Notes: This takes place in the IDW comic book continuity, so here's some details if you haven't read the comics yet. In this continuity, Raphael was separated from Splinter and the other three Turtles during the mutation process — they ended up in the sewer together, while he was left on the surface with no name, no memories, and no idea who or what he was.

So he was homeless for the next year, while his three brothers were constantly searching for him. Eventually Raph meets, defends and befriends Casey Jones, and his brothers in turn rescue him from a mutant cat who tries to shoot him in the head. They all head back to their sewer home, with Raphael now knowing his name and origin. That brings us to the present…


The first thing he heard when he woke was the sound of water dripping on concrete.

It had all been a dream after all.

His stomach clenched tightly at the thought, and he kept his eyes pressed shut for the moment. It had been such a good dream that he didn't want it to end, even though he now knew it hadn't been real. It had started out as a nightmare — a scraggly, one-eyed cat and his gang beating the crap out of him — but then it had turned into the best dream he could ever remember having.

I must be under the overpass again, he thought miserably. It's probably raining outside…

A hard lump rose in his throat, but he forced it back down before it could bring tears to his eyes. He only allowed himself the luxury of tears when the loneliness, the hunger, the cold became too much to bear. Disappointment wasn't a good enough reason… not on the streets…

"Raphael?"

His eyes snapped open before he could stop himself. He found himself staring up into a pair of dark eyes in a broad green face. It was almost like looking in a mirror. The only difference was that the person looking at him was wearing a narrow bright red mask stretched across the upper half of his face, save for the eyeholes.

"Sorry," the other turtle said, looking slightly abashed. "You looked like you were in pain for a moment there. I thought you might be having a nightmare."

"I — no, I'm fine," Raphael said awkwardly, scrambling off of the thin mattress he was lying on.

"Are you sure? It's okay if you want to sleep in some more…"

"No, I'm awake now… er…" Raphael stared awkwardly at the other turtle, racking his brain for the names they had given him the night before. Which one was he again?

"Leonardo," the other turtle supplied, apparently sensing his dilemma. "You'll figure out what names go with whom."

Raphael hoped so. He was still getting used to having a name himself — before last night, he hadn't had the faintest idea what he had been called. Or if anyone had ever called him anything, for that matter. It was only when the other three turtles — Donatello, Leonardo and Michelangelo — swooped in to save him from that alleycat's gang that he had heard a name that was uniquely his own.

And they had treated him as if they had known about him all their lives, bringing him back with them to their home and introducing him to their father. Who was a rat. For some strange reason, this didn't seem odd to Raphael — Splinter had greeted him with tears streaming down his furry face, and had folded Raphael into his thin arms. And somehow, it felt right. It felt… normal.

That had seemed to loosen up the other three Turtles, who had swept down on Raphael and embraced him with hugs and clasped hands. He had felt almost giddy. No one in Raphael's life had ever been happy to see him before. The reactions he received just for existing ranged from being called a disgusting freak to screams and cries for help. He wasn't sure how to respond to someone actually being glad he was there.

He followed Leonardo to the area set up as a kitchen, with a rickety stove and a large wooden table. The other two turtles — Donatello and Michelangelo, though he was still sketchy on which was which — were sitting there, chatting quietly between themselves.

And Splinter was sitting on a tatami mat not far away, his grey fur shining in the light of the electric lamps hanging overhead. When he opened his eyes, they immediately went to Raphael, and a strange look went through them. It was if he were overjoyed and saddened at the same time.

"Want some breakfast?" one of the other turtles said, smiling at him. "I kept Michelangelo from finishing the pizza, just in case you wanted some."

"I'll finish it if you don't want it," Michelangelo said, looking hopeful.

Raphael didn't have to be told twice. There were three slices in the box on the table, and he practically swallowed them whole in a matter of seconds. When he was finished, he glanced around, and felt his green face flushing slightly. The others were still watching him intently, as if they were studying his every move.

"You seem pretty hungry," said the turtle who had first spoken — Donatello, Raphael supposed — as he rose from his chair. "Do you want any more?"

"Yes," Raphael said quickly. He added belatedly, "Please."

He looked down at his hands as Donatello began rattling around the kitchen, humming faintly to himself.

"It must have been really hard in the streets, wasn't it?" Leonardo said, sympathy seeping into his voice.

"Yeah, it was… hard," Raphael said. The word didn't seem like enough to cover the way he actually felt, and all the long, cold nights of scrabbling for crumbs, sleeping behind dumpsters and fighting his way past any idiot who wanted to kill him for being what he was.

And now… the whole situation felt vaguely unreal, as if he were going to wake up any minute now and discover that there was no family, no home, nothing but more hunger and cold. He was almost braced for it.

What they didn't know was that he had fantasized about this sort of thing almost every day for the past year, for as long as he could remember. Family. He had seen it in glimpses of others' families, which only made him ache for it more. He had seen them pass him by in the streets, blissfully unaware of the reptile lurking in the shadows and watching them.

That was the reason Casey's no-good dad beating on him had enraged Raphael so much. That wasn't how families were supposed to be.

Every day, he had daydreamed about turning a corner and finding himself facing people like himself, people who would recognize him as being someone they knew and loved, someone they wanted to bring home and care for. They would take him off the streets, and he would never be alone again. There had been days when his heart ached for that dream to happen, but the cold, uncaring world around him had been just the same as always.

So it didn't seem entirely real when his fantasy had come true.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when Donatello placed a plate in front of him, piled high with fluffy scrambled eggs and a few strips of bacon, and waited expectantly.

Raphael stared at the plate, feeling a sudden wrench in his chest. It was the only time in his life someone had fixed food just for him.

"What's wrong?" Donatello said, uncrossing his arms. "You don't like eggs? I can fix you something else if you'd like—"

"No, no, I like eggs," Raphael said quickly. "I just — th-thank you for this."

He began eating eagerly, both out of his lasting hunger and out of a desire to not offend Donatello. He could feel the other three Turtles watching him unobtrusively, trying not to stare but seemingly fascinated by what he was doing.

When at last Raphael put down his plate, it was immediately snatched up by Donatello and taken to the sink. Leonardo stood up from the chair he had been straddling, and smiled. "Well, bro, it's time for us to start practicing for the day. Do you want to come watch?"

"I—I guess so," Raphael said.

"Good. Come right this way."