Author's Note: This and the next interlude (following the last two interludes right where they left off) were supposed to be one chapter, but that proved rather large… so they shall be two instead. The next normal chap will be written and posted soon… I know I left you all with a cliffhanger. Thankfully there will be some good Mikey action in these interludes as well. Enjoy!

Raphael went home and went straight to bed, without looking at anyone; he was wrong if he thought no one was looking at him. While Mikey and Master Splinter worked on dinner preparations, Donatello was putting a VCR back together, though he hadn't been at it for long. He watched his younger brother closely as he strode by, then waited for Leonardo's appearance, which came a good while afterwards. Leo looked around, as if for Raphael, then sighed, and went towards the dojo. He did not make it that far.

"Leonardo," Master Splinter halted him, "Raphael seems to have slipped into a difficult mood—would you tell him to come down for dinner?"

From the look on Leo's face, it was the last thing he wanted to hear right then, and so Donnie stood up.

"I'll tell him, Master Splinter."

Splinter looked on his bright second oldest with gentler eyes. "Raphael can be hard to handle sometimes, Donatello—you are positive?"

Donnie smiled, but directed his next comment at Leo. "He's my little brother too, you know."

He could feel Leo glaring as he strode towards the bunkroom. Donnie knew he would probably pay for it the next day in practice, but he somehow didn't feel fazed.

The bunkroom was dark; Raphael hadn't made it to his own bunk, and was huddled on top of the blankets in Leo's, facing the wall. He was still, and not breathing evenly enough to be asleep.

"Not hungry?" Donnie asked, a little too knowingly.

Raph looked at him. "Donnie?" Back to the wall. "Yeah. Not hungry."

"You're gonna worry Master Splinter if you don't eat. Would you get sick if you forced yourself right now?"

It was an odd question, and Raph was silent for a moment.

"Why do you think that?"

Donnie took a breath, and sat on Leo's bunk, looking at his brother's shell. "You and Leo got in a fight."

Raphael had never turned around so quickly in his life—his eyes were ablaze. Donnie held up a hand.

"Easy—I wasn't eavesdropping—I couldn't hear what you were fighting about, I just heard shouting. It… it sounded bad."

Raph's head hit the pillow again; he continued looking at the wall, though he was no longer facing it.

"Bad. Bad is an understatement. I'm not hungry." His voice sounded hollow, and simple. His defenses were down—he would have let Donnie sit there, just to have his presence, until he felt a light brush on his arm.

The reaction was so sudden it took both of them by surprise—after half a second Donatello was pinned to the floor, his little brother above him, Raph's face teetering on the edge of madness, pupils squeezed tight even in the dark room, breathing hard, with a fist pulled back as to hit him. They wavered there for a minute.

"Raphi—what's wrong?" Donnie asked, frightened, sure he must have touched a nasty bruise or cut without thinking. "Did you get injured or something?"

Raphael's eyes slowly flickered back to sanity; his breathing slowed, and he lowered his fist, taken aback and confused.

"It… it's Raph. And I'm not hungry."

Donatello left the bunkroom, more disturbed by his strange younger brother than usual—normally Leo dealt with him, and for good reason: Leo knew how. He went towards the dojo.

Leonardo had always been a diligent, studious martial arts devotee, but what Donnie found upon entering the practice room—what he would always find after that day—unsettled him. Perfect kata, a driven, almost manic focus in Leo's eyes—the same movements, doggedly, over and over and over, never different, never changing, deaf to the world. Donnie had to shout to get his attention.

"What, Donnie?" Leo asked, as though he hadn't just been ignoring his sibling for several minutes.

"You coming to dinner?"

Leo frowned. "I'm not hungry."

Donnie didn't allow himself to flinch at his brothers' odd behavior. "There's something wrong with Raph. More than usual, I mean."

Leo's gaze was cold. "Oh? And what's usually wrong with him?"

Donatello crossed his arms. "Other than the fact that he never talks? He goes off by himself, and broods, and the only people he speaks to are Master Splinter once in a while and you. And now he won't even eat, and he just"—Donnie stopped, because Leo's expression hadn't altered.

"There's nothing wrong with Raph, and there never was," Leo denied, his voice strained. "Don't worry—I'll deal with him."

"But"—

"He's my job! My responsibility!" Leo countered, his voice louder. He visibly got control of himself. "I'm sorry, Don… I just had a rough time of it… But leave him to me." He turned back to his katas.

