RAPH

Both phones buzzing till they banged into each other and fell on the floor was never a good thing, and he'd been sleepin' too damn well, with Zoe all naked and pressed up against him. Warm beneath the covers, no drama in sight. Not that he didn't enjoy being summoned for a decent brawl, but not when they had anything to do with family. No. Those were best reserved for his and Aries line of work.

Zoe opened bleary eyes, tipped her head to look up at him. "You're closer. You get it."

He didn't even want to look.

Moments passed with him unmoving, hoping the sounds would stop, that it would for once sort itself out. Zoe pushed a hand up, lifting the comforter allowing a draft of cold air to chill his skin. Lifting up, she began leaning over him, her breasts mashing against his arm. His tail twitched, something there wouldn't be time for. She needed to quit movin' around. He held up a hand, guiding her back. "Fine, I'll get it. I got it. Lay back down."

He rolled onto his shell and reached out, grabbing both phones from the night stand. He handed Zoe hers. Denim. His, Mikey. This couldn't be good.

"S'goin on?" he grumbled.

"Hey, Raph. Hope I didn't wake you. Uh, have you, Zoe or Drea' seen Alli this morning, or last night?"

Was he kidding? Raph pulled the phone away from his head, checked the time. "Mikey, the sun ain't even up yet. I was sleepin', so no I ain't talked to no one."

Zoe jabbed him in the arm and he scowled at her. She made a face then mouthed "be nice". He glared at her, mouthed, "why"? Now her other face, the one she usually gave the kids when they were in trouble. He rolled his eyes. Fine.

"Sorry, Mike. What's goin' on? Did you call Anton? He probly knows."

Michelangelo let out his tell-tale whine. "Yuuta said she didn't come home last night and when I called the parlor, Woody said she wasn't there for morning prep. Anton isn't answering his phone, but I assumed he was with Yuuta."

Well there was his first mistake. Assumin' anything. "She's probably with Anton, maybe his battery died or somethin'. I'm sure they're fine. If you don't hear from them by lunch-OOMPF" His wife's jab in the tender part of his bridge near knocked the wind out of him.

She snatched his phone. "We'll meet you at the kid's apartment in fifteen minutes. I already told Denim. See you then."

Raph rubbed his side. "What was that for? They're kids, they're probly just out messin' around."

Zoe leaned over him, collecting clothes from the floor and pulling them into her lap. She fastened her bra, was moving on to her tank top. "Scout came home high last night, with a knife-wound on her shoulder. Alli is three months out of rehab after nearly dying. When your brother calls and it's about one of his kids, imagine it's Drea' or Anton and get your ass out of bed."

Images filled his head, of his skeletal niece and his heartbroken son, staying by her side day and night the entire time she was hospitalized. He'd visited her in rehab whenever it was scheduled, every day for as long as permitted, never missing, not once. The entire nightmare played in a clear, sharp image that he wished he could forget.

Alli had always been an adorable kid, grown into a beautiful and smart teen and now young woman. But this whole not eating thing, it didn't make sense, not when food was right there and not after him and his brothers had gone hungry many a night without option. And he knew his brother was feeding her – well tryin' to.

They'd almost lost her. Tried not to push too hard, then pushed too hard, then tried not to again. How much was too much, what was not enough, what was enough? The whole thing was fucked up. Wait? What did Z say about Scout? "Did you say Scout came home high? As in on drugs?"

Zoe was tugging on her pants. "On something. Denim said Scout hasn't told her what happened yet. Whether it was a date rape drug, or if she took something on her own. We don't know. But to have shit going wrong with two kids at once—after all they've been through I just-" Her eyes locked with his. The fear, the deep-rooted worst fear that was almost realized, had been almost realized more than once since kids first became a thing in their family. From their mothers almost dying tryin' ta have'm to stuff not workin' right once they got here. If their family ever had a weakness before it paled to them having kids.

