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The horrible things melt away when he opens his eyes. The strange, sinewy tendril squeezing around his throat, choking the air, the life out of him. The monstrous, unfamiliar eye in his brother’s head. The sounds of pained groans and cries coming staticky over the comms. The bright shimmer and flash and crack of his only gateway home closing, searing his eyes to leave behind grey, grey, grey. The relentless, brutal beating that bruises and breaks and damn near kills. The viscerally wrong sensation of his shell giving under pressure, cracking. The salt and iron, blood, in his mouth. The taunting voice, wringing in his head. The crinkled photo, stained with crimson and tears, grasped as a last feeble hope, slipping out of his hand. The sickening, chest aching realization that he would never see more than this. The end of it all, swimming blurry before his eyes.
It all ebbs back, when he wakes up. But the terror doesn’t.
Gasping helplessly for air—there isn’t enough air—he jolts upright. His heart hammers hard, rattling in his chest, panicked wingbeats in his throat. Everything aches deep and raw and vividly painful. He feels scraped bloody, a scalpel scratched along the inside of his shell, the inside of his skin. His lungs burn, his throat stings, and every ragged breath worsens the hurt of it.
Frantic eyes bolt from corner to corner, vision shaky with his trembling. All but shaking apart, he wraps his arms tight over his chest, scrunches in, caves to something small, and holds tight to the scuffed and scratched surface of his shell. Holds himself together. There’s nothing around—darkness, bitter grey emptiness—and ash coats his tongue, chokes him powdery soft at the back of his throat. The shadows threaten to swallow him, to grow tendrils and tentacles and all-seeing eyes to drag him back to a hell he can’t escape.
Panic, fight or flight, instinctual self preservation, something has his mystic powers gasping to life. It’s only in his own weak, flickering glow, that he can make out the familiar shapes of his room. His bed, well-worn and tired beneath him. His skateboard, propped waiting at the foot of his bed, and posters stuck haphazard and crooked to the wall beside him.
It does a little to reassure him, to know he’s home, not in that wretched place, but he can still feel the pressure of it, threatening to suffocate him. It feels like a trick, like a lie, somehow, to be here. His mind’s last attempts to give him solace when his life is brittle, crackling to pieces under an alien assault.
He needs to move. He needs to check, to see whether any of this is real, or just a mirage. Distant, hitched and stilted breathing and the aggrieved pound of his heart the only thing to meet his ears, he untwists himself from his sheets and gets to his feet. Weak knees threaten to buckle, and he has to grab, once, at the weathered surface of the wall to keep from falling. His vision goes a little too when he stands, black and hazy at the edges.
He never feels steady, never stops shaking, but he pushes off from the wall anyway. Stumbles over to the door. Squeezing his eyes shut for a beat, he pulls it open and steps past, waiting to fall into an endless void, into Kraang clutches again. But, there’s only the darkened edges of a hallway at home. It doesn’t stop his pulse from racing, or his mind from spinning in a whirlwind of quicksilver worries, honed sharp enough to cut. And when a shadow flickers, snakes, bleeding out from the far corner, panic seizes in his chest. In an instant, in half a heartbeat, he turns and bolts. Anxiety and fear grab at him, frigid hands, and he isn’t about to wait and see what’s slithering out of the dark.
His surrounding blur; everything vital in his chest feels primed to burst. He runs and runs and doesn’t look back, not a single thought spared to where his feet are taking him. Or, at least not until they fail him and the world suddenly tips, his chin hitting the floor with a stomach-turning crack. The pain is only a dull buzz, numb with the burst of adrenaline. Still, it helps to clear his head just a little. A bright spot amongst the murky darkness. And with that clarity, he finds his feet again, and finds a place to hide. It’s better, at least, than blind running.
He sits, wedged in the tiny gap between an exposed pipe and the wall in the kitchen, mostly hidden from view behind a pile of empty pizza boxes and a hefty bag of rice. Curling as tight at he can without retreating into his shell—that would leave him defenseless if something did find him—he tries to quiet the wheezing rasp of his breath, mostly healed ribs unfurling a deep, dull ache. He tries to quiet his traitorous heart, too, afraid the thunder of it would be loud enough to give him away.
