Chapter Text
Raph never meant for it to get so bad.
He should've expected it though, to be honest. He knew what he was doing was stupid, and impulsive, and– and all those other syn-o-nyms for “dangerous to your health” that Donnie liked to define. He’d seen the effects of it when he was younger; watching his father during his depressive spirals and lazy spells, making note of what not to do as an adult. He knew what it could do to you. He knew what it would do.
For the majority of his life, Raph had never even had to think about it. It was easy not to. Addiction was bad, and he was one of the good guys. He had three little brothers to look after. He was a mutant ninja turtle living in the sewers of New York. None of his parameters really screamed “future addict”-- or hell, even made it easy for him to be one– so what was there to worry about?
Stupid of him, maybe. He let his guard down. He trusted himself too much.
Well. No risk of that ever happening again.
It started small, and innocent, as most downward spirals tend to do.
A few months after the Kraang invasion: summer. The days were longer than usual, so their nighttime patrols topside were cut shorter and shorter. There was more time for things to get done around the new lair, and ample opportunity to unbox all of the belongings they still had from the old one. Everyone kept busy. It paid off.
At one point, a few weeks into June, the whole family crammed into the kitchen– both Caseys, April, and Draxum included, of course– to celebrate the official end to their collective “moving-in” phase. No more cardboard boxes lying around on the floor (save for a few in Donnie’s lab that he’d been suspiciously secretive of), no more broken pipes and unfortunate smells to locate and fix, no more issues with heating and cooling and lighting and everything in-between. Their new lair was, for all intents and purposes, finished. And it was finished in style.
It was a relief, after the whole thing with the Kraang. A breath of fresh air.
True to form, Mikey had celebrated by cooking up a storm of traditional Hamato comfort foods, while April and Casey Sr. had provided the pizza and soda. Leo had taken care of decorations (which basically just meant throwing eye-sore-blue streamers everywhere and calling it a day), and Donnie decided to show off his new top-of-the-line sound system by blasting his electro-pop playlist at full volume, no matter how many times Mikey begged for relief. Draxum came bearing a mystic house plant as a home-warming gift (which Raph was only 75% sure didn’t have a taste for human flesh), and Casey Jr. spent the majority of the party caring for it in one corner of the kitchen.
Dad– while still happily joining in on the rest of the festivities– decided to celebrate a little differently.
Sometime between Mikey breaking out the finger-foods and the Caseys having an arm-wrestling match across the table (which Casey Sr. won easily), Raph noticed his dad grab something from the back of the fridge. A wine bottle, he soon figured out; the shape was distinct. Nothing too out of the ordinary, though. Mikey probably used it in sauces every once in a while.
The next time he looked over, Splinter and Draxum both had a glass in their hands, and the cork was popped. Bottle set off to the side away from the kids’ antics. Still nothing out of the ordinary. They were both adults, and Raph knew from… experience that his dad liked to have a glass or two to take the edge off every now and then. It’d been a lot more than that, once. But he was better now. So, nothing to worry about.
Then, a few minutes later, Raph glanced over again, just to keep an eye on dad. April now had a glass in one hand, too. She was laughing at something Casey Sr. had said.
–Out of the ordinary. Definitely out of the ordinary. What the fuck?
Raph choked, and wasted no time in putting down his– uh, seventh? eighth?-- slice of pizza, and high-tailed his way over to her as discreetly as possible.
“April!” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down. It was kinda pointless, what with the way Leo and Donnie and Casey Jr. were going at it in the middle of the room, but. Eh. It got his point across better. “What are you doing?! That’s not allowed!”
April paused in her conversation with Casey Sr. to gape at him open-mouthed for a moment, glass dangling delicately from one hand and eyebrows raised.
Then she snorted.
“What, this?” his sister asked, raising her glass up a little higher. His lips quirked up at the corners. Amused.
Raph twisted his fingers together, and nodded. Of course that’s what he meant– she shouldn’t be drinking, it was for adults, she was only 18–!
“Raph, babes, it’s fine,” April said kindly. “I promise. My mom lets me have a little of whatever she’s having during parties and stuff- ya know, New Year’s, Christmas, all that jazz. It’s literally fine! Look–” she tipped the edge of her glass towards him, and swirled it once– “it’s not even enough to make someone drunk. Just a little buzzed. It’s for fun.”