Donatello blinked. "So—he's mad at you for something? You two can be so juvenile sometimes. You always were good at keeping your stupid secrets."

Leo whirled, but his brother was gone. He went back to training, and felt his mind drain of emotion—driving the fire out of himself, purifying the pit of his stomach, cleansing his muscles, working the violence out of his system. To be an empty vessel. To start over.

The next day's training was an unprecedented nightmare. Raph was up and in the dojo before Leo could wake him, avoiding breakfast staunchly; so Leo pulled Mikey and Donnie reluctantly from slumber at the appropriate hour, tried unsuccessfully to get Raphael to acknowledge his presence long enough to instruct him to eat something, gave up, and started warm-ups. Raph did these, almost as though he were not part of the group—from memory, looking glassy-eyed straight ahead, while Mikey passed alarmed looks at Donnie, who shrugged, and Leonardo stared at his brother almost pleadingly. Raphael's behavior would attract Splinter's notice, even if neither of them said a word.

They went through kata next under Leo's eye; Raph's form was far better than normal, as though he were paying closer attention just so Leo wouldn't have to give him notice. He only had to instruct him—from afar—to remember to keep his elbow up, which he did, silently. If Donnie and Mikey didn't think anything very out of the ordinary was happening before, they certainly did now. Leo split them up into sparring groups, pairing Raph with Mikey and Donatello with himself, hoping Raph would get more energetic in response to his jumpy little brother. It was a bad call.

Raphael normally threw the first punch in sparring, brave and enthusiastic, and Mikey was the same way, so normally when they sparred it seemed they got along better than usual. Michelangelo seemed to love being paired against his headstrong sibling and treated it like a game, and Raph responded well to his brother's excitement—they could both exhibit a lot of energy in matches, and showed the many outcomes of speed against strength, depending on the day. But on this particular morning, Raphael did not attack. And Mikey, in short order, got bored quickly coming at his brother and getting turned away repeatedly by defensive wooden sai.

"Leo! Raphi's not playing!" Mikey complained, earning a scowl from Raph. Leo, who had his hands full parrying Donatello's bo and still managing to watch the other sparring match, responded pragmatically.

"If he's working on defensive strategies then you work on offense, Mikey. Go with the flow."

Mikey didn't appear to like this answer; sparring was one place where Raph was never apathetic, and never quiet. It was a time Michelangelo normally got to have fun with his brother, who spent the rest of the time out with Leo, out by himself, or being a cynical wallflower. He went at Raphael again with his nunchaku, turned away deftly; so, smiling, Mikey moved in and shoved Raph playfully. He received for his efforts the reward of a slightly heated look.

"Don't, Mikey," Raph warned. "I'm not in the mood."

Michelangelo had put away his weapons, grinning. Now they were getting somewhere. "Don't what? Do this?" He jumped nimbly, and shoved Raph from the side—then leapt away again under his brother's answering swipe of the arm.

"Knock it off, Mikey!"

Their youngest brother was a bundle of energy by now, bouncing and poking Raph's arms, ducking the unfocused punches Raph responded with; he had put his sai away by now as well. Mikey tried for another poke, but stopped just an inch shy, with a wider grin.

"Ha ha, I'm not touching you!"

This earned him a punch in the face, sending Mikey sprawling.

"Ow! Leo! I didn't touch him, it's not fair!"

Leo sighed, and signaled a time-out to Donnie, who was watching their brothers as well.

"Mikey, sparring isn't a game. And you deserved it," Leonardo reprimanded, marching forward. "Switch off. Donnie, spar with Mikey and help him work some of that energy off before Master Splinter comes for today's lesson. Raph, with me. You're gonna have to do something about that sunny disposition in the next twenty minutes." He'd meant it lightly, and gently took Raph's arm to lead him away, but his brother yanked back and followed of his own accord. Leo would have given him a strange look but studiously kept his eyes averted. Acting normal and ordering Raphael around was proving harder and harder. When they were on the other side of the training room, he pulled Raph closer, ignoring his glares.

"I know you're mad at me, and no apology will work—but let's have this out before Master Splinter gets here, or we… I mean, do you really want him to find out?"

Raphael's head was turned away, opaque and somehow uncaring, but his answer was clear. "No. You don't deserve that."

It was a cryptic answer, because Leo wasn't sure what it was he didn't deserve—the punishment, whatever it would be, or the look on their father's face, or the shame, or the blessed release of telling the secret and lightening the burden on his shoulders, to hell with the consequences.