He climbed from the bed as Zoe made her way down the hall, knocking on Andrea's door to summon her.

Raph pulled his shirt on. "I'll be ready in five, Little Bro."

ANTON

Exhaling a breath, Anton tried to will the knot in his chest to loosen. He glanced at his nightstand, bare of the damned device he'd left at Spot's. Wonder if she stayed the night. His stomach churned at the thought. Closing his eyes, he let his head sink deep into the cool of his pillow, trying to focus on the softness of it. Clear mind. Clear mind. Clear

No matter how hard he tried to push it away the image was clear, her eyes half closed, deep blue pools peeking beneath a flush of long red lashes. Her lips were parted, her breath heating his own as he swept them across hers. Her chest lifted and dropped in urgent huffs as he lifted up to look between them. Tiny beads of sweat glistened her brow, nothing compared to the fine spray across his arms and back. Her fingers dug into his arms, white at the tips, her grip firm though he barely felt it. It was hard to feel anything beyond his own heart slamming against his plastron and the unexplainable heaven of warmth encasing his most private parts.

His bedroom door flew open, slamming against the wall. A bright belt of gold filled his eyelids and he flinched as he scrambled upright and back, dragging his comforter across his lap. Wide-eyed and horrified, Anton zeroed in on his sister. "Get out, Drea'! What the hell are you doin' here? This is my apartment!"

"Duh!" Ignoring him, the perfect miniature of his mother barged in. "Where is your phone, Anton? Mom and Dad have been trying to call you all night. Is Alli here? Like half the family is "

Yuuta was squeaking from somewhere down the hall, then Anton heard them.

"Stop yer squawking, Yuuta. I can't understand a thing yer sayin'!"

His dad.

"Raph, stop yelling at him. Let's just go talk to Anton. Maybe he's seen her. Andrea, is your brother back there?"

And his mom.

Why were they here? Ugh. He should've gotten an apartment farther away. He would've slumped back under the covers, but a shift of his body told him his sister, the last person he wanted to see at the moment, would know. "Get out, Drea! I ain't dressed. I'll be out in a minute."

The teenage brat stared at him.

His face burned and he hoped it wasn't an off shade of green, hoped she couldn't tell what was going on. "I said get out! An' close the door!"

"Antonello, are you up? Have you seen, Alli? Denim and Mikey can't get a hold of her. They said she didn't show up to work " His mother stuck her head in the door and Anton thought he would die. Shut her out. Shut her out. Clear mind. No thoughts. None at all. Go away, mom. Go away. Please, go away!

His mother's steel-gray eyes flickered to his then she grabbed his sister by the arm, yanked her from the room and tugged the door shut behind them.

Anton flopped back in his bed with a hefty sigh.

Sorry, son. I didn't see anything, I promise.

Mom! Get outta my head!

Damn telepathy.

Damn visions.

Damn being a medium.

Damn abilities.

Damn everything.

And damn not being able to tell if this recurring dream of him and Alli was vision, nightmare, or just a fucked-up fantasy. As he waited things out, he tried to figure what was going on. Had Alli not come home last night? But wouldn't that mean she'd stayed at Spots? His stomach turned and he grimaced. He lumbered from his king-sized bed, of which he took up three quarters by himself, and tugged on a pair of sweat pants.

No sense tryin' to figure it out in his head. Better to just get facts. Rubbing his face, he plodded down the hall, passing Yuuta's room, to stick his head in Alli's. Her little queen bed, with its obnoxious pink paisley comforter was smooth and untouched. Even her tattered pink stuffed turtle lay tucked neatly between two decorative pillows. She hadn't been home. Or else she'd been there and gone already. What time was it anyway?

His mother's bare-nailed fingers, capable of extending into razor sharp claws, appeared on his left bicep. The scent of honeysuckle chased her and though an uneasy sensation was forming in his gut, he was briefly soothed by her presence. But that was part of her power, in her touch. It was in her to make you feel what she wanted. He hated that. Everyone did. Gently, he nudged her hand away, turned and made his way toward the kitchen.

