A/N: This is the second major arc in the GaVG 'verse, after "Slant, Slip, Slope". In the internal chronology, it takes place about two weeks after "Interlude: Homecoming" and "Their Hungry Thirsty Roots".
March 5th.
Hours and hours stuck in bed means April has plenty of time to imagine her return to the lair. She'd walk in under her own power, slowly but with confidence, and the brothers would cheer and hug her - carefully, because she'd still be healing - and then settle her into her usual spot on the couch. Mikey would sling a careless arm around her shoulders - but not too careless, because he'd somehow manage to avoid hitting the bandage she still has to wear. Then Leo would take his place in front of the TV, in control of the remote, and Raph would grimace and shove a beanbag chair under her legs, ignoring her when she tries to thank him.
Everything would be the same. Comforting, loud, dim, and warm.
No, it wouldn't, she thinks, and puts her phone on the table next to her bed. As hard as she tries to imagine it, Donnie isn't there in her head. No matter how long she spends constructing the scene, he refuses to appear.
Twenty-four days of silence. Twenty-four days of staring at her phone until Casey threatens to take it away, and then immediately folds when she curls around herself, eyes closed.
You're being pathetic, April, whispers a cold voice in the back of her head. He's made himself clear. Back off.
Fuck off, April tells the voice, and shuts off the lamp next to her bed. Day Twenty-Five starts in less than an hour. Maybe things will change then.
Raph swings up to the roof, already in a foul mood because he forgot his jacket and hat again, a mood that plummets straight to rock-bottom when he sees Casey leaning against a vent shaft. Casey doesn't have his mask on, or his war paint, but the scowl etched into his features is visible from twenty feet away, even in the dark.
"Yo," Raph calls softly. "You doing okay, man?"
Casey glances up and shrugs, then looks back down at his feet. "'M good," he replies, and the lie's so obvious that Raph flinches.
He'd hoped they could put this off a little longer — until Mikey, or even better, Leo — fearless leader and all that — pulled their dicks out of their asses and talked to Donnie. They barely see Donnie these days, and when they do, he's so checked out that half the time he doesn't notice when someone calls him. He still trains, and he's always on, but he's never there.
Raph had meant to say something to Donnie that first morning. But letting Donnie sleep seemed like a good idea, and then getting breakfast into Donnie seemed more important than talking, and then Donnie disappeared.
And kept disappearing.
"You don't look so good," says Raph, trying to make it a joke, trying to buy a little more time, but that's all it takes for Casey to shove off the vent and stalk into his space.
He shoves Raph right in the plastron, not hard enough to do more than rock Raph back on his heels, but now the scowl is tight, unfamiliar rage.
"Your fuckin' brother —" Casey starts, and cuts himself off. He swallows hard and gives himself a shake. "Been almost two weeks, Raph," he says, in a low snarl. "Where is he?"
"How should I know?" Raph fists his hands at his sides and tries to remember to breathe. A river over stone. "I'm not Leo, I don't keep tabs on him."
"You said you'd talk to him!" Casey shouts. His voice clangs over the rooftops, but he doesn't notice. He stares at Raph, breathing hard.
Oh shit, thinks Raph. "What happened?" he demands. "What the hell did April do?"
"She can't do anything, man." Casey backs up a few inches, and Raph hates himself for feeling grateful. It's easier to breathe this way, but it just adds to the general you're a coward, you're a baby chorus running through his head.
He and his brothers don't have personalities. They have issues in the shape of personalities.
"She sits around and I have to listen to her just fuckin' sigh and it's killin' me." Casey shudders with a sigh of his own, and Raph's guilt is a heavy, greasy knot in his stomach. Of course it's killing Casey. You do not fuck with April or Casey while the other one is still breathing.
"I texted him, I called him — you know April called him like, twenty times and he hasn't returned her calls? I thought he gave a shit!" Casey turns away, like he's so disgusted with one brother that he can't look at any of them. Raph reaches out for his arm, knowing he needs to salvage this but without an idea of how, but Casey steers away, out of his grasp.
"We gotta be in this together, Raph," Casey says to the skyline. "Donnie ain't pulling his weight. Right now, I don't think he's got my back in a fight."
"Dude," says Raph, offended on Donnie's behalf even as he's furious with him, because what Casey just said is wrong, Donnie would never leave someone out in the cold. He'd never leave someone alone when they needed help.
No, thinks Raph. He never had. Times have changed.
"You gonna try and tell me different? Because I got an answer to that." Casey turns around. "Red hair, freckles, spent two weeks in the hospital —"
Now it's Raph's turn to push into Casey's space and shove him. "You think it was easy for any of us? We were all there! Now we don't even know what's coming! We've been looking and we can't find anything!"
