but never breaking eye contact with Leo once. He offers a slight nod.

“Come on, everyone,” Leo announces. In contrast to his expression, his voice is steady and fearless. “You heard him. We gotta hurry.”

~ ~ ~

Don and Mike were yapping at each other like a pair of roosters trying to wake up a whole damn neighborhood.

For a turtle who claimed to only speak when he had something to say, he sure did manage to say a whole lotta nothing to Mikey in a single breath. Their conversation was loud and animated, hands waving as they discussed something that must’ve been real fucking exciting. 

The anger came back with a vengeance. So he’ll talk to this guy and not me? That’s how it’s gonna be?

Mikey plucked a remote from Donnie’s hand and clicked a button. Out of nowhere, music exploded across the lair. The sound of drums and bass guitar thudded so loudly, Raph cupped both hands over his ears. 

Mike hurriedly turned the music down. “Sorry, bro.”

“The hell did that come from?” Raph muttered, rubbing the side of his head.

Mikey laughed. “The pipes!” 

Raph frowned, looking at his other brother for confirmation. Donnie met his eyes with that same plastic expression—calm, emotionless. Someone (himself?) had called him a genius the other day. Maybe genius brains were stuffed with too many thoughts and not nearly enough empathy. He didn’t look apologetic about the racket they’d just made as he nodded in confirmation. “The pipes.”

Right, the fucking pipes. Shoulda known. Keep cool. Stay calm. 

“Why?”

“I put speakers in the pipes for, uh…well, because I did,” Donnie said, shrugging.

“Because I asked,” Mikey crooned, folding his fingers over his chest. “And he can’t resist my puppy-dog eyes.”

Raph couldn’t hide his scowl. “So you’re a hip-hop fan, huh? Damn.”

“Uh oh, Don. He’s uncultured.” Mikey stuck his tongue out and started poking at the remote. “We’ll have to fix that.”

“Where’s Leo?” Raph asked, glancing around the lair.

“Supply run on the surface,” Donnie said.

“And Splinter?” 

“Uh…” Mikey glanced around. “There’s a tunnel where he likes to meditate. Out that junction and to the left.”

Raph left as the music got loud again, following Mikey’s instructions to a sewer tunnel with a steady flow of murky, stinky-ass water. Sure enough, Splinter was sitting on the opposite walkway with his legs crossed and his eyes closed.

“Sensei,” Raph called, approaching him. 

The old rat inhaled. Exhaled. “Yes, my son.”

“Can I, uh—mind if I join ya?”

“Please.”

Raph took a seat across from Splinter on the other side of the sewer river. His father opened both of his eyes, squinting at him in the dim light. “In case you have not yet discovered this about yourself, Raphael, your emotions are very easy to read. Even in the dark. You are not here to mediate with me.”

“No, Master.”

“You are here to complain.”

“Ttch.” Raph crossed his arms. “You psychic?”

Splinter smiled gently. “Observant. I have observed, for example, that in a few short days you have already melded seamlessly into this family.”

“Yeah? Don’t feel so seamless to me.” He tried to keep the scowl off his face, but he doubted it made much of a difference. “I think this family is fuckin’ weird.”

Splinter gestured to himself. Then to Raph. Then to the flowing river of sludge between them. “An astute observation.”

“Huh. Donnie learn all his big words from you, Sensei?”

“Has Donatello upset you, my son?” Splinter answered with his own question, one hairy eyebrow raised. 

“How’d you know?”

“A father’s intuition.”

“You don’t want me complainin’ about Mister Genius to you, that’s just bad parenting—”

“Raphael. I make it a point to understand how all of my sons are feeling. So I am curious to hear what’s bothering you.”

And what was it, exactly, that pissed him off so much? For Raph, it wasn’t usually a particular thing that came to mind. It was a gut feeling, an instinct, a reaction so natural in his stupid turtle brain that it felt almost impossible to put it to words. He started talking anyway, hoping the right words would come. “I just—I don’t—I think he hates me.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t—I don’t get it. The other guys talk to me. Leo’s always ready to tell me what to do—Mikey’s got a million things to say all the time—but Donnie—he—he just stares at me! Like he don’t care! Like he’s made of fuckin’ plastic, like he—he looks at me with this blank, plastic face like I’m just…”

“Just what?”

“Just nothing. Like I’m nothing. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t like me, I…I think I got in his way. Messed up his whole thing, you know? He already had you three and now he’s gotta deal with a fourth…intruder, I guess.”

“You are not an intruder, Raphael,” Splinter said calmly. “And I assure you, Donatello is very grateful to have you back with us again, even if he is unable to show it.”

“He could find a way,” Raph said. “To show it. Is that so hard?”

“For some, it is,” Splinter replies patiently. “I think you haven’t spent enough time with your brother. There is much to be…relearned from our past, my son.”

A fire still burned inside Raph’s chest, making him want to reach out and splash angrily at the water. He won’t be touching that water though, definitely not. “Like what?” he mumbled.

“May I tell you a bit more about Donatello? You may find that you are more alike than not.”

Raph quirked an eyebrow at him, making Splinter smile. On a rat’s face it looked strange, like most things did, but Raph was already getting used to those types of things. 

“Raphael, your mind is regularly filled beyond its capacity. You have many, many feelings, some which are not easy to control. This is a weakness. But—” He held up a paw when Raph opened his mouth to interrupt. “—it is also a strength. In this way, you and your brother are the same.”

“I ain’t never seen Donnie look angry,” Raph grumbled.

“No. I would think his mind is filled with something else. Donatello is very intelligent—”

“Oh, yeah, he told us.”

“And he is right. He also likes to work, the same as Leonardo, so I would ask that you don’t fault him for dedicating time towards doing what he feels he needs to do.”

“Like takin’ apart that old junk? He needs to do that?”

Splinter smiled again. “If you would like to know why he takes apart old junk, might I suggest asking him?”

Before Raph could reply, Mikey’s voice cut loudly through the tunnel: “Hey, dude—oh. Sorry.”

“It is alright, my son,” Splinter assured him.

Mikey grinned at his brother. “Leo’s back. Wanna spar?”

“S’all we ever do,” Raph grumbled. He got to his feet anyway because, yes, he did want to spar. Before following Mikey, he glanced over his shoulder and offered his father a quick and quiet, “Thanks.” 

Mikey didn’t hear it, but his father nodded in acknowledgement. 

His younger brother bounced ahead of him in the tunnel, humming to himself, picking at the edge of his shell, or kicking rocks—sometimes all three at once. Seemed like the kid never stopped moving. If Raph was “filled beyond capacity” with anger, then maybe Mikey had the same amount of energy. So what was Donnie full of?

