Archive of Our Own ^beta

They reconvene in the kitchen post mission from H-E- double hockey sticks- Captain Ryan says to swear is to morally disintegrate and then actually disintegrated the swearing alien in question which was so so cool by the way- and right away it feels a little off. 

A little off, a little strange. Terrible to tell the truth, tense and terse in an odd, unbreakable way; Leo is shifting in place, moving her weight from foot to foot as her eyes trace the wood grain of the table and something prickles at the inside of her skull, an odd sensation that’s as physical as it isn’t. Creeping, constant unease. Consistency picked up and passed among her brothers hand to hand to hand, from Raph leaned against the counter to Mikey humming wide-eyed and distant to Donnie slumped across the table with the heels of his hands pressed to his head, scrubbed across the pale green of his skin. It’s weird. It’s uncomfortable, and Leo doesn’t like it, so she claps once and everyone looks towards her slowly, all out of time.

“Alright team,” Leo says, and then it feels like her brain futzes out, draws down over itself and leaves her standing there with her hands pressed together and her team staring her down and absolutely nothing else to say. 

“Good work today,” she says involuntarily, and then winces. “Wait, I mean. Bad work today? No, that’s not right either. Give me a sec.”

No point to it. Hard to think, through the static, and her eyes are flat on the faces of her brothers and something somewhere is failing to register or failing to click or otherwise failing to work in any way at all , and it’s… bad. 

It’s bad, it’s bad. What the fu- heck. Frick. Freak? Oh, fuck it. 

“Oh whatever,” she sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “Mediocre work today, team. That’s the way to do it. Really well done, bravo.”

“Heck yeah, middle of the road, baby!” Mikey says, fist pump and all, and Donnie reaches over to flick his shoulder without so much as looking up. 

“That’s not a good thing, Mikey,” he says, voice muffled. “Mediocrity never won anybody any favors.”

“Yeah, but Cs get degrees, brah,” Mikey shoots right back. “And I don’t need any favors when I’ve got my fancy piece of paper and like, three billion dollars in debt.” 

“That is… an unnecessarily defeatist way of looking at things,” Donnie says, raising his head for a moment. The skin around his eyes is flushed light white from extended contact, the ghost of his hands still pressed neatly against his face. He tilts his head a bit and squints. “Though not entirely inaccurate, I suppose.” 

Then his squint turns more into a scowl and he thumps his head right back into his hands, getting sick of all this apparently. It’s a luxury, Leo thinks, and one that she can’t help but envy a bit, but Captain Ryan says that he never envies anyone and then he disintegrated another alien, which- cinema. Nothing better. 

But whatever, whatever. Leo grits her teeth, draws in a breath through her nose. It sticks to the back of her throat. 

“It’s not like any of us are goin’ to college anyways. The fuck does it matter?” Raph- ever helpful, thank god- points out, arms crossed and scowling, and Leo draws in another breath, thinner than the last.

“You wouldn’t want Master Splinter to hear you say that,” she says, voice tinged with humor despite herself, and Mikey snorts. 

“Nothin’ to worry about there, sis,” he says, tilting back in his chair. Donnie lifts his head again and immediately looks like he regrets it. “Sensei’s too busy goin’ all cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs to give a crap about college. Look, look, look at my stress rash.”

He shoves his arm in Donnie’s face. Donnie sputters, tries to push him back. 

“Nobody want to see your rash, Mi- Mikey, oh my god! ”

Donnie all but snatches Mikey’s arm from the air, eyes wide and practically vibrating with high-strung nerves already, and Leo catches a glimpse of it clear as day despite herself; a neat spatter of hives raised along Mikey’s arm, deep green with a neat crosshatch of absentminded scratches already clustered near the base . It looks three steps and one wrong move from getting infected. Shit.

“I’m calling her Belinda,” Mikey says, smug as anything as Donnie stands and starts fretting around for the first aid kit, and Leo feels a little nauseous. Feels a little sick with it. 

