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The first time Raphael cusses someone out, it’s because of Donatello.
Which, admittedly, sounds bad. It’s not even his fault that he does it, not really. Donnie just happens to be the catalyst for it all, Raph doesn’t cuss him out. His ire is reserved for someone else entirely.
Normally, Raph’s anger isn’t necessarily vindictive. His outbursts don’t come from a place of rage or hatred- they come from fear. When Leo tries a new skateboarding trick that’s too hard for him, when Mikey wanders off again, or when Donnie forgets to eat for too long, the instant response from Raph is well-intentioned yelling. Splinter says it comes from a good place, a place of protectiveness, but every outburst leaves the snapper crying from regret. His fear generates fear in others, and he never wants to make his brothers scared. The snapper can’t help but feel like he’s hardly good at being protective if all that comes of it is apologies and movie nights.
If protective is his natural state, overprotective is something he’s never been. He can only assume how explosive that would be.
He would soon find out on one fateful, mundane winter day. The sky falls in big flakes, melting immediately when they hit the concrete. It’s not yet cold enough to stick, which means it’s not yet cold enough for Splinter to get upset with the four mutant turtles when they go topside. Despite the snow being mushy, the air being choked with smog, and the streets lined with people, it’s the perfect kind of winter weather for the family.
Raph ducks as Leo throws a snowball at his face, briefly wondering how in the world his little brother managed to scrounge up such a weapon with the pitiful materials the weather provides. His pondering is cut short as Mikey tackles him from the side and sends them both into a convenient pile of cardboard.
“Ha!” Leo crows, flapping the leftover slush clean off his hands. “I’m the last one standing! Looks like I’m the snow champ of today!”
“I helped!” Mikey says, smiling so widely that Raph can’t find it within himself to be upset as he shoves his littlest brother off him.
Leo nods sagely. “Yup. It was a team effort.” He pauses, considering. “It was mostly me, though.”
“Are you all done?” Donnie asks from where he sits in the alley, curled up in an oversized jacket. “We should’ve been back an hour ago.”
“You worry too much, Dee!” Leo replies easily. “It hasn’t been that long. Dad probably hasn’t even noticed.”
“An hour and twenty three minutes,” Donnie says, looking at his watch.
Raph pauses as he picks Mikey up. Leo isn’t wrong with his assessment; in all likelihood, their father has lost himself in Lou Jitsu reruns again. It isn’t uncommon for the brothers to return home only to find Splinter in his recliner, eyes glazed over and barely responsive when they pester him. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that he had already forgotten they had left.
But over an hour late… even if Splinter hasn’t noticed their absence, the weather itself might drive them back home. Already, the smog filled skies darken, the temperature dropping. Raph might not be the smartest of his brothers, but he knows not to mess with the cold as a turtle mutant.
“No, Donnie’s right,” Raph says, putting as much responsibility into his nine year old voice as possible. “We should head back.”
Leo predictably groans in response. “Ugh, why do you always have to be so boring?”
“Wh- Raph’s not boring!” The snapper protests.
“Practicing physical safety is exciting,” Donnie says, his voice so monotone that Raph can’t tell if he’s making a joke or not.
“Plus, there’s hot cocoa in the lair!” Mikey says from where he now perches on Raph’s shell. “You can’t get it from here.” He points to a nearby dumpster.
The bribery works, and Leo’s face falls from genuine annoyance to dramatized grief.
“I can’t believe you would all betray me like this!” He says, swooning dramatically against Donnie who instantly shoves him off and into a pile of snow.
“Suffer,” Donnie says flatly. Leo shrieks in offense and Raph winces at the volume. He doesn’t miss how Donnie stiffens at the sound.
Ah. Another reason to get back home quickly. The softshell’s meltdowns have gotten less frequent in recent times, as Splinter has consulted the internet and stopped referring to them as “tantrums”, but they’re still a distinct possibility. With the amount of overwhelming sensory input in addition to the stress of not sticking to the rules, Donnie must quickly be reaching his limit.
Raph picks Leo up by the back of his shell, effectively separating him from Donnie. “C’mon guys, let’s go home.”