“But—“ Raph sputtered. He didn’t understand. How was that okay? “C’mon, isn’t it illegal? Isn’t the age limit supposed to be 21 for humans, or somethin’?”
“Well, technically yeah. But this is harmless! Trust me, there are kids in this city doing wayyyyyy worse. I just enjoy it cuz it’s like I get to pretend to be an adult, ya know?” April grinned, and nudged him with her elbow.
“…Oh,” Raph echoed. Because– well, what was he supposed to say? April was his older sister, and their only resident human with a “normal” life. She would know better than he did. If she said it was okay, then maybe it was.
It still made him uncomfortable, though.
April– ever the big sister extraordinaire– seemed to realize that fact. Her smile turned from a half-smirk to something more understanding. Raph was still wringing his fingers together when she reached out with one hand to detangle them, and let him hold on to her instead.
“I promise my mom’s cool with it, big man,” she said. Her thumb rubbed soothingly against the back of his knuckles. “Splints is too. He didn’t care when I asked. Hell, you could probably have some too, if you wanna try! Might help you feel less anxious about it.”
Raph shrugged half-heartedly. He knew he was probably being a– a “stick in the mud”, as Leo liked to say– but he couldn’t help it. Seeing his big sister drink that stuff made him feel panicky. He didn’t feel like figuring out why.
But he also didn’t want to keep ruining the good vibes, so…
“Maybe a little?” he finally conceded. He swore he could feel goosebumps going down his shell. “I don’t know if I’ll like it, though.”
“Awww, that’s fine, you don’t have to! No pressure, it was just a suggestion.”
“No– no, it’s, um. It’s okay. Raph can try some.”
April raised an eyebrow at him. He winced. Rookie mistake.
“Are you s ureeeee?” she asked. “Cuz you only bring out the third-person when you’re, like, really anxious about something.”
“No, Ra– uh. I am fine.”
“Uhhhh huh,” April drawled. “Well, in that case, you can have the rest of mine. Just dump it out if you don’t want it, mmkay? It’s totally cool either way.”
She held out her glass with a smile that was far too genuine to argue, and Raph took it gently with two fingers, doing his best to match her energy as she pecked him on the cheek and went to go bother Leo. He was kinda glad, since it meant April wouldn't be drinking anymore; but it also felt… weird . To be holding it. It made him nervous.
Which was fucking stupid. He was a Hamato! He was a Mad Dog! He helped take down the Shredder with his bare hands, and fought the Kraang with nearly as little. Being scared of a stupid adult drink was ridiculous, and dumb , and other words that made him feel like an idiot. Which he wasn’t. Hah.
So naturally, in a fit of spite and determination, he decided to swallow the whole thing at once. Best way to face your fears was head-on, baby.
It was. Not a good decision.
Mistake, Raph thought as he coughed. Mistake mistake mistake MISTAKE oh my GOD it fucking BURNS. APRIL SHOULDA WARNED A GUY. OW. OW.
He hiccuped, which only made his throat burn worse, and tried not to draw everyone’s attention as he silently choked to death in the corner of the kitchen. Luckily, Mikey and a (very) reluctant Draxum were currently in the middle of a father-and-son karaoke number. Crisis averted. He was free to die in peace.
Raph set the glass down with a tad too much force, and vowed to never try that again.
(About half an hour later, though, the effects started kicking in.)
(Raph tried to ignore it, but it was difficult not to notice how much… lighter he felt. Probably what April meant by getting “buzzed”. His mind felt a little less anxious, and the deep knot of worry that had long-since been wedged under his rib cage loosened. His brain stopped looking for threats in every corner of the room. It’d been a long time since that happened. Too long to pinpoint.)
(Raph tried to ignore it, but he laughed easier. He joined in conversations effortlessly; was able to follow the flow of the room. Which was silly, in his eyes, because he’d never necessarily thought he had trouble with that. But. Well. Whatever trouble had been there, was remarkably eased.)
(Raph tried to ignore it, but god, he felt so much better— to the point where, when Mikey came up beside him and latched onto his arm with zero warning, forgetting about the unspoken rule they’d all made not to do that anymore… Raph didn’t feel the ice-cold shivers down his spine like he’d expected to. He didn’t feel the itch under his skin, the drumming of his heartbeat telling him to get away, don’t touch them, don’t go near them or you might hurt them again. He didn’t feel the need to stay five feet away from his brothers at all times, lest the Kraang parasite somehow spawn back into his brain and attack them. Finish the job.)
