If the intermittent spells of hot and cold that swept over him weren't enough to tell Slash something was wrong, the yellowish tint that crept around his half-eaten arm and the not quite transparent fluid that oozed from it was.

To try to find a pharmacy now would be much too risky; there was the matter of sneaking in and out without being spotted to begin with, which would be an ordeal considering his size, and besides that, they also had their enemies to worry about, as well as the fact that more cars and people were on the streets than there had been that morning.

Slash looked out the window. Cars sped away from the apartment as far as he could see, but only one or two headed the opposite direction, further into the city.

Slash furrowed his brow. Was there something going on on the city outskirts?

He decided to check the news.

Slash turned around and walked up to the couch.

Crognard the Barbarian played onscreen, request of Michelangelo. Slash had warned him not to turn the volume up, but allowed the young turtle his entertainment. The youngest needed something to cheer him up; he seemed… unenthusiastic.

Michelangelo had gone right to laying on the couch and watching TV after eating pizza, and judging from his lack of recent movement, had fallen asleep again.

In his time as Raphael's pet, Michelangelo had sometimes been lazy. Even when Mikey goofed around, though, Slash had never remembered him being this quiet. Unenergetic.

Slash chalked it up to concern for his brothers, and looked down at his own oozing arm.

No reason to make Mikey more concerned－ or give him any more proof that Slash needed to sit out of the action.

Slash considered the sheet the couch was covered in, and tore the corner off of it before wrapping it around his yellowing wound.

Only when he was knotting the makeshift bandage did he remember that the cloth was made to collect the dirt and dust of the room before it got to the couch.

Oh well. His wound was already pretty nasty, anyway.

Slash spotted the remote under Mikey's limp hand and slid it out. He was almost upset to change the channel; it had served as good background noise, a sense of normalcy. If anyone asked, he would have denied it, but the show was growing on him.

He switched the news on.

"... sudden disappearances have become even more concerning as there has been evidence of people disappearing from their own homes. Various roommates and families report coming home to find proof of a half-completed task－ a computer monitor left on, a book lying open, a meal burning in an active oven, in some reports－ with no idea how or why their loved one left. As a result of people being allegedly taken from their houses, housefires have sprung up all over the city from unattended kitchens and the like. People have started to flee from the city out of confusion and fear."

"Huh," Michelangelo said simply.

Slash jumped and scrambled to hide his arm behind his back, forgetting momentarily that it was already covered. "Michelangelo! I did not realize you were awake." Had he seen Slash's arm? Had he realized Slash had tried to cover it up?

"Have been," Mikey responded.

"Oh." His eyes flicked to the side for a second. "You don't seem very energized."

Mikey huffed. "You could say that again."

Slash was tempted to leave it at that lest he invite emotional conversation, but it was becoming clear to him that Mikey wasn't his normal self, and if Raphael really cared for the idiot so much for some strange reason, Slash would keep him happy. Or at least, Slash would keep him intact until they might－ would－ meet Raphael again, when Slash could reunite them and hand all Michelangelo's problems back to Raphael to deal with. Why Raph put up with dork was beyond him.

Slash pushed himself to ask, "Is something wrong?"

"S'fine."

Slash held back a groan. Half of him wanted to jump for joy when Michelangelo steered the conversation towards its close. The other half wouldn't let him leave it at that.

"I know it must be tough for you," he couldn't believe he was saying, "Being separated from your family."

Mikey's eyes shifted away. He hugged the couch's armrest.

"So, if you needed to talk about anything…" Slash tried to make his teeth unclench as to not sound insincere. "I'm all ears."

Michelangelo paused, his gaze softening. "Same to you."

Slash started. "Huh?"

"Listening is the least I could do for you," Mikey said. He met Slash's eyes. "After all, you lost your family, too."

Then Slash was the one to look away.

It wasn't that Mikey was wrong; the absence of his team distressed him. He looked for someone to help him get back on his feet despite his wounds, but Dr. Rockwell wasn't there. He looked for another strong fighter to stand by him while he and Michelangelo chanced the dangerous city, but Leatherhead was out of reach. He looked for some lightheartedness to ease the downtime between action, but Mondo was nowhere to be found.

But it was the authenticity of Michelangelo's words that caught Slash off-guard.

Slash had more bad than good to attribute to his relationship with Michelangelo. The only things Slash could name to the relationship's credit were the times of peaceful coexistence they'd spent when Slash was not yet a mutant, and the time their two teams had fought together against the Kraang, which was nothing remarkable, considering the Hamato and Foot clans had once joined forces to battle against the Triceratons. On the other hand was the aforementioned resentment over Michelangelo's childhood antics, and Slash going on an almost-murder spree of the turtles.

How Michelangelo could extend his hand with such genuine compassion despite it all was beyond him.

"I-" he stumbled over his words. "Thank you."