Luckily, his brothers (mostly Leo) comply with little complaining. The four of them make the short trek back to the entrance to the sewers. Raph holds up the manhole for the other two (Mikey insists on a piggyback ride) and descends last, his landing significantly louder than the others.
Raph drags Leo by the hand and carries Mikey, not daring to touch Donnie, who looks two seconds away from biting him just by being in his presence. The walk back is relatively quiet, and the four mutants reach their makeshift home in no time.
Donnie makes a beeline for his bedroom, pulling the curtain closed behind him with excessive force as if he wishes it was a door to slam. Mikey hops off Raph’s shell and drags the remaining three brothers to the kitchen.
“Hot cocoa time!” Mikey cheers, opening the cabinets loudly. Leo grabs several mugs, managing to not drop any.
“What’ve you got for us today, Chef Angelo?” Leo says, setting the mugs down and excitedly tapping his hands against the counter.
“You’re just gonna have to wait and see!” Mikey sings. The meager ingredients he pulls out implies plain old regular hot chocolate.
“Sounds good, little man,” Raph says, sitting down at the kitchen island. Mikey glares at him for the nickname. “Big man?” Mikey shakes his head. “Chef?” That earns him a pleased nod as the artist gets to work.
Conversation fizzles out until the three turtles are sitting in silence companionably. Raph blows on his hot cocoa and pretends not to notice when Mikey takes the most marshmallows. Leo makes unnecessary slurping noises as he finishes his drink in record time. The trio settle in for the evening as Mikey goes to make a drink for Donnie as well.
Splinter walks into the room, quiet as always. He silently makes his way over to the coffee maker. Leo falls off his chair with a shriek when he comes into his eyeline.
“Dad! Make some noise when you’re coming into a room!”
“Oh, sorry Blue,” Splinter murmurs absently. His slumped posture and glazed eyes tell Raph he’s in one of his “moods” again. The kind where he walks around like a zombie and has to be reminded to eat. The snapper has gotten used to taking care of him in such a state, but his heart still sinks all the same. Just because he’s good at supporting his father doesn’t mean he wants to.
The thought makes him feel guilty and he turns his attention away from it. Raph focuses back in just as Splinter finishes making his coffee in the smallest, least cracked mug they have.
He takes a sip lifelessly. “Where is Purple?”
“He’s in his room,” Raph says before Mikey can jump in. “He’s pretty tired.”
Splinter nods, his gaze sharpening a bit as the caffeine kicks in. “Ah. I need to talk to him about the T.V. again.”
Leo and Mikey freeze. Raph doesn’t have to ask to know what they’re thinking: Donnie can’t handle talking right now. The softshell is always reclusive after venturing out beyond the lair, and given how he had closed the “door” to his room, it was best to leave him alone.
His brothers are well aware of this, and do their best not to bother him (too much), but Splinter hasn’t seemed to realize this particular boundary yet. Given the way Leo and Mikey stay silent and avoid looking at either Raph or Splinter, they aren’t going to be the ones to put their foot down.
Fine. Time to play peacemaker. “I… don’t think that’s a good idea, Dad,” the snapper says carefully. “He’s really tired.”
Splinter scoffs. The sheer dismissiveness of the noise startles Raph. Their dad isn’t perfect but he’s not… mean.
“Hmm.” He takes another sip of his drink. Leo’s hands start tapping on the counter nervously.
“Dad, please ,” Raph stresses. “Just leave him alone right now.”
“I probably won’t see him anyway,” Splinter says, downing the rest of his coffee in one go. He sets the mug down in the cluttered sink and shuffles off to the laundry room.
That’s… not a promise to leave the softshell alone, but the tension leaves the room as the rat does. Leo’s tapping stops and Mikey lets out an exaggerated sigh.
Raph sighs as well, taking one last sip of his now lukewarm drink. It’s nearing dinner time, and the snapper is too busy mulling over the family’s options to be dealing with any potential drama. They’ve already had pizza twice this week, and it’s only Wednesday. Hopefully Splinter can avoid Donnie’s wrath until after dinner at the very least.
As if the universe wants to prove Raph wrong, several minutes later, the telltale sound of Splinter raising his voice in irritation floats from down the hallway. Mikey pauses from where he and Leo are washing the dishes to listen in.