(Instead, he just laughed, and let Mikey cling to his arm like a spider-monkey, and joined Casey Sr. with ragging on Leo for his dancing skills and lack thereof. His brothers seemed to like it like this. Like him like this.)
(And at the end of the night, he filed the experience away for later, and thought: Huh.)
(Maybe that stuff wasn’t so bad after all.)
A week or so later, things went downhill.
It happened while they were out on patrol. Unfortunately, shorter nights didn’t mean less crime: they just meant more criminals were cramming their heists and robberies and illegal gun purchases into the few hours of darkness that were available. The Mad Dogz had their work cut out for them, running from one 911 call to another across the city. Raph would never admit it, but even he’d started to get tired of it all. Being a hero was an exhausting gig. He still only complained half as much as Mikey, though.
Looking back on it, he thinks that maybe he shouldn’t really have blamed Leo so much for what happened. It was the end of the night, on a Friday, in the middle of a sweltering summer: all four of them had been at their wits’ end, snapping at each other and dragging their feet. It’s hard to keep a straight head and an upbeat attitude at that point, and trying to direct three cranky, irritated brothers into a plan of attack couldn't have been any easier. Raph knows from experience. Leo had been trying his best.
The problem was, his best hadn’t been enough.
He gave the orders, assigned everyone a few robbers to focus on; counted down until the perfect moment to launch their sneak-attack. It should’ve been fine, but it wasn’t. Something went wrong. Leo hadn’t been paying enough attention— or at least, that’s what Raph had believed. There were thirteen guys instead of eleven, and one of them had an extra gun.
Mikey got hurt. One bullet, right through the edge of his thigh. Missed the bone and the artery but only barely. Hurt like hell, in his baby brother’s words.
Tempers ran a little high that evening, once they all made it back to the lair.
Raph doesn’t remember much of the fight. It was no different than the ones he and Leo had duked out on a daily basis before the Kraang invasion; your typical, What were you thinking?! Were you even trying to pay attention?! and Oh, I’m sorry, is this my fault?! Sorry I’m not telepathic, Raph! How the fuck was I supposed to know there were more??
It was loud, it was ugly, and it ended with a certain insult that cut deeper than Raph had ever thought it would.
“You know what?” Leo had spat. He said it with a signature cocky smirk, but there was something bitter there; something that signaled he wasn’t joking around anymore. Very reminiscent of their pre-Kraang arguments. “You really need to take a fucking chill pill or something, god. You’re so fucking uptight about everything!”
“Everything?” Raph growled back. “You got one of us shot.”
“ I— I know, okay? But it wasn’t my fault! Mikey’s fine!”
“Mikey’s only fine cuz he knows how to dodge! You realize they could’ve shot any one of us in the head, right?!”
“We’re all fine.”
“No thanks to your half-assed plan! You rushed it again!”
“Jesus Christ,” Leo muttered. “Forget it. I’m gonna go to bed, after I stop by the medbay. Think whatever the hell you want, I don’t care, just leave me alone. ”
And then— as he was walking out, hands behind his head to undo his bandana, the picture of indifference— from under his breath: “ God, you were more fun to be around when you were buzzed .”
Raph watched him go, and felt something like dread well up in his lungs.
Mikey’s leg healed up fine after a few weeks. Raph and Leo apologized to each other a couple days later, and tried to talk things out a bit; something they’d both mutually agreed to do after the Kraang fiasco. It was healthier that way. They both felt better for it. They both needed it.
That last comment stayed with him, though. Like flies in honey. Ink to paper.
You’re more fun to be around when you’re buzzed.
The thing is— Raph kinda agreed. Even two weeks later, it’d been hard to forget that feeling the wine gave him. That light, giggly, warm state of being that had simultaneously lessened his anxieties and made him feel more confident. Made him feel more happy. It’d made it so easy to enjoy himself for a little while without the crushing wave of guilt, without the unease that something was lurking around the corner while they were all distracted. Without the subtle voice at the back of his head that told him to stay away, stay away, stay away. You might hurt somebody again.
He missed that feeling.
He missed that moment when he’d been able to hug Donnie with one arm without panicking, or when Casey Jr. had shyly asked to sit on his shoulders.
He missed the lightness, and the happiness, and the reprieve from the dark cloud at the edge of his vision.
He missed being able to fit in again, without feeling like he was forcing it.
Raph had trouble sleeping that night.