Shit, probably, Raph thought with a grin. Full’a shit.

When they re-entered the lair, Leo and Donnie were arguing.

“—trust science, Leo. And logic. I just find it hard to believe.”

“Sounds to me like you find it hard to trust Splinter,” Leo bit back. “You really think our own father would lie to us?”

Donnie leveled him with a glare. “I never said he was lying. Whatever he says, he believes with a strong conviction. That much is clear—“

“Dudes,” Mikey interrupted loudly, waving both arms around. “Are we gonna have the same argument again, or are we gonna spar?”

“Spar,” Leo muttered, one hand inching towards the handle of his katana. Damn. What Raph wouldn’t give to have a blade of his own. 

Seeing Leo pissed at Don was a small comfort, at least. As they made their way to a cleared-out area of the lair, Raph snuck his way beside Leo and muttered, “The hell was that about?”

“Nothing,” Leo muttered back.

“Didn’t sound like nothin’, man.”

“I just—” Leo paused to pinch his forehead. “—doesn’t matter. Don’s just full of shit sometimes.”

Raph moved out of his view just so he could share a private smile with himself. 

~ ~ ~

Raph wanted to switch places with Leo. From his older brother’s vantage point, he didn’t have to watch Donnie’s face as they moved his body to the walk-in freezer. Raph got a full show of what a near-dead turtle looks like. His brother’s head lolled. A steady trickle of dark blood rolled from the left corner of his mouth, mirroring the dried stream on the other side. Worse yet, Raph is stuck walking backwards, so he can see where they came from. He can see the trail of blood and shell they’ve left behind, like Hansel and Gretel’s fucking bread crumbs. 

Mikey’s playing a supporting role. All things considered, he’s surprisingly calm, with one hand on Leo’s shoulder and the other clutching Donnie’s unresponsive hand. He murmurs encouragements that Don definitely can’t hear, but his voice is firm. Determined. 

“Mikey,” Raph mumbles.

Mikey clocks his tone and glances up at him only briefly before returning his gaze to Donnie. “I don’t care if he can’t hear me. C’mon, we’re almost there.”

“You don’t have to be here to see any of this,” Raph insists. “Go back to Father, he probably—”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Raph. He needs all of us.”

“But he don’t—”

“Raph,” Leo snarls. He’s clearly hanging on by a thread, arms shaking where they grip Don’s torso. “Shut. Up. None of your p-pessimistic bullshit is going to help right now.”

“Donnie always says that level-headedness makes or breaks a tense moment,” Mikey says firmly. “Don’t lose your heads, guys.”

“I’m not,” Raph growls, just as Leo bites out the same words.

Mikey shoots both of them a harsh look before jogging ahead to open the freezer doors. Raph isn’t sure what else he expected, but the little room is cold. The chill seeps into his cold-blooded veins as soon as they step through the threshold, coming to a halt in the center of the room. Leo and Raph stare at each other, realizing at the same time that they’ve completed the only instruction they were given: get Donnie inside the freezer.

“Now what?” Mikey murmurs from the door.

“There’s no way it’s safe to keep him this cold,” Raph says.

Leo looks uncomfortable. “Honeycutt’s boss. W-whatever he says goes, as far as I’m concerned. We’re in over our heads.”

~ ~ ~

“Again.”

The bō staff swung towards his face and Raph ducked, avoiding the hit by a hair.

“Again.”

Donnie never flinched during training. He had that plastic look again, his face devoid of any expression that might give away his emotions (though Raph doubted there was much to hide anyway). He wasn’t graceful like Leo or acrobatic like Mikey. He moved with a calculated stiffness, every motion deliberate, tense.

“Again.”

Mister Big Genius swung his stupid stick a second time, then a third. Raph dodged each one easily. “Slowin’ down, huh?” he gloated, circling Donnie with both fists raised.

“Again.”

Raph ducked, and this time the bō connected with the tip of his nose, knocking him backwards onto his shell. He gasped at the sudden—and surprising—fall, spinning himself onto his hands and knees to blink the tears out of his eyes—he caught sight of another swing and scrambled to avoid it. 

Lucky swing. Donnie smacked the back of his knee and he toppled over again. “Fuck! Master—”

“Never turn your back on an enemy,” Splinter interrupted sharply. He snapped his fingers. “Thank you, Donatello.”

“Hai.” Donnie bowed. Raphael shot him the coldest glare, but his brother seemed unaffected. He offered a hand to help him stand, which Raph slapped away at once. 

Donnie only raised an eyebrow. “Suit yourself, big guy.”

“Don’t call me—”

Splinter snapped his fingers again. “Enough. Michelangelo, you are next.”

Raph settled on his knees beside Leo, who was running a cloth along the edge of his blade. He pointedly watched the motion instead of the training session, not wanting to see the smug look on Big Genius’ face as he smacked the shit out of Mikey. Eventually, Leo stopped polishing his prized katanas and folded up the cloth, tucking it into a hidden compartment on his—huh.

“That a new belt?” Raph asked, pointing.

Leo grinned sheepishly. “Yeah. It’s got all sorts of pockets, so I can carry a few extra things without anything jangling against me. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah, man. Looks sick.”

“Thanks. Donnie made it for me.”

Oh. Of course he did.

“Yeah, he’s more into computers than sewing, obviously, but he managed to get his hands on a…”

Raph stopped listening immediately as frustration rushed in his ears. He returned his attention to Mikey, who had managed to avoid every one of Donnie’s swipes with expert ease. Raph couldn’t help but wonder if Donnie was going easy on him.

“Don’t let yourself get too bothered,” Leo muttered, nudging him. “Mikey’s the only one who can dodge his swings, honestly.”

“Yeah, well…”

His brother leaned in closer. “Do you see the trick? Every time Father says the word, Don knows to swing and Mikey knows to duck, but they’re both trying to react quicker than the other. Problem is, Mikey’s really reactive.”

“More like hyperactive.”

“A bit of both, I think,” Leo replied easily. “Your problem is that you started listening to Splinter instead of watching Donnie’s movements. You let yourself fall into a rhythm. Donnie’s a calculator. He retimed his swing to your rhythm and whacked you.”

“I remember, funny enough. Got the bruise to prove it.” Raph clicked his tongue. “Leave it to the brainiac to crunch numbers while he’s swingin’ a weapon.”

“That’s how he fights. It’s just…er, how he is. But when analysis is up against instinct, instinct always wins.” 

Leo gestured to Mikey as he dodged yet another swing. Donnie didn’t seem frustrated by constant failure, not even a little bit. Of course, that frustrated Raph for some reason. He turned away, realizing that Leo was watching the battle with a slight frown on his face.