Raph considers telling his brother off for being rude, but finds himself straining to hear the altercation as well. Whatever is happening doesn’t last long or get loud enough to make out words before Raph spots Donnie sprinting away from the laundry room in tears.
The three turtles wait with bated breath, but Splinter doesn’t chase after him. The telltale swish of Donnie’s curtain closing comes and goes without their father appearing.
Leo loudly puts his freshly dried mug down in the cabinet. Mikey and Raph wince.
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all.
“Should we check on Donnie?” Mikey asks, wringing his hands nervously.
“No,” Raph says, instinctively latching onto the task. “I can do it. We shouldn’t all bother him at once.”
Leo nods decisively, seemingly content to let his older brother deal with it. Mikey pouts for a second, but it doesn’t last when Raph gently pats him on the head on his way out of the kitchen.
Donnie’s room is the furthest from the kitchen, a fact that has never mattered before but currently presents Raphael with a walk long enough to start worrying. He doesn’t want to deal with anything tonight (just the thought makes him feel guilty, how selfish) but if Splinter pushed Donnie to talk when he wasn’t ready, Raph would have to deal with the fallout. Some tiny, vindictive part of him seethes at this, makes his steps just a little bit louder as he approaches his little brother’s room. He shouldn’t have to be the one dealing with this.
When he opens the curtain door, any ideas about should and should-nots vanish instantly. Donnie is curled up in a ball on his bed, wheezing out sobs that shake his tiny body as he rocks back and forth. His hands are curled up into fists, pressed solidly against his head and occasionally delivering a hit to his own temple.
“Oh, buddy ,” Raph says, rushing in and pulling the softshell into his lap immediately. Donnie cries out, weakly smacking at Raph, who gently holds his wrists in turn.
“He-Dad-“ Donnie cuts himself off with another wail, hitting his head against Raph’s chest, who can almost feel his heart breaking in time with the strikes.
Raph chooses to hold Donnie closer, smushing him to his plastron so he can’t hit his own head anymore. Donnie predictably lets out a hiss, tensing at the embrace, but slowly his rocking fades until he lays limp against his big brother, sniffling quietly.
Normally, Raph wouldn’t have held his genius brother in such a state, but his weighted blanket is in the wash, and the idea of leaving Donnie alone while he goes to get it leaves a pit in his stomach. It seems to have been the right move. The softshell is no longer moving save for a small trembling that moves Raph like an earthquake.
Tears rush unbidden to Raph’s eyes and he stubbornly blinks them away. Why should he cry? If it were Mikey, that would make sense. He has always been the most empathetic of the boys, and he ends up crying most times he tries to comfort someone. If Mikey were in his shoes, he would surely be sobbing.
Leo might cry too. The slider cries the least of all of them, preferring to laugh things off, but Donnie’s meltdowns always got to him. His attempts at helping usually end with screaming matches and bitter, frustrated tears.
But Raph? He shouldn’t be crying. He’s the oldest, the biggest, the strongest . If he can’t be a rock to his brothers, he’s doing something wrong. So he clenches his jaw, focusing on the pain of his snaggletooth puncturing his lip to keep back the waterworks.
It’s not about him.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Raph says, breaking the silence.
Donnie makes an ugly wet sound. “‘S stupid,” he mumbles.
“S’not stupid if you’re hurting like this,” Raph replies instinctively.
Donnie doesn’t reply right away. The snapper doesn’t push, just holds him even as his leg starts to fall asleep under his little brother’s weight.
“I… went to go get my-my blanket.” Donnie hesitantly says, still not looking Raph in the face. “Dad stopped me. Said he wanted to talk.”
He sniffs loudly and Raph takes to gently rocking him.
“He-I was already feeling bad, and he started talking to me, and-and I told him I didn’t want to talk but he insisted-”
Raph squeezes him tighter, a sinking feeling descending into his stomach.
“And I sta-started crying ‘cause I couldn’t speak but he wanted me to and he-“ Donnie takes a shuddering breath, “he said he’d come back when- when I was done ‘being dramatic’.”
He says the last part in one breath like Raph won’t hear it if he says it fast enough. Like he won’t hear it either. Like it didn’t happen if he pretends it didn’t.