She followed him, explaining, "After Yuuta texted Mikey this morning he and Denim tried calling Alli's phone, but she didn't answer. Then they called Spot and he said she'd left a little after you and Yuuta. They tried calling your phone but you didn't answer. So, they texted Yuuta and he said you'd left your phone at Spot's, that you were sleeping and Alli hadn't come home yet."

Anton acknowledged his father and Yuuta, but avoided his sister as his mom followed him into the kitchen. He reached for a coffee mug then noticed the empty carafe. "Really? I can't even get a cup of coffee in the morning?"

Yuuta squeaked what sounded like a complaint, but Anton understood. Alli usually made the coffee. In fact, she and Anton usually made breakfast together. The uneasy feeling returned as he tried to ignore his uncle's wordless chattering. Anton's fingers curled into his palms as Yuuta took steps closer.

"She didn't show fer work this mornin' neither." His dad leaned back in his chair and Anton half-hoped it would snap. It wouldn't. His Uncle Aries had made it, shell shaped in the back and all. It was built to withstand a Hamato. Most things in his family were built to hold up, but sometimes Anton wasn't sure he was. Not anymore. Not since last time Alli pulled some shit like this. He turned his shell on his family, reaching in the cupboard for the coffee.

"Anton." His mother's voice was low, calm. That same tone she used when he was a kid and he didn't want to talk about what was bothering him. Like now. "Where should we be looking for her, son?"

Anton gripped the bag of coffee, his eyes shutting as he slammed it to the counter. "How the hell should I know?"

The dash of silence was fleeting, brief like the snap of fingers, yet it felt longer to him; like he was sinking in a deep hole, avoiding expectant faces. But he wouldn't answer them. She wasn't his responsibility. Never was.

His mom, motioned Yuuta, Andrea, and his dad from the room with a tilt of her head. Real subtle. She reached for the crumpled bag of coffee, brushing the grounds from the counter into her palm then depositing them into the trash. Had he squeezed it that hard? He hadn't noticed.

His mom pointed to the chair his dad had sat in. "Sit. I'll make you a cup of coffee."

Zoe Hamato wasn't someone anyone should cross. She never had been. Even at a young age Anton understood that. Very few people messed with his mom and walked away without a scar. He glanced toward the living room, to his father, whose flesh was slightly pebbled in texture and dashed with old battle wounds, among them the stripe of claw marks across his arms and shoulder from where his mom had attacked him. Anton sighed. The special hells they'd been through, each and every member of his family.

"Anton, are you listening?" His mom's fingers reached for his shoulder and Anton ducked away.

"Don't touch me, Mom. I don't want to be read right now, and I don' want you makin' me feel shit neither." He leaned back in his chair the way his father had, just moments before.

Accustomed to the brush-off, she placed a full mug before him and sat in the chair adjacent. "What happened last night, Antonello?"

He didn't want to think about it, so he shrugged. "We were playin' cards. I got tired, had a paper to write, got a class to teach." He glanced toward the microwave. His heart jerking at the time. He was late!

"Karai is covering it. We're trying not to panic, but you know how things are, Anton. You know how this goes." His mother frowned, tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, her auburn locks wrestled in a hasty knot at the back of her head. The razor-fine scars peeking up from the collar of her t-shirt, along her arms. His jaw worked as he shifted his gaze to the pool of brown liquid steaming in the mug before him.

Once upon a time he'd admired those scars, both his mom and dad's. Thought they were signs of strength, of stories to tell, wars won. But as he'd grown, found his own wounds and seen them healed, he learned. This life was hard. If not for who he was, but for what he was. A mutant-hybrid. Someone born of two scientific impossibilities brought to life. It was hard to see sometimes, the hope. Others… other times he felt so human he forgot who he was, that he was different at all.