“Leo. Does…” Raph paused, finding the words. “Does he…bother you?”

His older brother didn’t bother asking for clarification. “Sometimes.”

“Why?”

He visibly hesitated, lowering his voice before answering. “Uh…while we were still looking for you, he and I fought. A lot. He thought it was pointless searching for you. Figured you were already dead.”

Raph scowled. “Makes sense. No wonder he hates me, if he wanted me dead in the first place.”

“I don’t think he—”

“He don’t make me fancy belts. Or musical sewer pipes.”

“Then maybe you should—”

“Leonardo!” Splinter called. “Your turn. Please join us.”

Raph watched as Leo picked himself off the ground and moved toward the middle of the room. His new belt looked expertly crafted, stitched with purple thread and brotherly love, and Raphael shoved down the instinct to tear it off his back.

An hour later, they returned to the lair for lunch. Mikey had lovingly dubbed a corner of the lair “the kitchen,” which was a bit of an over-exaggeration in Raph’s opinion. Still, he sat himself down beside Leo as his younger brother whirled between cabinets collecting the necessary materials. Plastic forks, bottled sodas, and Cup Noodles (Splinter’s whiskers curled at the sight, but they couldn’t afford to be picky—actually, they couldn’t afford much of anything), which he laid out on the table in front of them. He set the table for five, even though Donnie had already disappeared at some point. Raph hadn’t even noticed him leave.

Mikey set a plastic fork in front of Splinter. “By the way, Dad. Donnie said he fixed the toaster for ya. We’ve got Poptarts if you’d rather…?”

“That would be splendid, Michelangelo.”

“Where’d the egghead run off to, anyway?” Raph asked as he peeled open his lunch. 

“Said he had some work to do,” Leo said with a shrug. “He’ll grab lunch later.”

Master Splinter’s eyes shot up to study Raph’s reaction. He did his best to ignore the way his chest tightened with an unwelcome surge of anger. As he dug into his lunch, he pointedly faced his chair away from the empty seat on his right.

Donnie was “busy” for the rest of the day. By the time he returned, it was dark, and the rest of them had already settled in for the night. Raph watched the narrow shadow of his brother as he picked his way through the dark to kneel beside Father. They whispered for a moment before Donnie rose to his feet again. 

Raph sat up and stared at him. 

Maybe his eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the dark yet, but Donnie seemed to stare right back. They held each other’s gaze for sixty long, painful seconds. Raph felt like he was being studied by an animal poised to attack. Hell, he felt like an animal himself.

And then the moment was over. Donnie’s shadow sank to the floor as he joined his brothers under the blankets.

~ ~ ~

Raph’s shoulders shiver from the cold air of the freezer. Clutching a limp almost-corpse doesn’t warm him, but he curls himself around Donnie anyway. After the other guys left to help move equipment, he’d gathered his brother’s body into his arms and made good use of an opportunity to hug him without any prying eyes. 

Donnie is cold, deadly cold. Apparently that’s a good thing. He tries not to think about the fact that Donnie isn’t shivering, instead focusing on the faint pulse. Raph presses his fingers to his neck—thud, thud, thud. The pulse is slow and getting slower. He can’t help but wonder how a robot like Fugitoid could even check for a pulse with those metal fingers—now that he’s checked, though, there’s no denying that Donnie is still alive. As if the thud of his heartbeat wasn’t enough, Raph can also see faint puffs of air coming from Donnie’s nose as he exhales.

“You’re gonna die,” Raph muttered hoarsely. “You’re a pessimist too. I know you’re probably thinkin’ the same. There’s no way you survive somethin’ like this.”

If he tells himself it’s going to happen, maybe he won’t be disappointed when it does. 

You’re gonna die. I know you are. But please…

Raphael closes his eyes. “Please don’t.”

~ ~ ~

The word of the day was “aptitude.” Donnie taught it to them while they were out patrolling, during yet another ramble directed toward Leo about the logical error in such-and-such plan or the strategic inefficiency of such-and-such order.

Donatello had an aptitude for pissing Raph off. It wasn’t just the rambling (at everyone except Raph, by the way). It was the level stare. It was the cold, emotionless replies. It was the way he kept drilling into the damn walls at night while everyone else was asleep. After two weeks of it, Raph was done. He made a decision.

He didn’t like Donnie. 

“I’m tellin’ you, Mike, he must think I’m the fuckin’ scum on the bottom of his foot—”

“He does not think that.” Of everyone in his family, Mikey was somehow the best and worst listener. He loved to talk just as much as he loved to ask questions, which is how Raph found himself kicking rocks as they trudged their way through the sewer one morning. “Donnie just…he’s just got one’a’them faces, like you.”

“Easy for you to say,” Raph grumbled, tucking his hands under his arms as they walked. “He actually likes you.”

Mikey skipped ahead, spinning so he walked backwards in front of Raph. There was a bag slung over his shoulder, but he hadn’t had the chance to ask what was in it. “Listen, Woody thought the same thing when they first met. I think they hated each other for a bit. Then Don fixed his car or somethin’, and they’ve been buddies since. You just gotta give him time to warm up to you.”

“Warm up to me? But I—”

Raph paused. Scowled.

Drilling. He could hear it echoing through the tunnel. “Mikey, where are we going?”

“Droppin’ off some lunch for Dee,” Mikey answered happily. “He’s been busy all day, so…hey, where are you going?”

Raph had spun around, intending to march back to the lair. Mikey caught him by the arm before he could. “Mike, don’t—”

“You can’t avoid him forever, man.”

“I’m not! I—”

Mikey yanked him forward with one hand, cupping the other around his mouth to shout, “HEY! DON!”

The drilling stopped abruptly as Mikey’s voice ricocheted against the soggy stone walls. A moment later, an unmasked turtle head poked out from an adjacent tunnel. “Over here.”

Raph dug in his heels as Mikey dragged him along, but his younger brother was deceptively strong. To his credit, Donnie didn’t seem remotely surprised or upset to see that Raph came along for the trip, but he didn’t make eye contact either. Raph shot a dirty scowl at the back of his head as Donnie leaned to get a look at the contents of Mikey’s bag.

“You are a life-saver,” he said wistfully, shoving an entire sandwich in his mouth. 

“Want all of it?”

“Yeah, leave the rest. I’ll be here for a bit.”

Donnie was covered in sewer grime. His mask, which hung loosely around his neck, was covered in black smudges as if he’d used it to wipe up engine grease. As usual, he was surrounded by a varied collection of salvaged tools, old tech, loose screws…Raph didn’t understand how he kept track of it all. 