Raph seemed to hear his thoughts—his next words appeared to take a lot of effort. "I said everything I did because I didn't want you to get in trouble. I didn't mean to hurt you."

This stung Leonardo more than anything ever could—Raphael thought himself the one at fault; the situation was awkward at best, and it seemed the best way his brother could handle it and still behave as normally as possible was by shouldering the blame, at least in his own mind. An icy claw gripped Leo's heart. He could feel himself breaking under the strain; he could only imagine the force of the contradictions Raph's brain was attempting to hold onto all at once.

"It wasn't your fault."

Raph's eyes managed to meet his; they burned with smoldering self-hatred.

"Then why did I like it?"

Leo wished fervently he had an answer for that… he was big brother, after all. He should have an answer. He should be able to tell his little brother why they had both liked it, and why it was supposed to be shocking and horrible. There had never been anything the four of them had liked that had not been good, or at worst a mixture of mostly good and a little bad, like pizza. To find something shocking and horrible to be, in actuality, wonderful for over a year must mean there was something wrong with them both. And yet, somehow, as Raphael confessed he'd liked it, Leo felt a small, dark satisfaction down where the fire had been burning so fervently, fighting with a galling sickness at the confused and strained look on his brother's face.

A week earlier, Leo would have grasped his brother's arm tightly and they would have commenced for some friendly sparring; he could not do that any longer. A barrier came up between them, an interwoven cloth separating skin from skin, solidified and very real, with the aura of permanence. A week earlier, he could jokingly challenge Raph and it wouldn't feel like an order, and Raphael would follow along, boundless energy and strength. A weak earlier, they would exchange secret smiles that communicated more than any language. But no more. He had reduced his brother to an angry ghost of what he had been before. Leo suspected that he himself was little better.

But Raph could still echo him, as far away as he seemed. "There's something wrong with me…"

"With us…" Leo corrected. "Both of us."

Raph's eyes grew wide, the force of a battling contradiction pounding against the barrier. Gazing around wildly, he drew his sai. "We're… we're supposed to be sparring," he muttered, sounding lost. Leo drew his swords, staving off pity. He would hate himself for pitying his brother, his once-partner, that illusory equal only he could see. He felt like he was sewing a shadow onto his feet, when it strained to fly away, helplessly his silhouette no matter where it went, vanishing in the light. He ran at Raphael; the clocking of bokken on wooden sai, struck hollowly, like a Buddhist chime, rang through the room. Donnie and Mikey were watching, unseen, as Leo took the offensive. Raphael stood like a stone, small, lanky and muscular, with shifting, troubled eyes. Something stirred, something not unfamiliar, though seen perhaps only twice before.

Leo landed a split kick, disarming his brother, but Raph had a hold of one ankle, and, bokken flying, they rolled across the tatami mats, trying to get each other into a headlock. The lost look left Raph's eyes for a moment, his energy returning as he tried to gain the upper-hand with the shade of his former defiant smile. After quite a few unsuccessful attempts, they both lay flat on their backs, taking a few short gasps of air before leaping at each other again. Donatello watched them, confused and discerning, while Mikey gazed on with the smallest of frowns. Wondering why he wasn't good enough, in an unfortunate nook within himself.

It was truly amazing, how easily the muscles remembered joy, and strove to return to it; the way adrenalin and play wrestling forced the tendons of Raphael's face closer and closer towards a smile, toward looking like the person he had been the day before—before—

Then a brush, completely accidental as both of them strode to get the upper-hand, below his arm, where Leo used to tickle him, and Raphael's pupils squeezed to pinpricks in an instant.

Leonardo blinked, a searing pain ripping through his skull and a burning sensation over the backs of his legs… he squinted, fighting off a wave of nausea and dizziness, realizing he was suddenly looking up at the pipes on the ceiling, several feet away from where he was before—he heard a shout, and instantaneously his sight filled with his brother's face.

Raphael was unrecognizable from the boy he had been a second earlier; he breathed in seering gasps, half wheeze and half animalistic whines, his pupils so small they had vanished, his amber eyes empty but bright in the fire glow illuminating the practice room, orbs of dark honey glinting gold metallic flashes. With a flash of understanding Leo saw his brother's face, beyond control or rational thought, feeling, panicking, sickened… before he felt Raph's fist connect with his face again, and that choked sobbing gasp, mixed with his own groan of pain. His brother's primal anger burned.