But it did. Dad had messed up again, and Donnie was crying again. Not just crying, Donnie had a full meltdown. As a direct result of Dad.
Donnie makes a noise like a squeaky toy, and Raph is suddenly aware that his grip has escalated beyond a comforting, grounding weight, and now more closely resembles a headlock. He eases up instantly, guilt rolling through his veins.
“Okay,” he says weakly. Donnie doesn’t look at him, finding the floor suddenly much more fascinating.
Raph steels himself and tries again. “That’s… he shouldn’t have done that. That was messed up.”
Donnie gives a little shrug. Alright, looks like an emotional confrontation is out of the question. “Do you want me to get your blanket?”
The softshell looks up at Raph. “Dad’s probably still out there.”
It’s not a no, and Raph knows his brother well enough to read between the lines. Donnie wants his blanket but isn’t willing to ask for it. Warning him about their father gives Raph implicit permission. “I can handle him,” Raph says in his best big brother voice, taking Donnie off his lap and depositing him gently on the floor.
Donnie gives him a skeptical look, but stays where he is. Raph gives him his mightiest attempt at a reassuring smile before walking back out into the hallway.
The journey to the laundry room is shortened by his quick pace. Raph creaks the door open, taking note of the pile of towels he could’ve sworn he had told Leo to fold before turning and seeing Splinter in the chair by the old, rusted sink.
Raph freezes in the doorway. Splinter seems to be sleeping, his head lolled backwards in a position that will no doubt give him a sore neck he will complain about later. A spark of anger ignites in Raph’s stomach at the sight. How can he be asleep after upsetting his son like he did?
His next steps into the room are louder than anticipated. Splinter stirs from where he sits, looking up with tired eyes. “Red, have you seen Purple?”
Raphael staunchly ignores his father, hurrying to grab the blanket from the dryer. He shifts it into a manageable armful and turns back around to go to Donnie’s room. His heart is beating so fast it hurts.
Splinter stays in his seat, but turns towards his eldest son blearily. “Red?”
“No!” Raph’s chest feels like it’s about to burst, filled to the brim with an anger that shakes his body from the inside out. His little hands are clenched around Donnie’s blanket so hard his claws threaten to tear it.
Splinter blinks, some of the fog clearing briefly behind his eyes. “My son, what-“
“No!” Raph yells again, hot, angry tears spilling from his eyes. “No, you don’t get to care about Donnie! You’re the one that made him cry! And then you made fun of him for it!”
Splinter rises fully from his seat, losing a good foot of height in the process. “Raphael,” he says. “Calm down.”
Calm down? Calm down ?! How can his father stand there and demand Raph be calm? His little brother is hurting, crying because of Splinter!
A loud thud breaks his inner monologue. Raph’s hand shakes from where it was slammed against the wall. He doesn’t have time to realize that his claws have punctured the blanket before he’s yelling.
“ Stop it! ” Splinter takes a full step back at the outburst. “You can’t tell me to calm down! You don’t get to tell Donnie that either! Not when it’s your fault! ”
Splinter doesn’t look like he’ll yell back, too shocked to speak, but Raph keeps going. “It’s your fault he’s crying! It’s your fault he’s upset! Just- just-“
And suddenly his words aren’t enough as they are. They can’t communicate the boiling heat in his chest that threatens to burst out in a violent rage. They can’t describe how angry, how scared he is for his little brother. His vocabulary, while never the most extensive, is simply not enough. Raph yells through gritted teeth in frustration, before summoning words he’d never spoken before, only heard on movies he wasn’t technically allowed to watch.
“Fuck off!”
The hallway falls dead silent. Raph breathes rapidly, in time with his pounding heart as he stares at his father with wild eyes. Splinter stares back, seemingly rooted to the spot.
A small squeak interrupts both of their shocked silence. Raph turns to see Leo and Mikey in the doorway to the kitchen, Leo’s hand over the youngest’s mouth. Mikey has tears in his eyes, but Leo looks awestruck.
“Ah, boys…” Splinter says nervously, seemingly stuck between reprimanding Raph and dealing with the younger children. Raph takes advantage of his indecision and sprints down the hall, even as he hears his father call after him.