Mikey dropped the bag of food next to Donnie, who had already turned back to his work.

“See ya, Dee!” Mikey said cheerfully. But as he spun to leave, Raph grabbed him by the shoulder and held him in place. 

“Not gonna say thanks?” he snarled.

Mikey blanched. “What? But I—”

“Not you.” He nudged Don with his foot. “You.”

Donnie slowly lowered the drill, eyes fixed on the wall. When he didn’t speak, Raph stepped forward and stomped on the bag of food with intention. Mikey squeaked.

“Well?!”

“Raphael,” Donnie replied levelly. “You’re trying to pick a fight with me.”

“You’re damn right I am!” Raph shouted.

“Aw, Raph, please—”

“Stop, Mike,” Donnie said. “It seems like he’s got something to say, so. Let him say it.”

Raph let go of his younger brother’s shoulder and dug in his heel. He heard potato chips cracking under the force. “Thank him.”

“In a way, I did. I called him a life-saver, and what I meant was—”

“You just love to disagree, don’t ya?”

 Donnie studied the bag under Raph’s foot. “You’re implying I enjoy it.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t.”

“Look me in the eye. Tell me what it is I did to piss you off, Donatello, ‘cause I’d really fuckin’ like to know. You think you’re better than me ‘cause you know how to drill a damn hole? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Donnie rose from the ground and met Raph’s glare with an empty stare. “Piss me off? You’re the one who’s pissed, Raph.”

“Guys,” Mikey called. “I—I’m gonna go get Father—”

“Don’t,” Raph and Donnie said in unison. 

Raph whirled to face him again. “You’re damn right I’m pissed. What’d I ever do to you, huh? Everyone else seems fine with me being here, but you? You won’t even look at me!”

“But I’m—”

“Or put speakers in pipes for me, or sew me belts, or—or—or fix toasters, for me, dammit, and every chance you get you run out there to drill into the walls as if that’s better than fucking talking to me!”

Donnie threw his arms out. “What is it you want me to say?!”

“ANYTHING!” Raph screamed. “Treat me like a turtle, for god’s sake—”

“I am! I do!”

“Then treat me like your brother! S’that so hard?!”

Donnie took a shaky breath. “Raph, I think you need to take a step back. You’re getting emotional.”

Raph grabbed him by the mask and shoved him up against the wall, ignoring the way Mikey gasped in surprise. “Fuckin’ say that again.”

“Are you gonna hit me, Raph?”

“You’re temptin’ me, brainiac. I—”

“RAPHAEL!”

The sound of his father’s voice startled him into silence. He quickly let go of Donnie and stumbled back as Splinter and Leo came charging around the corner. As he did, his heel connected with something hard. Crunch.

“What is going on here?” the old rat demanded, just as Donnie shouted, “No!”

All of them stared in surprise when Donatello’s calm facade fell away, replaced by shock and panic as he dropped to his knees. Raph carefully lifted his foot, wincing when the whatever-it-was stuck to him before dropping to the sewer floor again. It looked like some sort of tech, though Raph couldn’t figure out what.

“Aw, Raph…you idiot. Seriously?” Donnie picked up the device and cradled it in his hands. “It’s shattered…” 

Father temporarily ceased his staring match with Raph to glance down at his second-oldest son. “Was that a vital piece of equipment, Donatello?”

“I mean, it would be nice to have, but…” Donnie rubbed his hands across face. “Vital? Technically we’ll survive without it…”

Splinter’s whiskers twitched. “Our list of enemies continues to grow. In this case, over-caution serves us. Can you find a replacement?”

“Probably. Eventually. I don’t know.”

Raph tried to find it in himself to feel guilty, but something about seeing Donnie finally get frustrated made it hard to muster up anything other than sadistic pleasure. “Okay, so what the hell did I crush?”

Donnie pushed himself to his feet and got in his face. “A motion sensor, Raphael. And thanks to you, I’ll be spending the rest of the night scouring the surface for a replacement.”

Raph curled his lip. “Lucky you.”

Splinter snapped his fingers. “Donatello, take a step back. Raphael, what have we discussed about tone of voice?”

“Sorry, Father,” Donnie said flatly. He sure didn’t sound sorry, though. Raph clenched his teeth, feeling his rage boil over. Sensei always told him to walk away when this happened. Walk away and let it boil over without any innocent bystanders—except that Donnie wasn’t innocent, and Leo and Mikey were standing nearby watching the whole show like they’d paid money to see it, and Raph’s self-control was seeping out of his toes.

Before he could decide his next move, Master Spinter took his wrist. “I’m sure you won’t mind accompanying your brother to the surface, Raphael, seeing as the incident was your fault, in part.”

“What?”

He heard Donnie mutter under his breath, “In part?”

Raph scowled. “Father, please don’t make me—”

“Enough. The pair of you have done plenty of whining already and I won’t hear another word more. Maybe you will both find your compassion outside of the sewers.”

Donnie visibly paled at this. The expression was fleeting, and it vanished as soon as he bent down to gather his supplies. 

Raph barely resisted the urge to kick him over. At least now he knew how to push Donnie’s buttons. He’d finally reacted, for once, instead of acting like a damn robot. 

~ ~ ~

“You’re gonna what?” 

When he realizes the body is being pulled out of his arms, Raph tightens his grip and presses his brother to his chest. If robots had actual faces, Fugitoid’s would probably look impatient. Maybe angry. Raphael doesn’t care. 

“You’re not turnin’ him into a robot.”

“Raphael—”

“You’re not!” Raph shouts. “He’s a person, a—a living, breathing, real person with actual emotions and—”

“And I will not be removing his emotions, nor am I turning him into a robot,” Fugitoid insists harshly. “He will retain his personhood. His soul, so to speak. But I—”

Raph bares his teeth. “He’d be better off dead.”

Mikey gasps and instantly disappears through the doorway. At the same time, Leo’s whole body tightens. “Raph, what the hell?”

Raph ignores him and tucks his face into the crook of Donnie’s neck. He doesn’t care who sees anymore, or who makes fun of him for it. Dammit, he’s about to lose his brother. 

And it’s Honeycutt’s fault anyway, isn’t it? Putting the idea of the Technodrome in Don’s head, making him feel like he needed to be the hero. Donatello is a hero, but Raph wishes with every fiber of his being that his brother had chosen instead to be selfish, for once.

Another tear rolls from his eye without permission. Raph chokes back a sob.

He senses Leo’s presence beside him just moments before his older brother presses one hand to his shoulder and another to Donatello’s plastron. His voice is a harsh whisper, caked with emotion. “Please. We’re going to lose him.”