Raph seems to be on the same page, or somewhere near it at least. Same chapter. He’s got his arms crossed, an eyebrow raised, hackles up and burning with indignation already because Raph has never been all that difficult to figure out, and so Leo knows that affront to his baby brother is as good as a punch in the face…

…so long as it’s not coming from him, of course. 

A bit hypocritical, Leo always thought. Leo is also unfortunately of the same exact mind so she’s annoyed as well, a formless, baseless thing with no real start and no real end because she doesn’t much like the look of that rash either but her own head’s all wound up and turned around and there’s a static, some sort of soft film between her and the rest of the world that is making it very, very difficult to sit there and worry because frankly? Honestly? To tell the truth? From the very bottom of her heart? 

What was she talking about again?

“You see that, Fearless?” Raph scoffs with a jerk of his head towards Mikey- still smug, still sitting, declaring Ms. Belinda Best In Show as Donnie flits about looking like his blood pressure’s about to shoot clear to Dimension X- and Leo shakes her head. Feels the world filter through her, feels it catch on her skull. “You see what all that extra training got us? Yeah, Sensei’s really gonna love us for this one. May as well get started on those katas now ‘cause he’s not gonna let us do shit for the next three months.”

“If you’re not happy with Sensei’s methods, then you’re free to discuss the matter with him yourself,” Leo says, and she can feel her patience slipping like a physical thing, thick in her throat. 

“First of all we’re all not happy, and second I’m not doin’ that shit. You’re our leader , you tell him,” Raph snorts.

“I did tell him , ” Leo says, mouth tugging into a scowl despite herself and fingers twitching slightly, lightly at her sides. “I got us that break, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah, for like two hours,” Raph says. He’s leaning forward, brows drawn and irritation clouding clear as day in the lines of his shoulders, and he’s stressed so he’s looking for a fight and Leo knows that, she knows that, she can see and hear and feel it in the way Raph’s egging her on, but see Raph is stressed, so Raph is looking for a fight, and well? Well?

Leo is too.

“That’s two more hours than you got, isn’t it?” she says, goading. Leaning, leading. 

“That’s not the fucking point,” Raph scoffs, eyes narrowed as the air goes thick with discomfort, the heavy, electric charge of the calm before the storm, but beneath that there’s the steady current of familiarity, the relief of a path well-worn, and as it is Leo needs that comfort like she needs a hole in the head so she grabs onto the chance with both hands and then does what she does best: 

Digs her fucking heels in. 

“Isn’t it?” she says, crossing her own arms. Stopping her shifting to stand a little straighter, eyes fixed right on Raph’s face. 

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Raph asks, finally pushing up from the counter to take a few steps forwards. Scowling, naturally. So angry he looks just about sick with it; green at the edges, pale in the dull kitchen light. Eyes fever-bright. Mouth drawn, mouth twitching. Hands curled into fists at his sides.

Ugh. 

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Leo scoffs right back, infected in quick and easy turn. “You keep telling me to do something, but I already did. I don’t know what else you want from me, Raph. There’s only so much I can do . ”

“Well you can sure as hell do more than this!” Raph snaps. “C’mon, Fearless. You wanna know what I want? I want you to get your shit together!”

Angry, irritated, circling closer still with those damn hackles of his ever-raised, and Captain Ryan give her strength, that turtle is exhausting . Doesn’t he get sick of pulling this crap? Doesn’t he get tired?

“Oh, yeah, because that clears things up,” Leo says, throwing up her hands. Rolling her eyes. “Raph, man, come on. You want me to what, take this seriously? I’m not exactly casual about all this, you know! You know that! You guys are already getting everything I’ve got- what else is there?”

“What else is there? How about some actual fucking results?” Raph spits, vitriolic. Always was a little too 1 to 100, that guy. Always a little too close, a little too in-your-face. Jabbing a finger into your plastron. Close, too close, brow drawn low, face twisted into a scowl. 