He races back to Donnie’s room like a stampeding elephant, heart pounding in his throat and tears streaming down his face. What was he thinking?! He’s never yelled at Splinter before, not in such a genuine way, much less with that kind of language. He rips open the curtain to Donnie’s room and stumbles inside.
Donnie looks up from where he sits on the floor, frowning. “Why are you crying?” He asks bluntly.
Raph opens and closes his mouth a few times like a fish out of water, before dropping the blanket on Donnie’s head to avoid answering. Donnie makes an indignant noise, but immediately settles into the weight of it.
The snapper sits down on the floor, furiously wiping his tears away. What is wrong with him? Can’t he go one day without blowing up at somebody? Raph had thought he was getting better, thought that his knitting was paying off, but now? He hasn’t just regressed, he’s gotten worse.
He’s never sworn at somebody before. In fact, he’s usually the one to regulate language in the lair. Donnie and Leo seem to delight in pushing the limits, seeing how much they could get away with saying ‘dam’ because ‘it’s not swearing, Raphie, it’s like the beavers!’ Mikey usually just repeats whatever foul language the twins happen to use around him.
And now Raph has them all beat, by not only using the f-word, but by using it at their father. Tears spring anew in his eyes and Raph growls in frustration. The Donnie-shaped lump under the weighted blanket shifts like he’s considering coming out. Raph quiets himself instantly. Donnie shouldn’t have to deal with him like this.
Not for the first time, Raph wishes he wasn’t the oldest. He wishes for comfort, for assurance, for a hug that doesn’t end in him engulfing the other party. He wishes he could want things without feeling guilty for it.
Luckily, his pity party doesn’t last much longer. “Knock knock!” Comes a familiar voice just beyond the curtain, pitched quieter than the normal enthusiasm Leo has. “Special delivery!”
Raph looks at Donnie, who nods in permission. The snapper sighs, and holds the curtain in for the two youngest brothers to come in.
They do so in a flash, Mikey nearly spilling the hot chocolate he brought for Donnie. Leo rights him on instinct, then grabs the drink and shoves it into his twin’s hands.
“You are healed,” Leo says matter-of-factly before rounding on Raph. “And you… are so cool!”
“Why?” Donnie says, holding his drink but not taking a sip.
“He swore at Dad!” Leo yells excitedly before Raph slaps a hand over his mouth.
“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Raph assures Donnie, whose eyes have become the size of dinner plates in awe.
Mikey shakes his head sagely, climbing into Donnie’s lap. “Nuh-uh! It was so a big deal. Raphie told Dad to fuck off!” Donnie audibly gasps at that.
A sound like a deflating balloon leaves Raph’s mouth. “Mikey!”
“Yeah! He said fuck!” Leo shrieks in delight, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Leo!”
Donnie giggles. Leo bounces faster at the noise, grin growing wider. “No way is Dad gonna come mess with you now, Dee!”
“If he does, we’re here,” Raph says in a valiant attempt to reign in the conversation.
“Yeah! We can all tell him to fuck off!”
“Leo!” Raph explodes again. Donnie laughs outright at that, and the snapper is too pleased seeing him doing better to wrangle his other brothers in line. Leo and Mikey erupt into laughter as well, and the sound is so contagious that the oldest relents and joins as well.
The four settle in for the night, Raph’s worries not forgotten but rather subdued. He pushes them back into the recesses of his mind to unpack another day. Tonight isn’t about him. When is it ever? a bitter voice sneers in his head. He pushes it back too.
Now isn’t the time for that. Now is the time for helping Donnie, for corralling Leo and Mikey, for hot chocolate and pillow forts. Splinter doesn’t come by, and Raph can’t decide if he’s happy or stressed that their inevitable conversation about his attitude is delayed. When Mikey hands him an entire bag of marshmallows, he decides to not dwell on it as he prepares to shove a truly obscene amount of concentrated sugar in his mouth. Leo cheers him on, raising the mood around him through sheer enthusiasm. Donnie takes notes on the volume of marshmallows in the snapper’s mouth until it reaches capacity, mischief shining in his now dry eyes. Mikey clings to whoever is closest to him and hums happily, content to just be with his brothers. And Raph does what he can to support the others as he resigns himself to dealing with “fuck off” being the phrase of the week.