“We’ll lose him anyway. I don’t want a shoddy metal replacement.”

“We’re not replacing him, Raph. It’s a second chance.” Leo closes his eyes as if preparing to meditate. “And—and if you don’t let go, I’m going to make you. So please…”

Something tickles the side of his face: an exhale of breath, but it doesn’t come from Leo. Don’s whole body tightens, then sags as he takes a heavy breath. Raph is close enough to hear the way it rattles in his chest. 

Where there is life, there is hope, his Father says in his mind. 

Raph, you’re an idiot, says Donnie. 

Raphael sighs and lets go of his brother. 

~ ~ ~

“You’re an idiot.”

Raph breached the surface through a manhole cover, sighing as Donnie’s voice echoed up from the sewer to chastise him again. Up until then, they’d picked their way through the sewers in relative silence. Donnie must’ve found his voice—and his anger—somewhere in the sewage. 

Breathe, Raph told himself. 

“It’s hard enough finding the necessary equipment, even harder to get my hands on it. You know we’re in for a long night, right? Is that what you wanted?” 

Raph didn’t bother helping Donnie onto the sidewalk. He stood out of the way and watched him struggle to drag both himself, his big ugly shell, and his equipment bag through the manhole. “Found your courage now that Daddy’s out of earshot, huh?” 

“You should know better than anyone that it doesn’t take courage to be pissed off at someone,” Donnie said. He kicked the manhole cover back into place, wincing when it scraped across the pavement. “Whatever. Just follow my lead.”

“Sure, genius. As if I don’t know my way around the city I survived in. Alone. For months.”

Donnie rolled his eyes. “I never said you didn't—”

“No, you already knew that, didn’t you?” Raph interrupted. He grasped the ladder of a nearby fire escape and pulled himself up with a grunt. Somehow, he managed to keep his voice casual. He felt like he had an emotional upperhand on Donnie, for once. “After all, you’re the guy who thought searching for me was pointless.”

Raph didn’t wait to see how Donnie reacted; he was halfway up the fire escape before his older brother started climbing. On the roof, Raph settled himself against the wall and took two breaths, schooling his face into a neutral expression. Play his game. 

When Donnie joined him, his face was equally neutral. “Four blocks north. Lead the way, survivor.”

“Ttch.” Raph clicked his tongue and took off. 

Again, they continued on in silence. Silence around Donatello was never the comfortable kind. It was heavy and tense and terrible and multiple times Raph caught himself grinding the inside of his mouth between his teeth. And in the silence, noises bothered him even more than usual. The crunch of gravel under his feet. The whirl of AC units like an old man clearing his throat. The sound of Donnie’s bag slapping against his thigh every time he jumped. 

It’s not like Raph wanted to hate him. But Donnie gave him every reason to by ignoring him, avoiding him, giving him that damn plastic face and robot voice. He was jealous, in a way. Jealous that anyone could control themselves that well. Jealous that it was possible to not wear emotions on your sleeve for the whole world to see. Even Leo—calm and even-tempered Leo—blazed with passion when training with his katanas. 

Donnie’s voice broke his train of thought. “Stop here.”

Raph came to a halt near the ledge of the roof, dropping to a crouch as Donnie did the same. His older brother rifled through the bag at his hip for a few moments before pulling out a small pair of binoculars that looked like they’d come from a fucking opera house. He resisted the urge to snort out loud when Donnie held them up to his face. 

The building in front of them was a plain concrete box with almost no windows and even less doors. He didn’t know what the building was, but he guessed they’d need to find some way inside it, and their options for entry were minimal. Maybe there was a back entrance? Or a skylight? Whatever. Leo and Donnie were the planners, anyway. Even pissed, he was fine with letting Don puzzle out the best way inside. 

Below them was an alleyway lined with dumpsters—a frequent stomping ground of his back when he lived on the streets. Raph noted the manhole cover tucked between two of the dumpsters. He didn’t know where in the sewers it led, but Donnie probably did. Probably had the whole sewer network memorized.

“What’s the plan, genius?”

“Get inside. Unless you want to sit this one out. I’ll admit, this roof is very comfortable—”

“Har har.” Raph crossed his arms. “I meant how do we get inside?”

Donnie kept the binoculars pressed to his forehead. “I know what you meant. I’ve never been in this one before, so we may have to…wing it…hm.”

“And what is this?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yeah, if I’m gonna risk my neck goin’ inside for ya. Is it abandoned?”

“No.”

“So there’s humans inside?”

“No.”

Scowling, Raph turned fully to face him and tore the binoculars away. “Plans work better when you share with the class.”

“Just trust that I know what I’m doing. Follow my lead—”

“I don’t trust you.” Raph snagged him by the arm before he could leap off the roof, shoving down a wave of twisted satisfaction when Donnie flinched. “That’s the whole reason we’re up here together in the first place? ‘Cause Dad wants us to learn to get along while we get your stupid sensor—”

“We are here because you decided to step on my shit, Raph,” Donnie corrected flatly, yanking his arm away. “I didn’t have a problem with you until you—”

“Right, yeah, no problem at all—”

“Don’t even start with that!” Donnie got to his feet and stepped towards him. They were chest to chest now, voices raised loud enough to echo. “You can’t make me fight you for no reason. You can’t make up arguments. If you need help that badly, then—”

“I don’t need help!” Raph shouted back. 

“Then why not try acting normal for once!”

“Me?! Act normal?! I—”

BANG!

Both of them ducked as a bullet snapped against the bricks. A few more shots followed, projectiles whistling straight over their heads and way too close for comfort. 

“Dragons!” Raph hissed. 

“Below us?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

He made to stand, but Donnie caught his arm just as more shots were fired. “Are you stupid? They’ve got guns, Raph! Sensei and the guys aren’t here! We can’t—”

Nope. He got enough lectures from Leo and Splinter about what he could and couldn’t do. Freeing himself from Donnie’s grip was easy—the guy’s brains made up for his lack of upper-body strength—and soon he was tumbling over the edge of the wall onto the fire escape. The alleyway was unlit, but the thugs weren’t trying to hide, anyway. He counted six. Two guns at least. With a yell, he leaped and tackled the guy directly below him to soften the landing. The Dragon crumpled under his weight. 

Five shadows charged towards him. Raph charged back weaponless, swinging one fist around to catch the closest thug on the chin. He grabbed the next guy and jammed a knee into his pelvis. His ninja ancestors would be horrified, but Raph didn’t care. The scaly skin on his fist had split. His kneecap ached. But he’d never felt better. 