Casey slaps his hand away. "So it's okay to let Donnie dick around? You gotta get him in shape, Raph, or we ain't got a chance." He picks up his bat and points it at Raph. "You got tonight, man, or I find him, and we ain't gonna be havin' a conversation."
If the first rule of Casey Jones is don't fuck with April, then Raph's first rule is don't fuck with family. Same thing, in the end, but this is the first time he's found himself on the opposite side from Casey.
And it hurts.
Raph's not one for touching, not the way Mikey is, but he steels himself and reaches out, covering Casey's hand for one second. Casey startles, just a little, then lowers his bat, exhaling slowly.
"I don't like this," he says. "We shouldn't be fightin'. Not each other, anyways."
"You started it," Raph points out, not gently, but not unkindly either — the middle ground where he and Casey have always existed. "You won't have to worry about Donnie. I'll take care of it."
"Yeah?" Casey looks up. "You said that before. How do I know you're gonna pull through?"
"I said I'd take care of it," Raph says, and resolutely ignores how he wants to get back up in Casey's face and scream. "I mean it, Case."
Casey holds his eyes for a long time. Then he nods, and gives Raph the first smile either of them have made that night.
"All right, you're gonna take care of it. Call me if you need, you know, back-up." He slides his bat over his shoulder and winks. "But I'm gonna laugh my ass off if you actually do. I mean, if Donnie can kick your ass —"
"Hilarious, Jones." Raph smiles back, the knot in his gut loosening. They're okay. "Maybe I should kick your ass for a warm-up."
"You got better things to do than that," says Casey.
"Yeah." Raph sighs. "Guess I do."
Casey stretches. Raph hears his back cracking as he rolls his neck. "I'm gonna go home. Don't feel like patrollin' tonight."
Raph nods, already feeling his muscles tighten under his shell. He doesn't even know where to start looking for Donnie.
Casey claps his shoulder and squeezes. "One night, man. I mean it. We gotta get the group back in one piece." He hesitates, squeezing again, and nods to the west. "Check the docks," he says, and turns away.
"The docks?" Raph frowns. He doesn't want to go anywhere near there, and he has no idea why Donnie would. Nothing could force Donnie back there.
Casey shrugs. "I dunno, man. Just a hunch. But ain't that where Donnie always starts? The beginning?"
Start at the beginning, Donnie tells himself, for the twentieth night in a row. He looks out over the docks, breathes in, and lets himself drop to the street.
Without Leo there to counsel silence or critique his form, he lands with a graceless thud, and the shock moves up his legs to lodge in his hips, just like it has for the last three weeks. Every night, he comes to the docks, he breathes in the dirty air, and he searches.
In his head, he's mapped out the docks by quadrants, and then sub-divided the quadrants into quarters, then quarters again, on and on and on until he can look at the docks and see the lines dissecting them into tiny squares, six inches to a side. As he moves, methodical, sure, silent, he fills in each square with white in his head, and forgets about it. There isn't time for do-overs, so he has to get it right the first time.
The storm is coming. Under the stink of the water, he can smell it: electric and sour.
Time to move to the next square.
Ah, now this is interesting. We have a tire track, probably from a truck, American model would be my guess, the wear is heavier on the left, so it carried unbalanced loads, which means it might have belonged to one of the smugglers who ran off before —
April's voice swarms through him.
"Oh my god what happened to me, Donnie, what happened?"
Donnie stands up too fast, knees popping, and backs away, hands over his ears.
She's not here. You got her there in time and she's fine, she's at home, she's safe. Now work!
It takes forty-three seconds to get his breathing under control, and that's twenty-eight more than usual. He's getting sloppy. With a shake, Donnie banishes April's voice — all of April, her hands, her hair, the smell of her sweat, her chapped lips her mouth was bloody there was blood on my chest from her mouth —
A tiny prick of cold burns into his neck, and startles him into complete stillness. For a second, his mind stops working, and his hands move on their own power, pulling his bo from its straps and swinging it around to protect his front. His third lid drops over his eyes, just in time for Raph to step into view, the point of his sai still pressed to Donnie's neck.
"Dude," says his brother, in a flat voice, "you're a mess." He lifts his sai away slowly, his eyes locked on Donnie's face. "When was the last time you slept?"
"I don't see how that's any of your business," Donnie snaps. He forces his third lid back into place with a wince and turns away. Raph's appearance made him lose track of what square he was on, and it'll take time, too much precious time, to remember which one. "What do you want?"
Raph takes his time replying, stashing his sai in his belt and folding his arms. His mouth is a tight line, one corner tugged down in what might be a frown. Donnie shakes his head and sheaths his bo.
"Fine. I don't care. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm —" What, exactly, is he doing? He can't remember; his exhaustion hits him like a brick, and his mind is buried in fog. "I'm busy," he finishes, lamely, and turns away.