Then their eyes connected again, and Raphael's seemed to snap back, with a strange click, a jolt of the head, gazing around, confused… then realizing… then horrified. Leo blinked again, seeing Splinter standing above them, a hand on Raphael's shoulder, and a terrifying worried spark in his old eyes; and there were Donnie and Mikey, who had probably called him while the world was reeling around their brothers, both with matching looks of fear.

Raphael stumbled backward, away from his father's grasp, away from his stunned brothers, away from Leo's understanding, bruised face. Raph was dripping cold sweat, and shivering, as his body cooled too fast and too suddenly, shock creeping up on his flesh and his mind.

"My son…" Splinter reached out to him, as Don and Mikey heaved a reeling Leo to his feet; no one had ever hit him so hard in his life. Raph was still backing away, while their Father steadily, slowly, pursued, with his gentle voice. "Do not let your fear cut you off from us… You need your father and your brothers now. Come and be with us. Do not run away…"

Leo swallowed; so easy to grab Raph and sit him down with them, but he was so fully capable of leaving them mentally—always, their brother could slip away and not be a part of what he didn't wish to be. He was someone who was not accustomed to being forced. But Raphael was now gazing at his hands, as his digits trembled.

"I can't…. I can't…."

Gentler, now. "Can't what, my son?"

Raph's eyes were on Leo again, straining, cracked glass, against the force of a heavy contradiction. "The… the same…."

Then Raphael was running, to be fiercely sick outside the den, throwing up black and yellow bile, as they were the only contents of his stomach, and Donnie was holding Leo back from following him at a look from their Father, who then checked over Leo's bruises, a deeply troubled look in his eye.

"Is… is he crazy?" Donnie asked, more to himself than anybody else. "Will he always be sick like this?"

Mikey started forward, but Splinter caught him. "Now is not the time, Michelangelo… I don't believe he would hurt you, but perhaps jokes can wait for another time."

Mikey did not look up, gazing at the door fixedly. "But I wanna see him."

Donnie had compassionate eyes. "You don't want to see him like this, Mikey… trust me."

Mikey blinked; his amazing, mysterious older brother, never afraid, the brother who got rid of spiders for him, who matter-of-factly kicked away predators, the headstrong fighter with his defiant eyes, not even scared of Leo… But he saw for a moment, that same brother gripping a box with a rotting pigeon, that same brother making his own hand bleed without even knowing it, that same brother looking up into the world at crows taking flight, light reflecting in his eyes, and gaining Leo's secret admiring looks… daring, reckless, immortal toss of the head and deep fire. How to reconcile that with the moments of a strange insanity, the removal into a bizarre grief for something none of them could identify, something perhaps none of them knew.

Michelangelo turned on Leo. "What'd you do to him?"

Leo opened his mouth, but Donnie cut in. "Leo didn't do anything—Raphael went berserker in battle. Probably too much adrenaline… I suppose it makes sense."

Master Splinter too had his eyes on Leonardo, however, calmly and piercingly.

"Perhaps our Raphael felt somehow trapped, my son?"

Leo's eyes were flickering, still trying to spit out the blood seeping into his mouth. Mikey glared for a moment, then marched out, ignoring Donnie's preventative hands.

"You guys and your dumb secrets," Mikey said, sharply. "So you can hurt each other all ya want without havin' to tell anybody. It's stupid."

"Michelangelo…" their father said, quietly, but Mikey was out of the dojo.

Raphael had made it to the bathroom by this time, and had his head under the cold-water tap, scrubbing his mouth and hands obsessively; he continued to tremble, and icy sweat was still pouring down the backs of his arms and legs. Mikey leaned against the doorway.

"Man… even bears got nothin' on you, Raphi. Guess we'll havta keep ya in a cage and prod ya with electric thingies from now on."

Raph tried to glare, but his stomach heaved again; he gagged dryly, having absolutely nothing to give anymore.

"What d'you… want… Mikey?" he gasped, still nauseous. "Go back an' cower with Donnie or somethin'… know you're all scared of me by now."

Mikey came into the bathroom, unfazed, and sat on the counter, throwing a towel at his brother. "Hey, Raphi—you like Batman or Superman?"

Raph blinked, trying his hardest to compose himself. "Dunno… don't read comic books, Mikey."

"You'd probably like Batman… more, uh… realism-istic, I guess."

Raph looked over the towel he was using to dry his somewhat pale face. "Realistic?"

Mikey kicked his feet. "Yeah. You're a stick-in-the-mud—don't like imaginary stuff, right? So weird. You'll be a funny old guy one day, Raphi."