For a moment, he sits, deathly still apart from the tremble he can’t stop, and waits. Then, all at once, it hits him like a kick to the gut. His brothers. Not even for a second, did he stop and think about them. In a panic, he ran like a coward and hid and left whatever remnant or shadow or fractured piece of Kraang that was lurking, stalking in their home, behind with them.
That’s what finally makes his eyes well up, bottom lip bitten between his teeth. Selfish. Cowardly. Only thinking about himself. He was supposed to be their leader, and he left his team behind. Even more than that, he was their family, and they were his, and he ran without them.
His heart twists, pain resounding down through his ribcage. He was supposed to be better than that. He thought he’d finally learned, finally understood, during the invasion. But now, guilt claws at the pit of his stomach, seeping in like a poison.
He flinches, shaking hard, when the sound of footsteps break him out of his thoughts. They’re heavy, and close, and his heart knows them, but his head can’t place the sound through the fresh surge of anxiety. Though, briefly, something else snags his attention too. There’s something hot and slick dripping onto his knees where they’re pulled tight to his chest. Scattered against his skin, the droplets are dark, and make his flesh crawl.
Then, all at once, a shadow looms over him. Jittery with adrenaline and weighted with the dread that sinks in him like a stone, he glances up. Hidden in the dark of the empty kitchen, is a silhouette he never wants to see again. Tooth-achingly familiar, yet twisted into something vile and cruel. Dripping with Kraang viscera and cloaked in darkness.
“Raph, no, not again,” Leo hiccups miserably, tears starting to slip. He sinks down a little farther, behind the flimsy pizza box tower. He presses back a little farther, shell scraping audibly against the wall.
He doesn’t want to fight anymore. He doesn’t want to run anymore. More than anything, he’s exhausted, overused and wrung out. Besides, even if it did come to blows, it’s a tall order to beat Raph on a good day. And this isn’t a good day. His limbs are lead-heavy and prickly, and his mind is a jumbled mess. He won’t stand a chance.
Raph says something, he thinks, but he doesn’t hear it over the clamor of blood rushing in his ears, or the heavy static buzzing around him. There’s more words, but they all crunch into white noise. Indecipherable. But, he doesn’t want to hear the Kraang’s words in Raph’s mouth anyway. Even the memory clenches tight around his heart.
When the figure looming over him starts towards him, it’s all Leo can do to cover his face with his arms and brace for the blows. He sets his teeth and scrunches his eyes shut and wishes desperately for his brothers. For them to be safe. For them to be okay. And, selfishly, for them to be here to save him now.
“I’m sorry.” Leo’s voice comes out watery and broken, and he doesn’t fully know what he’s apologizing for, but he says it all in a rush anyway, guided by impulse. And he steels himself and waits.
But, the beating never comes. Instead, there’s the quiet scrape of cardboard across the flooring. Leo curls in more, feeling exposed with his flimsy hiding spot being dismantled. Still, he cracks open an eye, dread balling in his gut. And what he finds isn’t a controlled, violated version of his brother, but just. Raph. Crouching down at his level, carefully pushing the pizza boxes aside. The bag of rice is already gone too. Leo didn’t even notice him taking it.
“Hey, buddy,” Raph says, in that gentle, cautious way he has when he finds a skittish cat in a back alley, or an injured pigeon cowering on a rooftop.
It’s a teaspoon of relief, hope timidly flitting to higher branches. Even still, Leo doesn’t move from the tiny gap he’s curled up in. He hardly dares to breathe, afraid the spell will shatter. Blinking out at Raph, he curls his fingers hard into his shell. It feels like clawing his way through a brick wall: this climbing up out of the panic.
“You back here with me?” Raph questions, just as ginger as before. He sits down more properly, like he’s settling in for the long haul. Legs crossed.
Shaking the worst of the fog from his head, Leo tries to answer, to say something, only to find himself fighting for breath, choking over his lungs. “Easy,” Raph soothes, and reaches out with a hand to steady him. “Just take a breath.” The pressure, the fingers curled around his shoulder, are warm and grounding. They make it easier to heave a deep breath and start to dispel the crushing ache in his chest.
“Raph,” Leo gasps, voice hoarse and sore. As soon as his limbs stop feeling so much like jello, he squeezes out from his hiding place and all but throws himself into his brother’s lap. As tight as he can manage, he clings on, legs tangled up with Raph’s, arms wrapped fast around his neck. Tucking his head under Raph’s chin, he breathes a wavering sigh of relief when strong arms wind slow around his back and settle there, holding him close. Fresh tears come too, spilling down his cheeks.