Ugh. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” Leo scoffs, knocking Raph’s hand aside. “This isn’t all that bad, you know. And even if it is, even if it was, it’s necessary, isn’t it? Sometimes you gotta break a few eggs to make an omelet. Break a bone so it grows back stronger. You know. Metaphors, or whatever.”

“Yeah, ‘cause a metaphor’s gonna be a fat lot of good when one of us fucks up and gets our ass beat straight to shell,” Raph snorts. “C’mon Fearless, you’re not fucking stupid. You sneak out as much as the rest of us. Go off on your stupid solo missions. You lied to Sensei about eating the last slice of pizza fucking- yesterday, okay? I know you can think for yourself, so get your crap together and see what’s right the fuck in front of you. He’s wrong on this one. This isn’t freaking working . The only thing all this ‘training’-“ air quotes, unbearably childish- “is gonna do is drive us into the ground and then who’s gonna fight Shredder? April, all by herself? The fucking Kraang?”

“He’s not wrong,” Leo shoots back, scowling. “So his approach is a bit aggressive- so what? Master Splinter knows what he’s doing, Raph. He always does. So yeah, sometimes I might sneak out or take an extra slice of cake or whatever but those are stupid things! Little things! I know how to listen when it really matters!” 

“Oh, so this doesn’t really matter then, is that it?” Raph says and then flings an arm out. “We were a fucking mess out there, Leo! We can’t concentrate for shit! And you saw Mikey’s arm but I guess that doesn’t really matter, huh?”

“Leave him out of it ,” Donnie snaps from his chair, where he’s still fussing over Mikey, who’s always been oddly impervious to moods other than his own, and who’s happily humming to himself accordingly. There’s a beat of silence, a shared understanding of a line crossed, before Leo shakes it off. Lets her face drop back down into a scowl. 

“You just need to quit whining and put all that effort into training,” she says. “You need to learn to adapt, Raph. It’s what we do. It’s the freaking job .” 

“It’s our lives, ” Raph hisses, moving quick and fast, close enough to jab a finger into Leo’s plastron again, again, there he goes again! Oh, what ever!

“Same difference,” Leo tells him, sidestepping neatly. Prepared this time. “The real issue here is that you need to grow up.”

“No, the real fucking issue is that you’re doing a shit job as leader,” Raph snorts, like this is no big deal, like this is nothing at all, and all at once every single negative thing that Leo’s felt for the past few weeks, every single half-formed doubt and passing frustration comes rising up and spills right over, quick and painful and endlessly, hopelessly overwhelming .  

“I might be our leader, but he’s our FATHER! ” Leo all but shouts back- disproportionate, crap - loud enough that Donnie and Mikey both snap to look at her, wide-eyed and startled. The silence is thick, visceral, and already shame is pouring down the back of Leo’s neck so she draws a deep breath in through her teeth and repeats: “He’s our father , and for that matter he’s one of the best. If he says that it’s time to worry, if he says that Shredder’s gonna beat our shells as we are now, then I believe him. I trust that he knows what he’s talking about. You trust him, don’t you?” 

“Well, I- obviously! Of course I do!” Raph sputters. He takes a step back, eyes narrowed. On the defensive. “But it doesn’t change the fact that we were a mess out there, Fearless, and you know it! Someone’s gonna get hurt! ”

“Not if we do what we’re supposed to! Not if we keep training, keep- getting better! We’ve just gotta get better!” Leo cries anyways, which is a concession in itself: heavy-lifting implication. Somebody is going to get hurt. 

“What, get good enough to beat Shredder and  his  army of fuckwits in two weeks?” Raph says, and Leo throws up her hands. 

“ YES!” s he snaps, and then there’s- silence. Heavy, dampening silence. Raph’s chest is heaving in quick, baby-rabbit breaths; he’s staring at Leo, staring, staring, staring, and there’s- vitriol there, genuine, bottom of the barrel vitriol flashing up behind his eyes as his face freezes in its twisted-up snarl, a snapshot moment of perfect, absolute stillness. Not a sound, not a twitch, not a single hair out of place. A complete, encompassing plateau, down to the letter; a plastic sheen settled down across the world, and her brothers have gone fake and flat around her in turn, in turn, in nice and easy turn, curling at their edges, cutout shapes pasted to a paper-doll world. 