"Anton, please. I need you to focus right now." His mother's fingers halted before touching him, grazing the tabletop near his mug. "Denim and Mikey are trying to stay calm for the twins, but – Anton, you know her better than anyone. If you can help, before this family goes on lockdown and full freak out, please."

They were tired. Weary soldiers in a never-ending fight. One monster after another coming for them. The times in between the chaos were brief, fleeting things. It had been quiet for a few months now. He almost snorted. Figures someone would stir up some shit. Dammit, Alli. His head ached. "What do you want, Mom? What, a vision? You know I don't make'em happen. Want me to try to read something of hers? It won't help. I'm— I'm blocked when it comes to her lately. And " His jaw worked. He pushed away visions of Alli's skin, pale and creamy beneath him, his name whispered on her lips.

The legs of the chair dropped to the floor as he stood and looked toward the living room. The door. "I ain't had no visions and can't get any readings. So, you guys go full out search or whatever. I've got to go."

She was fast. Fucking cheetah fast and in front of him. Short though. Looking up with that stern expression, her eyes flickering to something animal, feline, then back to silver. Her face smoothed then, to something knowing. Oh fuck. His pulse quickened as she whispered, so quiet he was certain only he heard. "I know."

He stepped back, his eyes darting to his sister, uncle and dad talking in the living room then back to his mother. "No. No. No." He backed away, shifting to step around her. "You don't. You don't know anything." Getting around her would've been impossible… if she hadn't let him go. And he went, straight by everyone, out the front door.

He stood in the hall, staring at the doors lining the corridor. The black numbers on them were glossy beneath the fluorescent light. The elevator chimed. Doors opened. His aunt and uncle stepped out. Denim's cinnamon locks smooth as the ends swept the tops of her shoulder. Same color as her daughter's. Anton's heart jerked. Beautiful strands, spilling over his fingers, silken, her head cradled in his hand, a tear in the corner of her eye. She moaned, murmured his name, reached for him.

"Anton? Did you hear me? Are you okay? You must be as worried as we are." Denim's voice, summoned him back from his nightmare or fantasy or whatever it was.

The apartment door opened behind him, his sister, again. She thrust out a wad of material into his plastron. "Dad says put a shirt on and get back in here."

Anton's hand fell over the crumpled tee. Tiny goosebumps rose on his arms, a shiver across his shoulders. He tugged on the shirt. "Get my shoes, Drea." He'd be damned if he was going back in there for everyone to gawk at, like waiting for a bomb to go off. He wasn't an on-demand miracle. He couldn't control the damn images that filled his head. They came when they wanted and they showed him things, glimpses, blurs, or details, sometimes he couldn't make sense of them. Others he didn't want to. Wished he could shut the damned things off. He sure as hell wasn't sharing these. If—that's what they were.

His sister leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms while his aunt and uncle stared at him with hopeful eyes.

"Anton, it's okay." Michelangelo forced a smile but his eyes were big, pleading. "If you don't- you know—have a vision, it's okay. But as her friend, where would you look?"

Anton closed his eyes. "Drea, where the hells my shoes?"

Running shoes. And that wasn't him. Wasn't who he was or what he was made of. He held out his hand, glanced at his sister in his periphery. His voice betrayed him, revealed pain in him he'd been ignoring, pushing down. Something fractured choked out. "Please, Drea."

His shoes were in his hands. Then he'd put them on his feet. His dad appeared beside his sister, frowning but oddly silent. His uncle and aunt watched as he pushed the button on the elevator. Stepped in. The doors shut.