Perhaps an awkward response, but one he did not have to force himself to say.

They settled into open-ended silence.

Slash realized Michelangelo was waiting for him to speak.

As intrigued as he was by Mikey's offer, Slash wasn't eager to give a dramatic confession of his heart's deepest dread, so he let the silence draw on long enough to indicate the conversation's end.

Splinter should have known Raphael wouldn't rest for very long.

Only a few hours after he'd put Raph on the couch, the red-clad turtle was up again, and walked to the dining room where Splinter was seated, watching over Leo.

Splinter would have been content with the few hours of sleep Raphael had gotten, had he been missing just one day's worth of rest. The red-clad turtle hadn't gotten a full eight hours in four days now, and the missed hours would add up quickly.

As far as that matter went, the turtles' father didn't even want to think about what Donatello was doing to himself.

"Raphael," Splinter said as softly as he could upon seeing his hotheaded son's face. "You should be resting."

"While Mikey's still out there and Leo's like this? I don't think so!"

"You need not make your own health worse while worrying about your brothers'. I will watch over Leonardo for now; you should meditate on your own well-being."

Raph huffed. "And you'll take just as good care of him as you did Mikey?"

Splinter took a deep breath. He willed himself to keep calm. Getting mad at Raph would accomplish nothing. "There was nothing to be done for Michelangelo."

Raph stomped closer, glaring down at Splinter while the rat was seated and temporarily shorter. "How about actually trying to save him, huh? How about not making everyone abandon him? He's probably still waiting for us out there!"

Splinter's heart dropped. Raph spoke as if he'd never even considered Michelangelo could be dead. How much harder would it be for him, if they went back only to find the worst had occurred?

"We risked losing the rest of our family and friends by staying."

Raph stopped dead still, staring him dead in the eye. "You mean we risked losing Leo by staying."

Splinter's brow creased. But Leo was one of the only ones who hadn't been in danger from the gas?

"You were so worried the Kraang missiles would hurt him while he's a normal turtle."

"Yes, that was a major concern," Splinter admitted, still not following. Raphael was afraid Leo was prone to getting hurt in this fragile state, too; had Raph not proved that in his constant vigil?

"Leo had people looking after him and wasn't being targeted. Mikey had no one. He was up there, all alone and bound to be swallowed in the gas any second!" Raph jabbed a finger in Splinter's face. "Did you think," He seethed, gaining volume and momentum, "Did you even consider, anywhere in your rat-brained mind that there were more pressing matters than protecting your favorite?"

Splinter expected Raphael to press on, but Raph remained frozen, finger jabbed in Splinter's face, awaiting his response.

It hadn't been a rhetorical question, Splinter realized. Raph meant it.

"Raphael…"

"Well, congratulations! You protected Splinter Junior. Way to go! I hope you're happy with the son you chose, because Donnie's working himself to death, and Mikey might be-" He trailed off. "And as for me," His lip curled and his face twisted up in unmitigated bitterness Splinter had only ever seen in Oroku Saki's face before. "I am no son of yours."

Raphael shook his head. "No family of mine would abandon each other. We don't betray each other. No turtle left behind－ that's our rule." He exhaled sharply through his nose. "If you can't stick to the family's first rule, don't expect them to stick to you. You broke it. You are nothing to me."

Splinter opened and closed his mouth. It had been years since he'd been so lost for words. All the way back when Oroku Saki had said something similar to him.

"So give your sympathy to Donnie, why don'tcha?" His voice gave out. "He's all you have left, and if no one looks out for him, even he could be-"

Splinter extended a comforting hand. "Raphael…"

Raph struck his hand away with force like he'd blocked a strike.

Splinter's wrist stung.

"NO! Keep your filthy hands away from me! You hugged him just hours before you left him to die! I don't want you anywhere near me! I hate you, hear me? I! Hate! You!"

Splinter's heart stung.

Raph was losing momentum. True to his nature, he kept up the fight, but his words slowly lost conviction. "I can't believe you left him! I can't believe you left him up there to protect your favorite! I can't believe I left-" His face twisted in agony.

Splinter wanted nothing more than to comfort his hurting son. Raphael would kill him, maybe literally.

But once more, his parental instincts won out, and he wrapped his arms around Raphael and drew his son in close.

Raph stood stone-still, then buried his face in his father's robe and grabbed fistfuls of the cloth for dear life, shaking with sobs Splinter knew Raph was trying so hard to keep under control and failing.

He knew Raph was mentally screaming at himself at that very moment for giving in to being comforted by the very man he'd just declared his enemy. He knew Raph would blame himself for some time to come for failing to stick to his conviction. He knew providing such comfort now would come with consequences to pass.

But he also knew Raph needed the comfort now.

Why were the right and wrong choices always the hardest to decipher when he needed to know them the most?