When he spun to face the next guy, he discovered that Donnie had followed him into the alleyway. “There’s two of ‘em!” one thug shouted. He quickly fell silent when Don’s bō staff whacked him across the neck. 

A pair of strong arms wrapped around Raph’s neck. He grinned, ducking into a roll that pulled the Dragon down with him. He was about to tuck a leg under the guy’s ankle when Donnie shouted, “Raph, watch your—”

BANG!

The ringing in his ears drowned out the rest of Donnie’s words. For one terrifying moment, Raph couldn’t figure out which of them had been hit. Then he felt a stinging pain in his arm, an intense heat as blood rushing toward the wound, and a sudden light-headedness that sent him to his knees. Raph’s vision blinked in and out, pulsing between black and red and white, then green.

“Stay down and keep pressure on it! Don’t move!”

Fuck. Couldn’t let himself get saved by the guy he was trying to hate. He wanted to tell Donnie as much, but his brother had already vanished from his line of sight. He heard the battle continue, shouts and shots adding to the rush of blood in his ears. 

The pain subsided as quickly as it came. The wound was bleeding heavily, but the bullet only grazed him, leaving an ugly, fleshy tear across his bicep. He pressed one hand to the wound and another to the ground. His fingers hooked on something metal. The manhole cover.

One final whack and the last Purple Dragon went down at Donnie’s feet. He turned back to see Raph pulling the cover off the hole with his good arm. “Raph, wait—”

“They never travel in groups that small,” Raph gasped. 

“You knew that and still attacked?!”

A few voices shouted in the distance. Could be more Dragons. Could be cops on their way to check out where the shots came from.

“C’mon!” Raph grabbed Donnie’s hand (he was shaking, why was Don shaking?) and dragged him underground. Pain shot through his body and into his arm when he landed. Growling, he tore off his mask and did his best to tie it around the wound with one hand.

“Sirens,” Donnie murmured. 

Yeah, he heard ‘em. And they were close. No, not close, they were here. Raph could hear the officers shouting over their heads, along with the grind of the manhole cover being moved again. “Gotta put space between us and them.”

“Wait, Raph, this is—”

“Just stop arguing for once and move it, Don!”

Raph grabbed Donnie’s wrist with his good hand and took off down the sewer tunnel, grimacing as the sewer water splashed against his ankles. Honestly, the sewers on this block weren’t terrible. He wasn’t keen on sticking around, though. Flashlight beams swept the ceilings above them as the cops searched for the escapees. 

Raph pushed harder. The street taught him two things: fight and run. Running was never his first choice, but he could do it when necessary. Donnie wasn’t helping though, almost as if he were trying to pull them back to where they’d come from.

He yanked Don out of the way of construction equipment, taking a sharp left to throw the cops off their trail. There was light up ahead, filtering through a few thin pieces of plywood. Raph broke through without thinking. 

Too many things flooded his senses at once. Cigarette smoke. Gasoline. Voices. Colors and light—the subway station was crowded beyond belief, New Yorkers of all kinds standing shoulder to shoulder by the tracks as a woman’s mechanical voice announced directions over the speakers. Raph came to a hard stop, planting his feet as Donnie crashed into his shell from behind. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Heads were turning their way. A few people shouted in alarm. If they turned back, they’d run straight toward the police. The only way was forward. They’d traumatize a couple dozen innocent bystanders in the process, but at least they’d shake the cops off their tails. 

What he wouldn’t give for Leo’s big brain right now. The big brain behind him wasn’t much help. Donnie was shuddering, the hand in Raph’s grip clammy and hot with panic.

So.

Raph charged.

He kept a death grip on Donnie as he ran. He planned to just run for the exit, until he spotted another maintenance tunnel on the opposite side of the tracks. If he could reach it before another train arrived—

It’s risky, Leo would say.

Are you stupid? Donnie would tell him.

It’s wild! Mikey would insist. I love it, bro!

Raph sprinted for the tracks and leapt, praying Donnie would get the memo. 

His plastron crashed against the edge of the maintenance tunnel just as a train came barreling past—Raph took a split second to confirm that Don was behind him before crawling the rest of the way in. Together, they charged into the damp embrace of the human-free sewers. 

It took half a mile of jogging for the pain to finally catch up to him. 

Raph slowed to a stop at the junction of two tunnels and steadied himself against the wall. It was dark again. Quiet, except for the steady dripping noise that persisted in any part of the sewer network. Raph finally looked down at his arm to find that it had, thankfully, stopped bleeding. Maybe the blood rushed to his feet during their sprint. 

He settled his shell against the wall and used his teeth to pull the makeshift bandage tighter. “Think we lost ‘em?”

No answer. 

Raph turned to face him. "Don?"

Donnie looked ghostly in the dark. He sank to the floor and tucked both knees to his chin. In the silence of the tunnel his breathing echoed, fast and shallow. His fingers settled on the sides of his head and tapped, tapped, tapped, tapped, more frantic and more violent by the second, and that’s when Raph decided something was definitely wrong. 

“Yes,” his brother exhaled, voice stuttering. “Y-yes, I think we lost them.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Nnn....n-no.”

“Then what's—”

“Don’t s-s-s-s-say anything.”

“But you—”

Donnie smacked a fist against the sewer wall. “I said don’t! Just—just—just—j-just give me a s-second.”

Raph clenched his jaw shut and turned away. He wanted to drown out the sound of Donnie’s breathing, or at the very least ignore it. A tunnel this empty and silent didn’t make it easy. He spun around again to find that Donnie had tugged off his mask, and was twisting it between his hands in a death grip.

Something struck Raph between the eyes like a bullet. A reminder of the conversation he’d had with Sensei a little less than two weeks ago. 

Your mind is regularly filled beyond its capacity, he’d said. You have many, many feelings, some which are not easy to control.

He wasn’t wrong. Even in the moment, Raph could think of several instances when he’d lost control of the feeling—of the anger—the emotion washing over him with such intensity that he felt it tingle at the tips of his fingers. The burning urge to act, to move, to do something…it was often so intense that he had to remove himself from situations instead of giving into the urge to hit something or bite his own hand to expel some of the emotion.

In this way, you and your brother are the same.

Raph was filled with anger. According to Father, he had too much of it in his head and sometimes it spilled out. He couldn’t just shove it down, not without risking the explosion that would inevitably follow.

Donnie was filled with…something else. That thing, whatever it was, left him shaking and panting and gasping. It was exploding out of him, like an over-filled pot of water boiling and sizzling onto a hot stovetop. It was a loss of control. Control was his bottle-cap, rattling from the pressure of the thing that pushed against it, the thing he had too much of, the thing that dictated his every action, his every word.

The thing was fear. 

