A/N: This can be read as a stand-alone story, but it is technically a sequel/sister-fic to When It Counts. I wanted to further expand on what happened in the story by just showing how Raph is coping. Hopefully I did his character justice. Also, there is no dialogue in this fic to keep consistency with When It Counts. I did opt to go with third person instead of first for this fic, however. Set in the 2k12 universe.

Please let me know what you think! I love to hear from people. :)

Disclaimer: Don't own, but oh, the fun I'd have if I did!

Raph slams his fists into the punching bag in a steady rhythm.

One. Two. Onetwothree. One. One. Onetwo.

His anger is at a simmer, barely held in check. He tries not to think, tries only to focus on the sound of his fists burying into the leather of the bag.

Onetwo. One. Two. Onetwothree. One. One.

He doesn't want to remember the events of a few nights prior. Doesn't want to see the pain in his baby brother's eyes. He doesn't want to see any of it. Because he failed. The severity of Michelangelo's injuries are at a level that Raph believes should be reserved for him and him alone. His brothers' should never have to bear such pain because he should be good enough. He should be good enough to bear those wounds in their stead. But he failed. He failed and his little brother might only have limited use of his hands for the rest of his life. If he's lucky.

One. Two. Onetwothree. One. One. Oneoneoneoneoneone.

The bag is ripped off its chain under the sudden onslaught. As it hits the ground, Raphael roars, hands clenched so tight that he feels like his fingers might break. But he doesn't care. He relishes in the pain. It should have been his in the first place.

Panting, he looks up when he hears footsteps. Concerned dark blue eyes meet his green. Leo understands. He understands the feeling of absolute frustration. Of failure. Though they may fight, the two turtles understand one another completely. They are protectors. That is what they must be for their family. But this time they weren't good enough and their youngest suffered because of it.

There is pride there, though, buried underneath dozens of other emotions. How could there not be, when Michelangelo threw himself so thoroughly into the battle. The level of focus, the sheer skill, it was breathtaking. Splinter had often said that Michelangelo would be a deadly force if he ever found the calm within to help him focus. And that night he'd found it. He'd destroyed his hands to save his brothers. He hadn't hesitated for a second. He put his family first without thinking of the consequences to himself and they are all alive because of it. So while there is shame and anger for themselves, there is immeasurable pride and love for their youngest brother.

Leo approaches, steps calculated and tense. He expects Raph to throw a punch, to lash out in his anger. And that's exactly what happens. The red-banded turtle hits him hard, causing the oldest to slide back a couple feet. There's no confusion in his eyes,only understanding. He knows Raph needs this. He needs something to hit, something that will fight back. Otherwise, he may just drown in his anger.

So the two of them go at it, throwing punches and kicks at one another with such ferocity that if either of them let's up, someone will end up seriously injured. Bouts like this are rare, usually occurring only when Raphael has a momentary lapse in judgement and lets his anger consume him. But not this time. His anger is at the boiling point, but he keeps himself in check. Images of the injuries Michelangelo suffered dance through his mind, preventing him from losing himself. He keeps seeing them, his brother's hands. They're torn all the way through, up from his palm to between his fingers. And the blood. There was so much blood. He feels like he should snap, knows Leo is expecting it. It would be so easy, to get lost in the fog of his anger. Doing so would bring more pain to their small family, however. He is stronger than Leo and his strength is magnified when he lets himself go. He becomes like a raging bull and it's only when the fog lifts that he is able to see the destruction that he has wrought. He refuses to let that happen. Not now when his family needs him in a sound frame of mind.

He strikes out with his leg, catching his brother in the face. There's a half-second of hesitation when he thinks he should stop, but Leo recovers before the thought can process. The fight turns in the oldest's favor as Raph finds he is being pushed back. No one can move like Leo. Every step, every twitch is calculated. He's like a cat, muscles coiled and tight until he explodes with motion.

Raphael sweeps under his brother's legs, but the other jumps to avoid the motion. He twists his body in the air, landing two kicks to his brother's plastron, driving him back with a grunt. Raph holds up a hand when Leo advances, calling an end to their session.

Both of them are panting, beads of sweat rolling from their brows. The younger turtle watches as Leo grabs a couple of towels from a rack and tosses him one. He catches it, but doesn't move to wipe himself off. He's feeling better after the match, but there's still a tiny ball of guilty anger settling in his stomach. If he's not careful, it'll unfurl itself and take over. He glances up and Leo smiles at him, a soft, sad smile. His older brother steps over to him, places a hand on his shoulder and offers him a light squeeze. Without a word, he excuses himself, leaving Raph on his own once more.

The red-masked turtle feels like crying. It's not something he does. Ever. He just never gets that emotional. But at that moment, he wants to drop to his knees and rage at the world for the unfairness of it all. Michelangelo should never have to suffer in such a way. In any way. They all know that they are roughly the same age, but Mikey is special. He's like light. When things start to get too dark, he's there to brighten up the world. Because of how innocent his spirit is, they can't help but be protective of him.

Raph pats his face with the towel and tosses it into a corner. He thinks about checking on Mikey, but the youngest is so doped up on painkillers that he won't even notice him. Instead, he picks up his punching bag and reattaches it to the chain. He makes sure it's secured before he lets into it again. His anger has ebbed somewhat thanks to Leo and he's thoroughly exhausted, but he can't stop himself. He needs to keep his hands going. This is how he deals with stress. Donnie has his gadgets, Leo has meditation, Mikey has video games, and Raph has his punching bag.

He decides he'll visit Mikey in a little. He can feel his anger returning, replacing his exhaustion with its all-consuming fire. He needs to calm himself, then he'll spend some time with his baby brother. He just needs to work through it.

One. One. Two. Onetwothree. One. One. Onetwo.