“You’re gonna be alright. Raph’s got you.”
Leo doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything more reassuring than that. The weight of relief, of comfort, nearly bowls him over. Overwrought panic winding down, the space it once occupied hollows out, leaving a hole that Raph fills with safety, with calm and gentle words. Leo cries, a little, into the hollow of his throat, and holds on tight enough that the tendons in his fingers burn with the effort. He lets the steady breath under him lull his own breathing, his own pulse, down to something smooth and settled. It takes time enough that his joints start to go stiff and achy where they’re bent, but he finally starts to feel more like himself. A little off balance and shaken, but vastly improved. The lingering, confusing haze left from his nightmares lifts, and when he hazards a glance to the side, it looks like home again. No more monsters creeping in the shadows.
Swallowing hard, he clears his throat and slowly untangles his death grip on Raph. The arms at his back loosen, too, to allow him some space, but they don’t fully disappear, still resting comfortably around his sides. Leo’s grateful for that. To not have the grounding touch taken away.
When he pulls back a little, he gets his first good look at Raph’s face, and the evident worry creased into it. Guilt snaps up at him again, though he tries to push it down. Something like shame starts to flicker at his cheeks too, kindling and burning. For once, he can’t quite find his voice and doesn’t know what to say. An apology maybe, for making Raph deal with all this in the middle of the night. Though, his throat feels too tight to form the words.
Thankfully, Raph takes care of him there too. Gives him an easy start. “Doing okay now?” he asks, still soft and tender. On another day, Leo might bristle at the treatment, not wanting to be handled delicately, not wanting to feel breakable. But right now, he does feel a little fragile, a little bruised, and it’s nice to be handled gently. It’s not a luxury he gets often.
Sucking a breath in through his nose, Leo nods, glancing once over Raph’s shoulder and taking comfort in the familiar mess of their kitchen. A little reminder that he’s home. “Thanks to you,” he answers. It would have been a lot longer of sitting on a cold floor, crunched in a grimy corner, collapsing in on himself like a dying star, if Raph hadn’t found him. He… knows from experience, just how long it can take to feel grounded in his bones again.
Raph smiles a little, just a small quirk of his lips, but some of the worry creased between his eyes smooths out. “Glad to hear it,” he says and shifts to rub a thumb under Leo’s eyes. They’re a little puffy and sore, mostly from the sleepless nights, a little from crying. And as Raph brushes the lingering damp lines away, he feels the last of the tension drain away. Exhaustion takes it’s place, alongside something warm that glows in his chest like an ember.
“I know you don’t always like to, but you know I’m here if you ever want to talk about the stuff that’s buggin’ you. Might make you feel better to get it off your chest.” It’s an offer Leo’s heard dozens of times. Usually, he turns it away with a wave of his hand and a breezy smile, or on worse days, a grim shake of his head that has always warned not to push.
But today, there’s something prickly rattling around in his shell, and he knows it’s better to dig it out before it has a chance to do more damage. His mood sours a little, gone crumbly, when he climbs out of Raph’s lap, sits down resting against the exposed piping, rather than wedging back in beside it. He turns partially away from Raph, so he doesn’t have to see his face when he speaks up. “You guys deserve a better leader than me,” he relents, guilt bleeding into his veins. A better brother goes unsaid, but he means that too. He drops his head low, studies the shallow dents and scratches in the floor.
“First off, you’re wrong,” Raph argues straight away. The way he says it, firm and unshakable, makes it feel a little closer to the truth. But it’s no different than glow stars on the ceiling; they’re a nice facade, but they don’t change the fact that you’re still not looking up at the night sky. “Yeah, you might be a little rough around the edges, but we all are. That’s no biggie.”
Leo lets out a breath. Really, he wants to believe it. He wants to trust Raph. But the horrible feeling of just… leaving them all behind when they could have been in danger stings in his gut, in his veins, behind his eyes.
“But,” Raph goes on, quieting a little from the firm tone he took, “I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours if you don’t tell me. So, can you let me in on what all happened tonight? What’s got you feeling like you aren’t good enough? Because you are.”