Something uncoiled in Raph’s chest. His shoulders sank. 

His older brother was chanting to himself, each word breathily escaping his mouth on every exhale. “Breathe, Donatello. Breathe, Donatello. B-b-breathe, Donatello.”

Raph lowered himself to the damp floor of the sewer tunnel and settled in, shell scraping against the cool concrete walls. 

Breathe, Donatello.

Gradually, Donnie’s breathing slowed to a more normal pace. His body slowly uncurled as the tightness seeped out of his muscles. And his hands sank into his lap, bandana draped loosely between his palms.

Raph waited.

“Your arm,” Donnie said in a level voice. “Is it—”

“The bleeding’s stopped. I don’t think the wound is very deep.” Raph took a deep breath. “We, uh...we should talk.”

“You should let me look at it.”

“Donnie. We should talk.”

Donnie winced. “I’m emotionally vulnerable right now. It’s not a good time…”

“I want to talk to you while you’re emotionally vulnerable, man,” Raph said. “Why d’you think I’ve been pissed off at you?”

Donnie met his eyes. He didn’t say anything, which Raph took as an invitation to continue.

“Um. So. What was the motion sensor for?”

“I set them up around the perimeter of the lair, so we’ll know if someone gets too close. There’s a few…homeless guys who wander around sometimes. Not to mention the Dragons and…and other enemies.” Donnie closed his hands around the mask. “I didn’t know you were pissed at me.”

“You didn’t?”

“I thought…um, that you were just pissed.”

“Just in general?”

“Yeah.”

Raph rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I thought the same. Because you didn’t want to talk to me…I don’t know, I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Donnie murmured quietly.

They lapsed into an uneasy silence. God, what Raph wouldn’t give to have Mikey here as a mediator. Out of everyone, he was the only guy in the family who really understood how to navigate…feelings. Urgh. 

“The motion sensors make Father feel safer,” Donnie said after a while. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but he’s pretty paranoid.”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, that’s what the drilling was for. I’m sorry if it gave you trouble sleeping. Or…or if it made you think I hated you.”

Raph shook his head. “It’s—no, it’s not that. You just…it’s just that you…sorry, I’m bad at this.”

“It’s okay,” Donnie whispered. “So am I. Guess we’re alike in that way.”

“Yeah,” Raph snorted. He folded his hands together and hunched his shoulder. “Well, I guess if we’re trying to be honest…you kept doing all these things for Mikey and Leo and Father, but it didn’t seem like you wanted to do anything for me. And you—you’d argue at Leo but you wouldn’t even look at me. I thought you were avoiding me.”

“I guess I was, in a way,” Donnie said sheepishly. “You just…you seemed so independent. I mean, you survived on the streets for a year before we finally found you and it just seemed like you didn’t need anything. Like you had it all under control and…well, I think Leo already told you I was the one who said we should just stop looking.” Donnie’s eyes widened as his muscles tensed up again. “I mean, how stupid was I to say something like that about my own brother? You know, sometimes I thought you weren’t even real, that maybe Splinter was just making up stories to—”

“Father doesn’t make stuff up—”

“I know that!” Donnie said loudly. He cupped a hand over his mouth and took a deep breath. “Sorry, s-sorry. I know he doesn’t make up stuff, but I can’t shut off my stupid brain long enough to think past logical solutions. He kept saying all this shit about reincarnation and I thought, maybe somewhere along the way a wire got crossed. I think it hurt Leo’s feelings. Mikey’s too. I just can’t—I can’t—” He shoved his fists into his eyes. “I can’t keep up with the way they think. Emotionally, I feel like an idiot.”

“You and me both, pal,” Raph muttered. “So…you didn’t think I existed.”

“That, or you were dead. The odds of someone who looks like…well, this—” Donnie gestured to himself. “—surviving alone in a crowded city like New York are a hundred thousand to one. And then—and then I met you…” He dropped his arms. “And I was like, Oh. If anyone could beat the odds…”

Raph snorted. “What, me?”

“Yeah, look at you.” Donnie tucked his knees up again and buried his face in them. “Strong, tough as nails, with a punch that could probably kill a man…”

Sensing that Donnie had more to say, Raph waited. Donnie clenched and unclenched his fists a few times before dropping them to his sides. “Fixing things is what I do. I can’t—I can’t do what Mikey does, so I make stuff instead.”

“Like the music in the pipes. Leo’s belt.”

“Yes,” Donnie said, voice muffled. “But you didn’t need anything. So I didn’t know what to do except stay out of your way.” He lifted his head a fraction. “Raph, I’m sorry.”

Raph blinked a few times. “S’okay. I was a major jerk too…and I get it, you know. I can’t do what Mikey does either.”

Donnie sighed. “He just gets it.”

“Yeah. He does.” Raph crossed his arms and let out a laugh, picturing how Mikey might react to their conversation. “It ain’t fair.”

Donnie chuckled. “No. It’s not.”

The tunnel fell silent again, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence like before. Raph felt a surprising amount of comfort in the presence of Donnie, a sense of comradery that he hadn’t yet experienced with his other brothers. Raph often felt like he was hiding something…like a secret, internalized failure to do things the right way. Leo always did things right, and Mikey was just so fucking talented…sometimes Raph felt like he couldn’t quite keep up.

In that way, he and Donnie were very much the same.

"Sorry I panicked," Donnie said. "I...don't like when it happens."

"S'okay, man. Really."

Donnie pushed off the wall and crouched beside him. “We should get back to the lair. I need to clean out that wound.”

“But what about the stuff you needed on the surface?”

“Another time. I think Father would tell us we already found what we needed.” 

Raph snorted. “Damn, yeah. That’s exactly the sorta cryptic thing he’d say.”

Donnie wrapped his own bandana around the wound, tugging it even tighter than Raph had managed to with one arm. Satisfied, he adjusted the strap of his bag and offered him a hand to stand. Raph took it gratefully. “You know how to get home from here?”

“Of course I do.”

Donnie’s voice was flat, devoid of all emotion, and Raph found himself grinning as he trailed after his older brother.

“Hey Don?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t hate you either.”

~ ~ ~

The gurney gets wheeled out of the freezer, this time carrying the perfectly clean, perfectly empty corpse of Hamato Donatello. Raph knows it’s a corpse because there’s a robot walking beside it, speaking with Donnie’s voice. The body is empty. All of his brother is inside Metalhead now.

Raph hates that he notices, but the robot moves like Donnie moves. More importantly, he notices that the robot is pittering its fingers against its own metal chassis in a distinctly not-robot way. The chilling voice of Metalhead remains level and empty. It’s a joke, a sorry joke, that Donnie’s been reduced to this.