Raph's face hardened a bit, determined. "Not gonna get old, Mikey."

Mikey laughed. "Huh? Everybody gets old. Even Batman. Looks kinda fun, too. We'll play chess and chase down whipper-snappers and bore people with stories an' be all creepy 'n stuff…"

"Yeah, well, I won't."

Mikey pouted. "But me 'n Donnie 'n Leo are."

"Good for you," Raph grumbled. "But I can't get old and weak."

Mikey blinked, confused. "But…"

"I don't wanna get… useless." Raphael stopped, staring past Mikey at the door; Leo stood watching them in the shadows outside.

"What d'you want?" Mikey grouched, slipping off the counter; he could feel Raph's glare, but ignored it, smugly.

Leo folded his arms. "Nice attitude, Michelangelo—keep it up, see what happens. Raph—can we talk? Please?"

Mikey turned his head to Raph, waiting for him to send Leo off for whatever their oldest brother had done to make him so weird, but Raph's eyes seemed to flicker away, looking everywhere but at his siblings.

"Um… whatever. I guess."

Leo walked in solemnly and stared pointedly at Mikey until, getting the hint, the youngest sidled out, still watching Raph; he did not receive eye contact until Leo quietly closed the door in his face—all he glimpsed before staring at dark wood was a look, saying clearly and disturbingly, I'm afraid.

So Mikey stood where he was, and listened intently, doubting his brothers thought he would stay. Usually he would have blinked at the door for a moment and then wandered off to watch TV or play on his skateboard. But Raphael was never scared.

Leo leaned his shell against the door for a long moment, gazing at his little brother intently, with an appraising eye.

"You… um…" A deep breath. "You feeling okay?"

Raph was trying not to audibly gasp back the waves of nausea washing over him, knowing his stomach had nothing left he could scrape off its walls, and dreading the dry gags that made his insides feel like a hollow, stilted desert. He didn't answer directly.

"Your head okay?"

Leo lifted himself deftly away from the door, his face still pounding with heat and pain. "It's nothing I won't get over after an hour or so, little bro. But we have to talk about this at some point… I can't let you just get out of control like that. What if it wasn't me? What if it was Donnie, or Mikey, or even some random human or something? You had… it was like you had no idea you were doing it. Like someone else was forcing you… like a puppet, you know? It was scary." Another deep breath. "And it wasn't the first time, really. We both know that."

Mikey frowned, then gleaned on it—Freddy the pigeon, Raph's arms desperately holding a box and grasping dead things. That frightened look, and the single, haunting repetition: "I can't." It seemed an extreme, one-time only deal then, but they had witnessed it now once again. They knew the temper and rage Raph was capable of, and this could be just the next step, one that Raph could reach without ever showing anger in the first place. No warning. Joking, the ghost of a smile, before the slam, sudden and deathly abrupt, like a car accident.

Raph kept his eyes on the wall behind his brother. "Really? And what is o-nii-san planning to do about his crazy little brother?" His voice should have been challenging, sarcastic, biting to match the words; instead he sounded empty, apathetic, monotone.

Leo maintained his perfect calm; he moved further in, and reached out, placing a hand on either of Raphael's arms, and gripping them gently but firmly, forcing their eye contact, and ignoring his sibling's flinches and attempts to back away. "Don't, Raph. Show me you can do this. I'm not… I never was… out to hurt you."

Raphael's eyes had already gained that opaque, faraway steel look, disassociating him from his body. Leo gave his face a small slap, crisp and cool, and his brother's eyes returned, on fire.

"That's better. You have to listen to me on this, Raph. Master Splinter is starting to really think there's a screw loose, and I don't want that for you. You're tougher than this. I'm not asking you to do it for me—just for yourself. And for the others. Hate me forever if you want, but don't take it out on them… especially when you were concerned about how fair it was to Mikey and Donnie all along."

Raphael remained silent, and Leo shook him very slightly. "Answer me. D'you want to be like this? D'you want something else controlling you—to let something else control you? Master Splinter calls you the strong one. There's a reason, Raphael…"

"Stop," Raph said, very low and sudden. Something boiled and seethed under his voice. "I havta get outta here…"

But Leo prevented him, placing his shell in front of the door and holding his brother at arm's length. "What, you think I'd tell you this for myself? You don't think I wish I could be…" here he whispered, so low he almost couldn't hear himself. "…like you?"

"You wish you were sick and weak and crazy all the time?" Raph asked, with renewed fire.