Turning a little more, Leo puts his back to Raph, hugging his knees to his chest. It still aches a little under his plastron, freshly healed wounds aggravated. But that’s definitely not the reason for his watery eyes or the knot in his throat. It’s all he can do to try and swallow down the emotion enough to explain, an easier feat when he doesn’t have to see the worry or sympathy or guilt plastered all over Raph’s face. Raph really is an open book, and it makes him easy to read, but hard to face sometimes, when Leo knows he doesn’t want to see the reaction.
“I had a bad dream, I think,” Leo starts. Slowly, he sinks his head halfway into his shell, and it makes his voice muffle a little, but he feels better that way. “I don’t know, I don’t really remember it.”
The floor isn’t the most comfortable, Leo realizes, the longer he sits on it. It’s kind of chilly, and hard underneath him. The thought picks at the back of his mind, pulling on a stray thread.
“When I woke up… I wasn’t thinking straight. I couldn’t breathe and everything was all jumbled up. And something was after me. Or, I thought it was. So I ran and I hid,” Leo sighs, shame prickling across his skin. He hugs his knees a little tighter. “I thought you weren’t you. I couldn’t even tell the difference between my own brother and the alien monster that controlled him.”
Behind him, Raph listened so quietly that, if he didn’t know better, he would have guessed he left or dozed off. And maybe that would have been better, so only the dust bunnies heard what he admitted. But he does know better. He knows Raph is better than he is, knows Raph listens and focuses and pays attention when people talk to him.
“Oh, Leo—“
And there’s the sympathy that makes Leo’s chest burn. His ribs feel too tight.
He doesn’t want Raph to feel bad for him. To excuse what he did.
“No, you don’t get it!” Balling his hands into fists, he grits his teeth and pulls in a sharp, shallow breath through his nose. Puts steel in his heart. “I thought something was here, in our home. I thought the Kraang were back. And I ran and left all of you behind. I didn’t even think about the people I’m supposed to protect. The only person I could think about was myself.” The words started strong and insistent, angry, but Leo couldn’t hold the heat. And by the end, the venom drained, leaving his voice shaky and starting to break. Even in his own ears, he sounds small.
For a long time, his words weigh heavy in the air. It’s a little harder to breathe around them, too thick, too real. His eyes are hot and still uncomfortably watery, and he feels like he just carved his insides out and put all the dark and ugly pieces of himself on display. It’s sore and raw and doesn’t feel good. And the longer he sits like this, exposed, without a word from Raph, the more he wants to tuck into his shell and hide away there for the rest of his life.
Then, a large hand presses against his carapace, firm and steadying at his back, and Leo swears he feels it cut all the way through his spine, through his ribs and melt straight into his heart. He gasps in an unsteady breath and bites at his bottom lip, emotions rocking with a single touch. He can’t see Raph’s face, but maybe this is worse. Feeling him cuts deeper.
“Leo, I want you to listen to me carefully, okay?” Raph says, slow and even.
Leo gives him a small nod in acknowledgment. And he really does listen.
“You just had a nightmare. You were half asleep. You weren’t being selfish, you were just afraid,” Raph insists, his hand never leaving Leo’s back. “It’s okay to be scared. No one’s asking you to be fearless. And no one’s asking you to spend your whole life worrying about Mikey and Donnie and me around the clock. That’s not good for you either. Trust me on that.”
Despite himself, Leo huffs a watery laugh. “Like you have any room to talk,” he jabs, even though there are definitely a few tears sliding down his cheeks again. Raph may not be their leader anymore, but he’ll never stop being their overprotective big brother.
“Yeah, yeah,” Raph says, lightly shoving at Leo’s shell. But, he’s gentle, and there’s no real force behind it. “All the more reason for you to chill out a little. I’m always gonna worry about you guys. And we all look out for each other. It’s not your job to carry everyone on your shoulders, got it?”
“I couldn’t even carry you if I tried. You’re way too heavy,” Leo shoots back without thinking, wiping his eyes. The air feels lighter now, heavy atmosphere dispelled somewhat. He smiles, just a little, but it’s genuine and real and helps shake off the gloomy residue.
“You know what I— never mind,” Raph sighs, and Leo can all but see the exasperated—and definitely fond—shake of his head. “If you can joke about it, then I’m glad you’re feeling better, you doofus.”