Two days later, he accidentally flinched away when Donnie put a hand on his shoulder.
It sucked. It sucked. Donnie already wasn't very keen on initiating touch, especially after the whole spaceship thing, and— and Raph could see it on his face when he noticed. Raph could see the way his drawn-on brows furrowed a bit, and he backed off without comment, and continued to talk about his latest project like nothing happened. Raph could see that he was trying to be respectful and considerate of his boundaries, just like they all tried to be for him.
Raph hated it, though. He wished Donnie didn’t have to do that for him. He wished he could be able to touch his brothers again without feeling scared.
It made him feel dirty.
That afternoon— while Donnie was in his lab working and Mikey was doing careful stretches in the dojo and Leo was in the living room tearing up a Mario Kart track— Raph snuck into the kitchen on silent feet.
The bottle of wine was back in the fridge, untouched since the celebration party.
Raph stared at it for a long, long moment; going over the dangers of alcohol and addiction and drunk-driving in his head— going over memories of his dad passed out on the armchair, when his depression had spiraled out of control— before he dragged the bottle out and snatched their smallest glass from the cabinet over his head.
Just once. That’s all it would be. Just once, to help him feel light for a little while.
(He still didn’t like the taste, but it went down easier the second time.)
It was supposed to be a one-time thing. That’s what he told himself.
But there was something about that feeling that he just couldn’t shake . Despite his internal promise that he wouldn’t be going back for another glass no matter what, his anxiety only seemed to grow worse in the days afterward. Thoughts telling him that somebody would notice — Mikey, when he went to cook, or Dad when he went for some himself— plagued his mind when he tried to sleep. The slight dip in volume of the wine bottle bothered him everytime he opened the fridge. The carefully cleaned glass, put back in its proper spot.
—But it should've been fine. He knew what he was doing, Raph reasoned. It’d just been once, and he hadn’t even finished that glass before the guilt got to him too much. All kids rebel sometimes. He was stressed and anxious and the alcohol just took the edge off. It wasn’t like he was at risk for anything worse. It wasn’t like he would let himself be at risk for anything else. Yeah. He could justify this with any number of reasons.
A one-time thing. That was all. He was better than this.
—Or, maybe a two-time thing, Raph thought when he went back a few days later. Just for a few sips to calm his nerves, because he’d gotten into a passive aggressive exchange with Mikey earlier about his— quote unquote— “ overprotectiveness .” As if he didn’t have a damn good reason to be like that. Fine, though. He could loosen up. He just needed a little help.
And then…Okay. A three-time thing. Leo had just been particularly difficult that day, alright? But that was all. He wouldn’t go back again. He wouldn’t. Raph knew better.
He did. He did.
But then it was a four-time thing, because Donnie blew up his lab again and almost got himself seriously hurt; and then a five-time thing, because Dad and Draxum had gotten into an argument that shook the walls and made Mikey teary; and then a six-time thing, because no matter how much he tried to relax that day, Raph felt like the shadows were moving and somebody was watching him and something slimy and cold and horribly, horribly familiar was crawling down his shell and into his eyes and making it hard to breathe —
And then it was the end of week three, and the bottle was empty, and Raph had to confront the problem of replacing it before somebody noticed .
His anxiety was at a record high. Donnie would probably say something about irony, at this point.
Not knowing what else to do, Raph volunteered to take over the next grocery run. Usually, it was Mikey’s job, since he knew what ingredients he wanted and how to avoid security cameras the best; but Raph managed to pass it off as being nervous about the uptick in gun robberies going around the city. Leo actually backed him up on it. Guess neither of them wanted to deal with their baby brother facing another bullet wound, even if Raph’s concern was (slightly) exaggerated.
Mikey wasn’t too thrilled with either of them, but. Well. Raph could deal with that later.
He went at night, to a little store on the opposite side of the city. Not their usual joint, just in case Donnie decided to check security cameras or something; but one that they’d definitely “borrowed” from before. Getting in was easy. Getting out was even easier. It was the in-between that had Raph’s heart beating too fast.
The alcohol shelves were daunting.
Raph stared them down with two canvas bags of food hanging from one arm. All he needed to do was grab a vaguely similar-looking wine bottle, dump out an inch or so, and stuff it back in the fridge before anyone noticed. That wouldn’t be an issue. He was certain he’d get away with it.