Leo whispered in his ear, and Raph, frowning, couldn't push him away. "I… I wish… I wish I had the courage to be sick when something sickened me. I wish I could be weak when there was something worth being weak for, and be willing to show it. And you're the only thing I've ever been crazy about. You see a sick animal and pick it up, even if Mikey makes fun of you or Donnie says it has germs or Master Splinter is afraid you can't handle it dying. You took care of them anyways. You… you give everything a fair shot. Even me." He drew away, and matched eyes again; Raph did not flicker away this time. Leo spoke in a normal voice. "I know I can't dig you out of this. But I also know you're strong enough to do it—I just hope you remember the reasons to dig."

Mikey now had his ear pressed against the door intently, puzzling at the sudden silences and hoping they would at least hint at what actually happened; he might make fun of them for it, but it wasn't like he would tell. But that was Leo and Raph—they kept their secrets without ever having to say what they were.

"Leo," Raph's voice was stronger and clearer now, "I really don't wanna talk about this anymore. Especially not… y'know, here." He tried to push past this time, but Leo cut him off half-way, still holding his arms; Raph looked around with doubt, afraid of using his strength and turning back into what he'd been in the training room—afraid of himself.

"Better you hear it from me than Master Splinter, because I understand—I know what happened. Just… be better than what I did to you. You're amazing, Raphi… you're stronger than me, in a lot of ways. I know you can do it."

Leonardo was young; he did not know that what he was asking wasn't as easy as it seemed, and wouldn't happen within days or weeks. But he had a lifetime to deal with his brother. They had hurt each other; yet somehow, it had pushed them closer together, knocking mental elbows—every action and thought somehow included the other—if either of them knew how swiftly such closeness while aware of the inequities between them would turn to loving loathing, they might have struggled earlier to push away.

"Don't lie, Leo. I'm not strong… that's why you havta carry me and cover for me all the time. I'm the weak link." Raphael's voice revealed something raw down within, which he had exposed slightly to Michelangelo—something chafing under the madness he had just given himself up to, that had conquered him so utterly. All because of a touch. "But… but I… I don't wanna be like this. I promise I'll figure it out. Eventually." His voice turned bitter. "I know the price if I fail…"

Leo frowned deeply, and shook Raph sternly one more time. "I didn't mean what I did as a punishment, Raphael," he hissed.

"Then what the hell did you mean it as?" Raph hissed back, low and quick.

Leo's eyes burned—not unlike his brother's. "Just the truth."

A long silence, fighting past each other's opaqueness, towards glimmerings of actual feeling, the undercurrents of guilt and desire and repulsion and affection weaving virulent paths through their minds. Then Raphael quirked a small, almost unnoticeable half-smile.

"Nice to know we're both sick." It was a whisper, but something about it lit a tiny flame of joy in Leo, telling him deep down that his brother believed they were still equals, regardless of the harsh realities of their life and those inflicted upon each other. That very sense of false—possibly false—equality that should repel him, as it had made possible everything they had done in the last year, but which Leo held, regardless, like a small treasure. Slowly, retaining that hard-won eye contact, he placed his hands, palm-first, below Raph's arms, where he used to tickle him, and held them there. Raph closed his eyes once, but didn't flinch or back away.

Leo sickened himself, but didn't dare show it; every nerve and muscle ached, straining to bring him forward into that embrace once more. How many times must terrible things happen before his body learned not to want it? So he would train it away, burn the memory of sensations and transcendence out of his mind and off his skin, roast it off his dendrites and axons with hot pokers of diligence and meditation. He would turn to his spirit for guidance. He would be a being of light, above this base affection with his little brother.

He wasn't sure, but a small flicker told him that Raphael saw the struggle on his face, and leaned forward to kiss his brother's cheek, an unspoken promise. So were born, polarized, the leader and the protector, the head and the right hand, out of an unfinished touch and the dream for a someday, when what they had done would become okay.

Then Raph pushed past Leo and nearly threw himself out the door, stopping abruptly to see Mikey, and gaze at him steadily, daringly. Mikey, who had barely backed his frowning face and confused eyes away in time, watched back in puzzlement—then moved to follow. He stuck by his walking older brother in silence, suddenly aware that Raph wasn't telling him to go away.

"Um…" Mikey said at length; he paused, received no discouragement, and so continued. "Wanna borrow the first issue of Batman?"

Raph swallowed, and nodded. He was fighting tears, but for the first time, Mikey didn't say anything about it.