It hasn’t escaped Leo’s notice that, before, Raph was always careful and purposeful in the way he touched him, keeping it sparing unless Leo initiated. But now, he slides back into more casual habits, grabbing Leo by the shell, picking him up off the ground and spinning him around so they’re facing each other again. Raph’s grinning, eyes curved into pleased crescents. He lightly knocks his forehead into Leo’s, and it earns him a chuckle in return, though it comes out a bit stuffy since Leo had just been crying.
The little headbutt is something Raph mostly grew out of, when he started getting bigger faster than the rest of them, and the affectionate gesture started getting more headache inducing. He got better at managing his strength, but still never went back to the old habit. Now though, on the rare occasions it comes out, it always makes Leo grin, nostalgia curling cotton candy sweet in his chest.
“Thanks, Raph. I mean it,” he says, eyes slipping closed. He takes a moment to just breathe and let the comfort soak in through his skin.
“Anytime, kid.”
They stay that way for a bit, but eventually Leo leans back and stretches out, sore from sitting scrunched up in weird positions. Raph gets a little more comfortable too, kicking his feet out in front of him and bracing with his hands behind his back.
“You know, I’m actually glad you still have some self preservation instincts working in there somewhere. You kind of scared me after the whole prison dimension incident. I never would’ve thought I’d be so happy to see you running away from something, but what d’you know?” Raph says, offering a lopsided smile.
Not quite sure what to say, Leo just gives a considering hum from low in his throat. He hadn’t really thought of it that way. But, if it makes Raph feel better, than he’ll take it. At least it’s something good to come out of this far less than pleasant night.
With his head finally quieter than it has been all night, his thoughts come a little easier, a little clearer. And it occurs to him, all of a sudden, that Raph, of all people, shouldn’t have been awake in the middle of the night. He’s about as far from a night owl as it gets.
“Wait, how did you even know to come find me? Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Leo asks, regarding Raph with a curious tilt to his head.
For his part, Raph just gives a quiet chuckle and absently scratches at his jaw. “Let’s just call it a big brother’s intuition,” he says.
Leo can see through that a mile away. Sure, Raph might be good at feeling out when his brother’s might need help, or more often, when they’re about to do something stupid, but it doesn’t go that far. Intuition doesn’t wake you up out of a dead sleep. Then it dawns on him, and embarrassed heat creeps up that back of his neck.
“You heard me trip, didn’t you?” Leo asks.
“Yeah, you wiped out pretty hard,” Raph admits. He gets to his feet, offering Leo a hand, which he gratefully takes. Raph’s strong, and pulls him up without batting an eye, which Leo very much appreciates. With the panicked burst of adrenaline draining, the exhaustion is creeping back up on him again. His bones feel magnetized to the floor.
“You busted up your chin pretty good too, if you hadn’t noticed,” Raph continues. He doesn’t let go of Leo’s hand. “It was bleeding for a while, but I figured it could wait until you calmed down a little. We’re definitely gonna go put something on that, though.”
With his free hand, Leo gingerly reaches up to feel at his chin. It stings when he touches it, fingers coming back tacky with mostly dried blood. He must have split the skin open, he guesses, though his memory of running through the hall feels a little distorted. It bubbles up like burning film, bits and pieces swollen or shrunken.
He looks down at his knees, too. The droplets smeared against his skin that he’d been so sure came from a Kraang-overtaken Raph, are dried and flaking now, nothing more than old blood.
“I can take care of it, big guy,” Leo assures, wiping the drying blood off his fingers and onto his shell. “I think you’re up past your bedtime,” he adds for good measure. Though, he doesn’t exactly make any moves towards letting go of Raph’s hand. He feels a million times better, but there’s still something small and fragile and shaken tucked and burrowed down deep in his chest. It’s easy enough to bury if he has to, but all the same, the craving for touch, for comfort, never really leaves.
“You are gonna go sit on the couch, while I grab some stuff from the med bay,” Raph insists, not leaving much room for argument. He starts walking off, and Leo follows along, pulled by their twined hands.
So, Leo doesn’t argue, and lets Raph drag him over to the couch. He fusses, probably more than he needs to, over getting Leo settled, clearing tv remotes and phone cords and clutter out of the way. Leo can’t say he doesn’t appreciate the attention though. His heart warms, undeniably fond, when Raph pulls a blanket over his shoulders, eyes soft and attentive.