But… as long as he was here…
No. No. He couldn’t do that. What was he thinking? The first bottle was enough. Hell, the first bottle had been too much. He never should’ve let himself do that. No teenager should be drinking to cope with their problems, let alone a teenager who had as many responsibilities as he did. Let alone a teenager who had seen his dad growing up.
He couldn’t. It was stupid. It was reckless.
…but maybe just a little?
Just— just in case it got bad again. Yeah. He’d only have some if he really, really needed it.
Raph grabbed a wine bottle that vaguely resembled the empty one, and shoved it to the bottom of one canvas bag. Against his better judgment, he grabbed a small six-pack of beer, too. That’s what kids his age usually drank, right? So maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Yeah. It was normal.
He threw a handful of cash on the counter, and dipped before he changed his mind.
It got worse.
It wasn’t an addiction, Raph told himself. It wasn’t. It wasn’t! It couldn’t be! People like him didn’t get addicted; not when they had so much riding on them. Raph needed to look after his brothers, and after the city. He needed to be alert and ready for a fight at any time. Addicts couldn’t do things like that. Addicts didn’t function like he did.
—He just drank because it helped him. Nothing else. He was making a choice to drink, because he was in control of the urge, and because it honestly, genuinely helped. The warm buzz was the only way to stop his anxiety from leaving him breathless in the middle of the night. The only thing that made him feel loose and relaxed enough to hug his brothers for longer than a split second. It was good. He was good. His family even told him so, mentioning offhandedly how he seemed happier and more chill lately.
Raph felt giddy whenever that happened. It was such a nice change from— from the months before the invasion. From the months afterward.
So it was fine. A few months in, and he was drinking at least once a day— and it wasn’t just fruity drinks and hard lemonades and flavored beers anymore, but the plain stuff, the strong stuff, like vodka and gin— and he could tell that his family was starting to catch on, most of all Donnie , who kept giving him odd looks and worried glances— and he was pretty sure he spent the majority of his time buzzed now, instead of completely sober— but it was fine. It was fine. He wasn’t addicted. Everything was okay.
It’s better off like this, Raph thought. He hammered his fists into the punching bag over and over, ignoring the way his body felt slightly off-balance. It makes me happier. It makes me easier to be around, and it makes it easier for me to be around them. It’s better. It’s okay.
It’s okay.
And it was, wasn’t it? It had to be. There was no other option.
It had to be.
It had to be.
And then one day, a week or so into September, he came home from visiting April to find the lair empty.
Strange, yeah, but not totally out of the ordinary. His brothers were probably seizing the chance to go do something stupid and morally grey while he and dad were both out of the house. Whatever. Not his problem at the moment. They’d have to be home sooner and later; and then, Raph would gladly take full advantage of his older-sibling-privelages to stare Donnie down until he broke. Donnie always broke. Guy was a worse liar than Draxum. Some unwavering eye-contact and an unimpressed glare, and he’d be able to figure out what crimes they’d been up to in no time. Judgement would be swift and merciless. (Unless it was objectively funny, in which case he might let it slide.)
But that could wait for later. In the meantime, Raph figured he could hit the dojo for some uninterrupted “Me Time,” without Mikey poking his beak in everywhere and Leo trying to goad him into a sparring match.
And of course, the most important part of “Me Time” was…
Satisfied that he’d have the lair to himself for a little while longer, Raph hummed on the way to his train car, already planning out what drink would leave him sober enough for training but loose enough to have fun with it. Probably not any of the really strong stuff; last time he’d had vodka before a session with the punching bag, he’d nearly thrown up all over the new Donnie-approved carpeting. Definitely not a fun time; and it’d been even less fun trying to explain to Leo why he was chugging Pepto Bismal in the middle of afternoon. Maybe one of the hard sodas instead, then? They tasted the best, and one or two of those left him just buzzed enough to relax while still being alert.
Perfect. He’d have one of the cherry ones– just to lessen the leftover anxiety from being topside, of course– and nail the training dummies for a little while before his brothers got home. By then, he’d be chill enough to deal with them. Nothing to worry about. Easy. Simple.
–Or. It should’ve been.
Except, when Raph kneeled down on the floor of his train car and reached under the bed for his stash, fully expected to automatically wrap his fingers around the coarse polyester strap…
The backpack he kept it in was gone.
Something ice-cold welled up in his ribcage, and Raph felt his breath cut out.
