A/n: Finally!

Yeah, I've got a few notes here, bear with me:

1) Sorry for the wait. This was another chapter I found really difficult to write. Also, the real world decided it hadn't seen me for a while so it was a good idea to check in all at once. Hooray.

2) … And expect longer waits for upcoming chapters, too. Sorry again. I need to take some time to figure out where this story is going and how it's going to get there.

3) Thanks to kyt for the comments/feedback on this chapter!

4) Reviews continue to be a godsend. THANKYOU!


Chapter 12 – A Different Kind of Cage

.:…:.

Raphael awoke without opening his eyes. No point, when he wouldn't even be able to see the bars of his own cage in the pitch-blackness. He wondered if he would get water today, or if they'd forgotten – the bucket had been empty for a while now, and he was thirsty. The empty ache in his stomach was back, too.

Hang on… he couldn't feel the drip in his arm. And he was lying stretched out – he didn't have room to do that in the cage. How…?

It was the softness of the bed underneath him and the faint, familiar scent of his home that brought the memory of last night back to him. He still didn't crack open his eyelids, half afraid to find it was another one of his screwed-up dreams.

But as the minutes ticked by and the blankets around him didn't morph back into cold steel and chains, he began to accept it. And as he settled into his environment, he began to sense a still presence beside him. Fairly certain he knew who it was – he only had one brother who could sit still for this long without fidgeting – he opened his eyes to see Leonardo.

Leo, not lying on a rain-spattered, red-tinged roof with Raph's sai impaled in his throat, but here, whole, alive, and Raph found himself obscurely relieved. He'd dreamed the former image so many times that the Leo he saw now (not meditating, but just staring blankly at the wall across from the bed) was a pleasant shock.

Raph must have made some movement or tiny sound, because Leo's eyes snapped down to his face. Suddenly animated, he leaned forward in his chair and grasped Raph's shoulder.

"You're awake! How do you feel?"

Raphael opened his mouth…

And froze.

"Wait, don't answer that," Leo pressed on distractedly, not noticing Raph's strained silence. "Don says you need to drink this. Just a little bit, or you'll upset your stomach." He lifted a glass from the bedside table. "Can you -?"

Raph struggled up out of the blankets before Leo could help him to sit upright. He scratched absently at the bandage around his right wrist – he could feel the skin beginning to scab over beneath the wrapping. He made himself stop when he noticed Leo's eyes following the movement with unmasked anguish. Always such a stoic with his own battle wounds, Leo tended to fall apart at the first sign or reminder of another being hurt. To distract him, Raph reached over and plucked the drink from his hands. He sniffed at it, wanting to make sure it wasn't some disgusting tea or vitamin drink. It smelled vaguely fruity. Trying to ignore Leo's watchful eyes, he took the wide straw carefully between his tender lips, and sipped.

The taste. Shell, he'd almost forgotten he had taste buds. He held the liquid in his mouth for a moment, savouring it on his tongue, before he let it slide in a cool wave down his dry throat. It felt ridiculously fantastic, and he let out a small groan of appreciation as his eyes fluttered closed.

Leo's voice interrupted his bliss.

"God, Raph… I'm so sorry. We… we looked everywhere, it was – " he didn't stop even when Raph opened his eyes to glare at him. Leo was staring down at his hands, twisting the bed sheets between them. "I'm just… I'm sorry it took so long for us to find you, I – "

"Leo," said Raph without thinking, "shut up."

As soon as the words left his mouth he felt something turn over inside him in shock, and he stared at his brother with wide eyes. His voice had been rough, uncertain. Unfamiliar. But there. He clenched his hands around the cup.

There was more to be said, here. He should elaborate on just why Leo should shut up and stop apologising, but they'd had conversations about Leo's guilt trips in the past, and that hadn't seemed to work. He should say thankyou, say how much of a relief it was to feel that big-brother presence beside him again, but there was no way in hell he'd admit that, even if he could find the right words. He should apologise for that night, for what he'd done over and over in his dreams. No, he couldn't. He couldn't say any of those things, so instead he tried to ask the other question that had occurred to him. It took him a while to form the thought out loud.

"H-how… how long…?" The rasping sound of his own voice distracted him again, and he couldn't finish the question. Leo seemed to know what he was asking anyway, and answered without hesitation, in a dark voice:

"One month and seventeen days."

Not like he's been counting, was Raph's knee-jerk sarcastic response, before he let the number sink into his brain. Those were weeks of his life he was not going to get back. One month and seventeen days. Leo was watching him carefully for his reaction, so he gazed down into the cup between his hands. He couldn't decide – it felt shorter than that. It felt longer than that. It felt like a lifetime. He couldn't make the number fit. And now he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Drink just a little more," Leo urged eventually, to break the silence. Then he cracked as much of a smile as he could manage. "You'll need your strength. I think Mikey's got visiting rights next."

Raph couldn't remember how to smile back.

.:…:.