Fine. Fine. Okay. Fine. 

There’s another moment of this, of picture-perfect silence, Mikey in the corner with his head tilted birdlike to his shoulder and Donnie with the heel of his hand caught tight between his teeth and then Raph, Raph, Raph still there, still breathing, still snarling like a green-eyed monste-

No, no, no. There are some lines that shouldn’t be crossed and some things that shouldn’t be said, she knows, she knows, Leo knows even as she grows very, very tired, very, very quickly; head gone heavy, limbs gone heavy, mind gone soft and lullaby-sweet as her body does its damndest to get her up and ow. Up and out. Ow, ow, ow. Shit. 

“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” Raph snorts a moment later, barki- breaking the silence. “I’ve gotta go feed Spike. Don’t fucking bother me.”

He pushes back. Pushes away. goes to leave. Stops a moment by Mikey, face crumpling into a scowl as he looks at his arm and Mikey blinks up at him, grinning despite himself and obviously about to make some sort of mistimed joke, but before he has the chance Raph just flicks lightly at his forehead then turns and stomps on. Off. Oh no, oh no. 

Ugh.

Anyways. Anyways, anyways, anyways. Raph stomps off, and in his wake there’s silence. Soft, bitter silence. It’s always strange, in those moments right after. In the after, it’s always strange. Never ever feels as good as she was hoping it would, never feels… clear, never feels not-cloudy, never feels stable, never feels right; and now she’s stari- standing there, all alone for all that Donnie and Mikey are there too, and she’s staring there and she’s thinking: not much of anything at all, because she’s thinking that she’d much rather be anywhere other than here, and ugh . Ugh, ugh, ugh . 

Ugh.

Leo shifts slightly in place. Slips her arms down around her waist, rocks lightly on her heels. Watches in terse, shoulder-tensed silence as Donnie shakes his head, mutters something under his breath- only complimentary, Leo’s sure- before turning back to Mikey, awkward-angled smile plastered across his face. Mikey grins back in nice and easy turn and the two of them fall back into rhythm with each other as easy as anything, neat along the wavelength, and Leo… feels a little strange. Feels a little odd. Lets her gaze fall back to the wayside, lets the two of them melt into the background as all that fuzz from earlier comes crowding back into her head, melding down soft and sweet against the curve of her shell. 

Fuzz, static, soft, sweet. The curve of her shell, the curve of the world. The weight of the world in the curve of her shoulders, in the cradle of her arms. Her stomach rebelling, strong and sharp and heavy as a rock because you see. You see, you see, you see. You see. 

If Raph is… not wrong. Worse than that, if Raph is right. If Leo’s own lapses are right. Her split-second doubts. Those moments where she looks at his father and finds that for all that she is and all that she tells herself, she’s not quite sure she likes this man that she’s sharing space with. If, even worse, she looks into herself and her actions and her brothers’ actions and their nerves, their neuroses, the spatter of hives spread across Mikey’s arms, if she looks and she sees and she extrapolates, slowly, carefully, bit by bit, that though she might trust her father she does not feel particularly safe with him: 

Well then, what exactly is she- fifteen, picture perfect, so tired she feels just about dead with it- supposed to do about it? Where is she supposed to go? Who is she supposed to tell? What if someone gets hurt? Someone is going to get hurt, you know. She needs to do something. Captain Ryan says to hold your head high, because nobody’s going to hold your hand. Captain Ryan says to recycle. Captain Ryan says to use your inside voice. Captain Ryan says to always brush your teeth at night or else the monster under the bed is going to eat you whole, eat you alive, eat you and your brothers and your friends and your father and everything you’ve ever known and everything you’ve ever loved, everything down to the very last drop, and god, god, oh god, someone is going to get hurt . 

…god, oh dog. What is she supposed to do?