"The martyr act is getting really old," Raph says. "How long are you gonna keep it up? Another week, maybe two? Or until she stops trying to call you?"
Donnie spins around, teeth bared, but Raph faces him down without a quaver.
"I don't think it'll take much longer," he keeps going, easy and calm. "She's not stupid. Couple more days ought to do it. Then no more calls, no more texts, and then what? She doesn't come by the lair. She doesn't run with us anymore. She'll be gone."
Donnie just glares, fists clenched, snarling, but he doesn't let himself move. Getting him all riled, making him through the first punch, it's what Raph wants. Then the beatdown that follows is completely justified, at least in Raph's eyes, because Donnie started it. Raph just finished it.
He breathes in and tries to hold it, but his lungs ache and the air gusts out of him in a wheeze. Next, Raph will call him ugly, or a creep, or a loser, or any of the other countless insults Donnie's spent his life dodging. He's never quite managed it, but maybe tonight is the night he can turn away, and not give Raph the fight he so obviously wants.
"Is that what you want? April gone?"
Donnie blinks. No, he says silently. Not at all. But I can't face her with nothing but myself.
Raph inhales, hesitating over his words, and Donnie braces himself. His brother is only careful with what he says when he wants it to hurt. It's Raph's way of twisting the knife when it's already buried under your ribs.
"Because you're doing a great job, Donnie. And it's the stupidest thing you've ever done."
Right on schedule. It's rich, really, how Raph calls him an idiot, when Donnie's brain is the one thing he's never had doubts about. Donnie relaxes, and kneels down to brush his fingers over the cold gravel. Is this the square? No, two to the left, that's it.
"It's not just about you two and whatever you've got going on. It's about all of us. Even Casey sees that more than you do."
"Oh, so you're here to remind me of my responsibility to the family?" Donnie doesn't look up. He follows the tire tracks with his gaze, marking off squares in his head. Nothing, nothing, nothing. "I didn't see any of you acting too worried the first time I didn't go on patrol. Am I the only one who gets the guilt trip?"
Raph sighs, harsh in the back of his throat. Donnie can almost hear him rolling his eyes. "You're the only one who needs it," he says. "The rest of us are all working together."
Donnie shivers. Raph's voice hasn't changed, there's no anger in it, but he's touched a raw nerve. "The rest of you," he says to the ground. "You all do so well without me."
"Are you serious, Donnie?" Raph grabs his shoulder and yanks him up. "Am I actually hearing you say you think we're better without you?"
"Aren't you?" Donnie near-shouts. "All you've done is tell me that I'm weak — oh no, wait, the word you used most is pussy, I'm just a big pussy, aren't I? Right up until you need something fixed, and then it's Donnie please can you just make this work, Donnie why is there a forcefield, Donnie what the hell is going on why don't you know?" Anger flares in his head, his spine, his gut, and it warms him despite the chill breeze slipping between the buildings. He rounds on Raph, jabbing his finger into Raph's plastron. "Fix it, Donnie, you big pussy, fix it!"
He steps back, away from Raph's wide eyes, and throws his arm out behind him, sweeping over the docks. "So that's what I'm doing! I'm fixing it! I'm going to find out what's coming, and then —"
"Dude." Raph grabs his shoulder again, and doesn't let go when Donnie tries to pull away. "Dude, stop, just stop for a second — I'm sorry."
Donnie finally wrenches out of Raph's grip. "Maybe you're right." He sneers. "Maybe you'd all be better off, because I'm obviously doing a terrible job at fixing anything."
"Donnie, are you fucking listening to what you're saying?" Raph reaches for him again, but Donnie slaps his hand away and retreats until he feels the wall at his back.
"Just tell me whatever it is you want me to do and leave. It'll get done. Just go away." He scrubs his mouth with the back of his hand, his anger a metallic tang on his tongue. He's so tired, tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of thinking, but most of all, he's tired of being asked for something under the guise of concern. This isn't about help, or Raph caring. It's a transaction, and any affection on Raph's part is payment for services rendered.
Why Raph is trying to pretend it's anything else is beyond Donnie. He'll fix whatever needs fixing, no matter how Raph asks; his brother doesn't need to act like there's anything in it for Donnie.
Donnie turns away, dusting off his hands. "Spit it out, Raph," he says, and doesn't bother to hide his exhaustion. The sooner Raph leaves, the better. Then he can get back to work.
"No, just listen for a minute, would you? We would be dead without you. Dead." When Donnie scoffs and tries to walk away, Raph pushes him back against the wall and holds him there. Donnie shoves back, already feeling sick and colder than ever. Adrenalin splashes into his bloodstream, ready to take the edge off the blow that's coming, but Raph doesn't hit him.
Raph keeps talking.