Metalhead—Donnie—pauses when he sees Raphael standing with the rest of his brothers. He hadn’t been in the room for all the medical talk, which he tries not to feel guilty about under his brother's robotic stare. With intention, Donnie marches over to them while Fugitoid and the other smart-ass, Harold, fidget with all the medical equipment.

“We’ve got a lot of equipment to move, but we’ll try to make this quick,” Donnie says. Before all this shit, it was difficult to pick up the nuances in Don’s tone. Now it’s impossible. “It shouldn’t be too difficult. We’re using the teleporter to transport the body straight into the lair.”

The body, Raph repeats to himself. Mikey fidgets uncomfortably.

“We’ll go through two at a time. Unattached equipment first. Um.” Metalhead pauses, head twitching to the side a bit. “Raph? If you don’t mind.”

Feeling a bit like a robot himself, Raph steps forward. Past Metalhead, he sees Harold firing up the teleporter, which casts an eerie purple light through the destroyed warehouse. 

“Give us ten minutes to clear a space and sanitize, then Father and Mikey can come through with the next batch.” Donnie gestures to a bin of supplies, which Raph lifts easily into his arms. “Leo and Honeycutt will follow with the body. Cool?”

Splinter’s whiskers twitch. “My son, are you sure that—”

“Please. Dad. Ten minutes.”

Raph follows the heavy metal footsteps of his brother, shivering at the itching feeling that washes over his skin when they step through the teleporter. The lair appears before his eyes. It’s a welcome sight. 

“Set it there,” Donnie says, pointing to the table.

“Alright.”

Tap tap tap tap tap

Metalhead’s fingers are going fast again. They stop as soon as Raph turns to the source of the noise, but Raph’s more observant than anyone gives him credit for. 

Donnie’s robot voice sounds like grinding gears. “Okay, now we can—”

“Take five minutes," Raph decides out loud.

“No. No, we need to prep the—”

“It’s not going to take ten minutes to sanitize that room,” Raph says, crossing his arms. "Let's take five minutes to chill.”

“I brought you with me because I thought you wouldn’t be weird about everything.”

“Don.”

“We’ve got to get it set up. If I don’t set it up, I—then I—”

“Don.” Raph drops down on one knee so his face was level with Metalhead’s….eyes? Cameras? Oh well, it didn’t matter. “I’m not being weird. I’m not asking you to talk feelings with me. Take. Five.”

Donnie stills for a moment, every metal limb going deathly still, before letting out some sort of whirring sound—the equivalent of an exhale, Raph thinks. “Okay. Yeah.”

Raph sits himself on the floor and presses his back into the arm of the couch.

Tap tap tap tap tap

Raph closes his eyes to keep the sound from getting on his nerves. It’s Donnie, after all. Raph can have his own freak-out later. “Does it feel weird?”

“You said we wouldn’t talk about feelings.”

“Humor me. What was it like?”

There’s a loud clank. Maybe Donnie sat down (do robots even sit?). “What, the dying part? Or the being-dead part? Or the waking-up-in-this-body part?”

“All of it.”

Raph can’t even begin to imagine what the answer to that question is supposed to be. Were Leo in Donnie’s position, he’d reply with a steady, articulate, detailed account of the whole event from start to finish. Splinter would tell it like a story from a storybook, calmly analyzing his own thoughts and emotions. And Mikey would cry, and cry, and cry. 

Donnie will give him a few words at most. He’s going to need several days to even process it, but that’s several days they don’t have and Raph needs to know that it’s really Donnie in this robot body, not some shoddy replica.

“Lonely,” Donnie says finally, and the admission digs into Raph’s heart like a drill because he understands that feeling all too well. “It felt lonely. And—and scary. I’m scared.”

“Terrified,” Raph offers. 

“Yes. In a way that this body simply can’t compute.” 

The robot’s sigh sounds more like an engine releasing steam. Inhuman, but it’s Donnie. Without a doubt, it’s him. 

Raph doesn’t hug his brother. A hug wouldn’t translate to this robotic shell and anyway, Raph and Donnie were never interested in physical comfort, not really. Presence is a heavy thing. And right now, it’s enough. 

~ ~ ~

The wound on his arm was healing nicely. 

He flexed his bicep a few times, wincing when the skin stretched. It bled a lot, but it didn’t need stitches, thankfully. Leo told me you ain’t a fan of sewing anyway, he’d told Donnie a few days ago. Donnie had waved him off with a smirk.

Breakfast that morning was Mikey-Style Scrambled Eggs, bacon, and nearly-stale Lucky Charms. The kitchen was pleasantly crowded, with Mikey whistling as he stirred scrambled eggs, Leo meticulously sharpening his katana, and Splinter flipping absently through a newspaper. 

Donnie entered with a yawn. He was covered in grease again, which probably explained last night’s drilling sounds. Mikey slid him a cup of coffee as soon as he sat down, which Donnie drank from greedily before mumbling, “You’re a life-saver, Mikey.”

“Pour me some of that?” Raph called.

Mikey grinned. “Coffee? Sureee, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Whatever. Casey drinks this shit all the time and he likes it just fine.”

“I know, man, but you’ve got a sweet-tooth and we don’t got anything sweet here to help with the taste.” Mikey handed him a steaming mug. “Is this your first time trying coffee? Like, ever?”

Raph took a big gulp from the mug and instantly regretted it. He spluttered a bit and blindly reached out for something to wash it down. He ended up grabbing Leo’s orange juice, which only made the taste worse. “Blegh. Ugh. Mikey—”

“Bacon,” Mikey said calmly, handing him a plate of food. He shoved the whole piece in his mouth.

Leo looked up from his work long enough to chuckle at the state of him. “There's your answer, Mike.”

“I, too, despise the taste of coffee,” Master Splinter offered sagely. 

“What’s the plan today?” Mikey asked, passing out plates to the others. “Can we go topside?”

“Yes, once you complete training,” Father said. “Raph must continue to practice with his sais, which…” He turned to Raph. “The wrappings need to be changed, my son. The weapons are quite old. See that you take care of it before our session.”

“Hai, Sensei.”

Mikey settled onto a barstool and dug into his meal. Leo abandoned his katana to gulp down a few pieces of bacon. Donnie picked absently at his eggs—most of his attention was dedicated to the coffee mug cupped between his hands. Honestly, the guy needed to let himself get more sleep, but Raph knew he wouldn’t. He liked the work too much.

Raph chewed at the inside of his mouth. “Hey, Don.”

Donnie looked up at him, blinking.

“Can you help me change the wrappings after breakfast?”

A slow smile spread across his brother’s face.