“You stay put. I’ll be right back,” Raph says before he heads off to the med bay.
“Can do,” Leo calls after him. Getting more comfortable, he settles into the old couch. It’s ripped and spilling stuffing at some of the seams, but it’s worn in and smells like home. It’s leagues ahead of the kitchen floor in terms of comfort. And, with a fleece blanket pulled nearly to his chin, he feels warm for the first time since he woke up in a panic. It’s enough to make him drowsy, even if sleep isn’t really on the table quite yet.
He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again, there’s someone else in the room. He jolts, startled, before his surprise melts into confusion. Raph said he was coming back, but Mikey is standing a little ways back from the couch instead, looking oddly timid. Rubbing his eyes, Leo sits up a little straighter, trying to get his mind working enough to make sense of the brother-swap.
“Mikey?” he asks curiously.
“Hey, Leo,” Mikey answers with a little wave, but makes no move to get closer. Normally, he would have come and perched on the arm of the couch or flopped down half across Leo’s lap by now. Leo feels off balance with the distance, like everything shifted three feet to the left. It pulls at something in his chest.
He wants a hug.
“Sorry you’re having a rough night,” Mikey chimes in.
“Did Raph wake you up?” Leo asks. It’s taking brain power he doesn’t really have at the moment to piece together why Mikey knows what happened, when he wasn’t around for it. When gears start grinding in his head, he gives up the effort.
“Oh, no. You did, actually.” Mikey rubs at the back of his neck, a sheepish little gesture.
And Leo opens his mouth to say he doesn’t remember doing that, but then the pieces click into place. Groaning, he throws an arm over his eyes, disturbing the blanket and sending it slipping down to his lap. “Did I wake up the whole lair when I fell?” he grumbles.
“Nah, just me and Raph. Dad can sleep through anything, and it doesn’t seem like Donnie heard. So, two out of four?” he says with a hopeful tilt to his voice. Small victories and all that. At least Leo didn’t make enough of a scene to attract his entire family’s attention.
Even so, Mikey’s still hesitating, lingering back like he’s afraid Leo will shatter if he breathes on him wrong, and that’s enough of that. Reaching his arms out, Leo grabs for him in a silent request, and Mikey doesn’t need to be asked twice. With a flood of relief clear on his face, he’s across the room in a flash, climbing onto the couch and laying himself down, carapace up, across Leo’s lap. He rolls to the side just enough to comfortably wrap both arms around Leo’s middle, cheek pressed into his leg. And when Mikey grins up at him, his eyes are all big and warm and melty enough to make Leo’s insides go gooey; it’s sweet in the same way sugar makes his teeth ache.
“Should I be insulted that you didn’t come make sure I hadn’t cracked my head open on the floor or something?” he jokes, settling a hand on Mikey’s head. It’s comforting, just having him here, warm and weighted and breathing against Leo.
“I would never leave you like that!” Mikey insists with mock, overdone offense written all over his face. Leo huffs an amused breath through his nose, and the dramatic look fades back to something softer. “I actually did go out to investigate, that’s when I found Raph. We looked around a little and couldn’t figure out what made the sound until he found you in the kitchen.”
Mikey sobers a little, face going more serious. The way his face scrunches with concern doesn’t fit a fifteen year old, Leo decides wholeheartedly. “You seemed pretty out of it, and totally freaked. I haven’t seen you hide and cower like that since we were little kids,” Mikey says, letting out a solemn breath. “Raph didn’t want to overwhelm you, so he sent me back to my room to wait until you were feeling better. And he just let me know that you were alright a minute ago.”
Giving a heavy sigh, Leo throws his free arm over Mikey’s shell. It’s as close as he can get to returning the hug with Mikey laying all over him like this. “Hey, sorry you had to see that,” he says, something like shame bubbling in his chest. It’s short lived though, because Mikey nuzzles into the hand cradling his head and replaces the grim set of his mouth with a touch of a smile.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just happy that you’re doing a’okay now.”