"We don't work unless we're a team," he says, inches away from Donnie's face. "What happened was — Jesus, it was awful, Donnie, I get it. I was there."
Donnie pushes him again, heart pounding, because this is not the script. Raph sounds kind, for the second time in the past few weeks, and no, he isn't, Raph isn't kind.
"But you got to listen to me, man. Whatever you're doing out here — hiding, avoiding us, avoiding April — it's not helping. It's not fixing anything. "
"How the hell do you know?" Donnie gasps. Something is cracking in his chest, like ice calving, and he's cold. So cold.
"Because nothing is broken!" For the first time, Raph shouts. Donnie flinches, echoes of old yelling matches that ended in bruises flashing through his head, and Raph relaxes, steadies himself, but doesn't let go of Donnie's shoulder. "She fell. But you — you saved her." He stops, and holds Donnie's gaze. "Again," he adds, and Donnie feels the crack as the wound — not ice, after all — breaks open.
Guilt is a terrible thing to carry around. It's heavy, but it's warm, and after a while it's comfortable. Soon, it's easy to say, I can carry just a little bit more, just put it on top, it's fine, and because guilt is both gregarious and a terrible houseguest, it keeps inviting its friends over until standing up straight is impossible.
Donnie hasn't been able to stand for years. Fix it, Donnie, fix it. His chest burns; guilt was poison in the wound, and now it's leaking away, evaporating. Sublimated, maybe.
It feels like excavating ruins. None of this has ever seen light or fresh air before: the fear, the anger, all the times Donnie hated Raph even as he pitied him, because his brother is just as locked in his self-loathing as Donnie is.
There's truth in that, and comfort. However much he's hurting, however tired he is, Donnie's not alone.
He closes his eyes, and remembers. April's limp body in his arms, the panicked run to the hospital, leaving her on the edge of the emergency room lights. She had clung to him, weak fingers scratching at his arm. She had wanted him to stay.
He wasted time, but not the way he thought.
"I haven't answered her," he says, his voice sounding light-years away, "because I can't tell her I don't know why she couldn't feel anything or that I don't know what's coming. I don't have any answers, Raph. I'm flying blind."
"I know, Donnie." Raph's rough hand squeezes his shoulder. "We all are. But this isn't the way to figure it out. You're just kicking your own ass." A beat. "You're terrible at it, by the way."
A laugh scatters out of Donnie's mouth, too loud, just this side of hysterical, but the dark burn in his chest retreats. It'll take time to ease the rest of it, but now there's fresh air cycling through the rot, and now he can heal. Now he can fix himself.
He lifts his head, and meets Raph's eyes. "Nice tough love talk," he says, because saying thank you to Raph still seems too surreal. Donnie's not quite sure this conversation actually happened.
"I do what I can," says Raph, with a smug little smile, and Donnie smiles back, exhausted. Then Raph opens his mouth again.
"I'm — I'm sorry, Donnie."
Donnie boggles at him, mouth open, because unless his memory is shot, this is the second time Raph's apologized in one night, and just like that morning in the lab, he sounds like he means it.
"And I, uh — if you're gonna look for whatever it is we've got coming, I — I can help."
"Are you okay?" Donnie blurts out, mind racing. "Did you hit your head?"
Raph groans. "I'm not good at this whole play-nice thing," he growls, squeezing Donnie's shoulder a little too roughly.
And that, strangely enough, reassures Donnie more than anything Raph could say. It's still Raph in there, concern and apologies aside. Nothing's healed, and the odds are good little will change on the surface — but they're not alone. Raph's got his back, under the sarcasm and eyerolls.
He's got Raph's, too.
"No," says Donnie, "you're really not."
This time, when he laughs, it's with Raph, and the burn recedes a little more.
"Did you mean it?" he asks, when they're silent. "That it's not broken?" Asking Raph for reassurance. Alert the media, because the end is nigh.
Raph nods. "But it's gonna be, if you don't, you know. April." He lifts his hand and punches Donnie in the arm. He pulls the punch at the last second, just like they do in training, and Donnie's arm only goes numb. "You're lucky I got here first. Casey's ready to stomp your face."
Donnie bites his tongue. There's a price he'll have to pay for the past two weeks, and he's got nothing to show for it.
Raph shoves him before Donnie can start to pick up the guilt he's dropped. "Leave it," he says, eyes flashing a warning. "Leave that shit behind, man. We don't have time for it. Go, fix this, and then we'll get to work."
Donnie swallows, nods, and with one swipe, erases the quadrants from his head. He's going to need a whole new system for working with Raph.
Karai holds her place as the White Boar screams, its mouth red and wet and wild.
The brothers have avoided the first trap.
"Karai, it is your turn," the White Boar pants, when its rage is finally quenched and its robes are red to the knees. "Prepare the warhounds."