When Mikey came in to see Raph he was sitting up in bed, rubbing at his bandaged wrists. He didn't look up, and Mikey, for once in his life, didn't say anything. He crossed the room, ignoring the chair that Leo had left at the bedside. With a silent sense of purpose, he sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over, and wrapped his arms around Raph. He felt his brother flinch and go tense in his embrace, but he couldn't bring himself to let go for a few seconds. Raph was here, much the worse for wear and obviously uncomfortable, but Mike could feel the solid, rough texture of his shell underneath his hands, and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

He was here. No longer a tiny missing blip in an enormous city teeming with life, an empty chair at the table, an absence. He was here, and so everything would fall back into place again. Mike tried very hard to believe that it would be that easy.

When he realised that Raphael wasn't going to say anything or make any movement to return the tight hug, he made himself pull back a little and rest his hands on Raph's shoulders.

"Oh, man," he breathed, drinking in the sight of his brother's face, "you have no idea how good it is to see you." Raph stared at him. "Don't look at me like that. It's true. Sight for sore eyes, dude."

Raph still didn't speak, and Mikey realised that his eyes weren't actually focused on his face, but watching his mouth.

"Raph?" Mikey prompted. He ducked his head a little, trying to meet his gaze. "Are you… ya know… are you alright?"

Raph opened his mouth, and a pause stretched between them. "… Yeah. 'M… 'M'okay."

Yes! He speaks! Mikey crowed triumphantly in his mind.

Raph was rubbing at his wrists again. He didn't seem to be aware that he was doing it. Impulsively, Mike reached down and stopped his hands. Raph looked down in surprise.

"You probably shouldn't do that," said Mikey, trying to keep his voice even.

"Sorry." Raph coughed a bit. "S'just…"

"…What?"

Raph looked at him, strangely helpless. Mike wished he could read his brother's eyes like a comic book. Maybe there were answers buried in there, beneath the layers of frustration and confusion.

"I gotta…" Raph let that sentence trail off as well, and suddenly pushed up off the bed, brushing past Mike without looking at him, walking quickly from the room, and trying not to run.

Mikey had long ago acknowledged his own tendency to morph into a parasitic limpet and attach himself to whoever he was worried about, so he knew not to follow Raph at moments like these, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead he sat back on the bed, and absent-mindedly wrapped his arms around himself.

Yeah. Didn't think it would be that easy.

.:…:.

Raphael stalked down the corridor, trusting to luck that he wouldn't bump into any other family members on the way to the bathroom. He went in and fumbled the door shut behind him. As soon as the lock clicked into place he felt uncomfortable in the small, tiled space. The walls pressed in around him.

Godamnit. No. He would not open it again. Claustrophobia wasn't too high a price to pay for a few moments of privacy. He squeezed his eyes shut and made a vague motion to push the walls back with his hands. His movements felt strange, uncoordinated; like someone had taken him apart and then pieced him together again with everything just a little off-kilter.

He was just getting used to things again, that was all, he reassured himself. Getting used to controlling his limbs again, and knowing what date it was, and being able to just walk out of a room when the pressure got too much.

Speaking.

And being heard.

They listened as if his mumbled words meant something, but he wasn't enough

He placed a hand on either side of the basin, leaning forward and squinting at himself in the mirror. What he saw, the twisted, scarred green face, naked without his mask, teeth clenched… It infuriated him, and for a moment he felt the animalistic urge to attack his cold glass opposite, rip into its ugly face with teeth and claws and irrational rage.

He tightened his hands around the sink. No. He was in control now.

The walls loomed inward again, as if trying to prove him wrong. With a growl, he pushed off from the sink and spun around, going to the door. He almost ripped the doorknob off in his haste to get it unlocked and open.

What is this shit? His old voice grumbled at him as he stumbled back down the corridor. You runnin' away from the walls, now?

A low growl escaped his throat. No! He would not be ruled by his instincts. He was better than that. By the time he emerged into the central chamber of the lair he had managed to slow his footsteps and his breathing by force of will. Still, he couldn't control or ignore the burst of relief at the wide space and the high, arching ceiling.

His family were nowhere to be seen. Finally sleeping, perhaps? His eyes roved over the lair, and his aimless footsteps led him past the couch and into the kitchen.

The clock ticked. The refrigerator hummed. Dirty dishes were piled up in a sink. There was an old family photo stuck up with magnets on the fridge, and on the wall next to it was a calendar.

One month and seventeen days, he thought again, looking at it.

"Mew." A small ball of orange fluff wound about his legs. He looked down in surprise.

"Hey, cat." His voice cracked quietly as he made a conscious effort to speak. He bent down, wincing as his aching muscles were pulled, to rub Klunk's ears. "Reckon I met yer big cousin the other day."

"Mew." Klunk looked up at him with amber eyes.

Suddenly, Raph felt he had to sit down. He slumped at the kitchen table and rested his head in his hands, wearily. Klunk came to lean against his legs, then jumped up to curl in his lap. He was glad no one else was around to watch if his shoulders shook; just quietly, just for a few minutes.

It was all he would allow.

.:…:.