He couldn't do this again. He couldn't. His jaw ached as he glared at the illuminated L on the panel. Pushing the button again and again he stepped back, resisted the growing urge to punch it. Clenched his eyes shut. Not my problem. Not my problem. Another image filled his eyelids, for once not of their bodies melting together, but something much, much darker…

Her cheeks were gaunt, black circles beneath her eyes. The hospital bed wasn't big, maybe a twin, but she looked so tiny in it, like a seagull beneath a cresting wave in the ocean. The tiny tube in her nose, forcing food into her stomach, made him nauseous. Tiny stars of red adorned her cheeks and hands, a few at her collarbone which jutted from beneath her skin like a metal cage that held her together. But she was alive.

Her skin almost seemed baggy, like she was a pillow without the fluff inside or maybe just the case without the pillow itself. But her eyes, bleary and shadowed as they were, were open. The seconds he thought he might never look in them again— How did it come to this?

They'd been talking, she was cooking, he thought she was getting better. But she'd only put a sad stem of broccoli on her plate. Shoved it back and forth while chatting with him. Distractions. The conversation. She drank water. Two glasses. Went to fill her cup again.

"I think you should go for it, Anton. You're an incredible martial artist." She turned, her smile sincere beneath tired eyes.

One step.

"You can go all the way. Be the first mutant to win gold in the Olympics. You can-"

Her foot lifted for the second step.

She swayed. Eyes rolling back so the whites where visible- then gone. Her fingers parted. The glass shattered. He leapt from the chair. Water and shards scattered, her tiny body limp amid the mess. He gathered her in his hands, too big for her frail frame as he looked her over. His heart ceased to beat. Blood. The glass had cut her. His eyes locked on her closed lids, her parted mouth. Was she breathing? Her bony ribcage. Flat. She wasn't.

It wasn't your fault. They said.

The elevator chimed, announcing his floor. The lobby. A way out.

You did everything right. They said.

But he hadn't. He hadn't done everything right.

Two strangers stepped in, humans, tucking themselves in the corner. The man pushed the button for 3 before retreating next to this woman. His woman. Human. He eyed the pink-tinted 3. His finger reflexively pressing the R without thinking. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. His fingers curled into fists, his eyes burning. It wasn't his fault. He didn't starve her. Quite the opposite. It wasn't his fault. They said it wasn't. Her broken ribs. He'd pushed too hard. Just wanted her to breathe. And she had. She had.

The doors opened, the man and woman inching by him as he stood, numb in the middle of the elevator. A box. A cage. His life was like a cage. One pointless struggle he never asked for. But then no one did. Dammit.

The elevator stopped, the entire keyboard lighting up. His fingers flew over the sequence. Why no one ever thought to do this, he didn't know. But then no one knew her like he did. Not even her own mother. The doors opened, daylight filling the tiny box as he stepped out, shielding his eyes from it. The doors closed, the cage retreated into its host, leaving him in the garden. He made his way toward the greenhouse, bypassing it for the arbor. Wisteria, she called the vine that encompassed the wooden structure they'd built. The flowers reminded him of grapes, hanging in chandeliers everywhere above them.

She was sleeping, her hair a curtain over her face. A tiny ball curled up on the refurbished lawn furniture they'd brought up when they first moved in. He should've never moved in with her. Yuuta yes, but not her. That was when the visions, fantasies, the damned images had started. He swallowed hard as he came to stand over her. For a second, he couldn't breathe. Wasn't sure if she was.

Slowly, her chest rose and fell. One. Two. One. Two. Good, it wasn't all erratic like it had been when she was real sick. Before. His stomach flopped and he swallowed again. "Al?" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. Knelt beside her, his pulse thrumming in his fingertips as he reached for her, hovered above her covered face. "Al? Hey- Little Bird." A lump rose to his throat as he brushed ginger locks from her cheek.

His lungs deflated at sight of the dark purple bruise covering the side of her face. Her eye was swollen shut. Shaking. His entire being. His fingers rattled like a maraca as he touched her shoulder. "Al? Alli!"

She sucked in a breath, jerking upright. Too fast. Her head rocked and he reached out to steady her. So, tiny in his hands. Fragile. Always, delicate.

A