“Not just yet. We’re taking care of that split on your chin before you get Raph’s stamp of approval.” Leo must be tired; he didn’t even hear Raph come in. But now he’s making his way over to the couch with a whole arsenal of medical supplies in his arms. Among the bottles and containers and tins, Leo searches out the stuff that would actually be useful. There’s a damp rag, for cleaning out the wound, and probably eight different varieties of salve or ointment meant to keep infection at bay. Considering they live in a sewer, they could use all the help they can get on that front. He also has enough gauze to get halfway to mummifying someone with it, and plenty of medical tape.
“You bring enough stuff there, buddy?” Leo questions, stifling a yawn. Though, he has to hand it to Raph: at least he’s thorough.
Offering a shrug, Raph just drops all the supplies off to the side. “I figured you know more of what you’re doing than I do. Might as well just bring it all and let you pick out what you need.”
Leo does just that, sorting through the mess and grabbing a simple salve and a scrap of gauze. A stick-on bandage probably would have worked just fine, but it seems like that’s the one thing Raph didn’t bring out here. Though, when he looks for the rag he definitely saw earlier, he can’t find it. Or, at least, not until he glances over at Raph and finds it still in his hand.
When Leo reaches for it, Raph lightly swats him away. “I think I can manage a little scrape,” Leo says, draping his arm back over Mikey, who seems perfectly content to just lounge in his lap. Actually, he looks close to dozing off, eyes slipping closed. It is late, after all, and Leo knows he’s not the only one who gets kept up with nightmares.
“I’m sure you can, but you don’t have to,” Raph replies firmly. “Now tilt your head back.”
With a long, slow breath, Leo drops his head to rest against the back of the couch, tipping his chin up so Raph can get a better look at it. It’s a little awkward, having to maneuver around Mikey in his lap, but they make it work. Careful and methodical, Raph makes quick work of cleaning out the gash and smoothing over it with salve. It stings a little, but it’s hardly more than uncomfortable, and in no time, Raph has a piece of gauze taped down and is all finished up.
“Better?” he asks, setting aside the roll of tape.
Leo nods, gratitude blooming in his chest. “You’re pretty good at this. Maybe we should make you medic from now on,” he says. Though, he keeps his voice low, because Mikey has definitely fallen asleep now, his chest rising in a slow, even rhythm.
A gentle smile turns Raph’s mouth up at the corners, the concentrated furrow between his eyes smoothing. “Come on, you’re not getting out of your job that easy,” he says and sits in the space beside Leo, careful not to disturb either him or Mikey too much.
“Worth a shot,” Leo answers with a tired grin. He lets his cheek fall to rest against Raph’s shoulder, eyes slipping closed for a beat. There’s a quiet hum he hears reverberate through Raph’s chest.
“You think you can get some more sleep tonight? You need it.” His tone drops to something lower, more serious.
Rubbing at an eye, Leo take a big, long breath. Feels in fill his lungs, then filter slow out through his nose. The feeling of carrying around bones too heavy for his body hasn’t dissipated, and his mind is pleasantly quiet. Or, as quiet as it really gets anyway. On another night, he’d be optimistic about his chances of actually getting some shut-eye. Though, the thought of sleep, no matter how tired he is, still sets off a pinging little jolt of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He always has a hard time doing anything more than drifting in and out after he has a nightmare. As soon as he starts to slip, lulled towards sleep, he jerks awake again, whispers of awful memories and cruel figments rising up from the dark.
“I don’t know,” Leo answers honestly. He doesn’t bother to lift his head from where it’s squished against Raph, or even to open his eyes. At the very least, like this, comfortable and safe, tucked into his family, he can rest easy.
Raph makes a small, acknowledging noise in his throat, then shifts to get a little more comfortable. It looks like all three of them are spending the night here, then. Leo really doesn’t have the heart to move Mikey when he looks so peaceful and comfy, so he couldn’t get back to his own bed even if he wanted to. And Raph’s probably in the same boat, Leo all slouched against him.
Still, Leo’s glad for it all the same. Even if he ends up with a crick in his neck, or his legs wind up cramping under Mikey’s weight, he wouldn’t change a thing. This, lounging in a mess of limbs on the lumpy old couch, is everything he could ever ask for.
(The universe does him one better. He wakes up—wakes up!—in the morning with Donnie perched at his shoulder, legs slung over his chest and feet propped on Mikey’s shell, sipping absently at a mug of coffee. And then, Leo has everything he needs.)