No. No. No no no, it– no. No. It had to be here. Where else could it be?! Nobody knew it was there, and Raph certainly hadn’t moved it. Nobody knew. Nobody knew, so nobody could’ve taken it, so it couldn’t have gone anywhere.
Pressing his plastron to the floor, Raph groped around under his bed with both hands and squinted into the darkness, barely holding back a rising tide of panic. Nothing. Nothing. He couldn’t see, smell, or touch anything. His stash was gone.
His stash was gone.
What the FUCK?
Raph had wondered, once or twice, what it would be like when somebody found out.
He’d pictured… guilt, mostly. Yeah. That was the big one. Guilt, and embarassment, and shame. Shame because he knew he should be better than this, and his family did to. He couldn’t imagine they’d be understanding about it. Mikey, maybe; but Leo and Donnie were both old enough to remember what Dad had been like in the depths of his depressive spiral. Distant. Lazy. Drunk. Barely able to take care of himself, between the alcholism and the executive dysfunction. They perhaps couldn’t recall that brief time with as much clarity as Raph could, but he knew they weren’t clueless about it.
So how could they forgive him for willingly taking a step down the same damn rabbit hole? For putting them in danger, as much as himself? For making the same mistakes as Dad? This wasn’t just teenage rebellion anymore. This was something familiar.
And speaking of Dad– god. What would Splints say if he ever found out? What would any parent say to finding out that their oldest kid– the good one, the mature one, the one that’s supposed to set the example and keep everyone in check and be responsible– was secretly hoarding vodka and beer under his bed? Getting buzzed on the best of days, and flat-out drunk on the worst?
And April. April would be so disappointed in him. Worse, she might think it was her fault. Raph wouldn’t be able to stand it if that happened. His big sister deserved better.
–So yeah. Guilt, shame, yadda yadda yadda. All emotions he’d expected to feel in the worst-case scenario. Panic was another good one. Panic and anxiety. Those were kind of a given, based solely on the reasons he’d started drinking so much in the first place. Disgust, maybe. Disgust at his habit, at himself. All the fun things.
But at least, he’d mentally prepared himself for all of that. Just in case it ever actually happened.
What Raph hadn’t prepared himself for, though: was the sheer, blinding, unadulterated rage.
—Because how dare they. How dare they.
They couldn’t just– just– STEAL his single viable coping mechanism from him. They couldn’t just take away the only fucking thing that made him feel normal. That made him happy. What right did anyone in this family have, when they were just as fucked up as he was? No. No. They weren’t doing this. He wasn’t letting them. His brothers couldn’t take away the only thing that had ever truly worked.
How dare they even try. It wouldn’t work. He’d get it out of them somehow. They’d tell him where his stash was eventually, or get hurt hiding it. They’d learn to back off and let him have this.
They couldn’t stop him from drinking. He needed it. He needed it to be okay.
He needed it to keep himself sane.
He needed it to be able to hug them, to leave the lair without feeling terrified, to make himself fall asleep at night–
He needed it.
He needed it.
Raph didn’t even realize he’d trashed his room until later, when he came out of his rage with tears running down his cheeks and bloody knuckles that stung like a bitch.
His bed was flipped over on its side; probably from the frantic search for his missing stash. His favorite blanket was shredded at the edges, his pillow on the floor with all the stuffing beaten out of it. Broken action figures and lego sets laid on the ground. His plushy collection was strewn all over the place. There were craters in the metal sides of the train car, deep and numerous. That explained his knuckles, at least.
…He hadn’t had a destructive episode like this in a while. In forever. Not since he was younger, and far angrier, and way more emotional.
It was scary. He was scary. Why was he like this? Why was he losing control? How did he let things get this bad?!
–Oh, God. What if he hurt somebody like this?
He was shaking, trembling like a leaf in a windstorm; either from shock or leftover rage, he wasn’t sure. Either way was bad. Bad enough that Raph didn’t try to fight it when he legs seemed to give out from under him. Instead, he just did his best to tuck himself into one corner, and curled up as small as he could. Bit down on his hands to stop the sobs from escaping. Hunched his shoulders and hid his face in his knees. Wrapped his tail around himself like a shield and tried to pretend he was in a happier timeline. He hated this. He didn’t want to feel like this. He didn’t mean to do any of it.
His brothers knew, didn’t they?
They knew. No question. At the very least, only one of them did; but it was more likely that all of them were aware of it by now. What would happen when they got back? When they saw all of this?
He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready for anybody to know.
It was only supposed to be a one-time thing.