RAPH'S POV:

Once Mikey runs out the room, I look at leo. I take a moment to really look at him since the invasion. He looks older, and I'd never tell him, but the worried look on his face makes me wonder how we'll all look years past this. I wonder if we'll ever get to the point where I don't have to worry about seeing this look on his face ever again. Sometimes I wonder if Splinter made the right decision.

"Okay, I don't know about you, but I'm reading more of this." Leo says as he opens up the book once more, and I almost don't want to look. I do anyway, though.

LOG 374:

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. just needs a few more tweeks and according to my previous blueprints he should be complete. My battleshell, however, has been a whole other "barrel of monkeys'' as Mikey puts things. I've let him watch me the past few days and I must say he's been good for the most part. It seems shock set in once we got back home and my body refuses to let me speak to him. I'll perform some tests later on while I'm alone to make sure there's been no damage, though I am 95.86% positive that this is just a symptom of my previous diagnosis. I'm also unable to keep pressure on my shell, possibly due to the ship's connections being ripped when I was pulled from it's control "panel".

I grab the book from Leo's hands, and I'm not sure what I'm looking for, but he doesn't protest.

"So he went nonverbal when we got home. That explains why he didn't kick me out when I went in the first few days to try to get him to eat. Shock, though? I thought that prevented people from doing anything. How was he able to keep working?"

"All Raph knows is what we're able to read. It's just, I don't understand what happened between then and now." I keep flipping through pages until I see another log that catches my eyes.

LOG 386:

I can't sleep. I need to keep working, but even now I feel my body fighting against me. I've tried everything, but when I close my eyes I can't help but relive everything we just escaped from. I almost even went to Leo last night to see if he could help, but when I got to his room I could see him also having the same problem. It makes me feel… heavy… in a bad way… seeing him thrash and cry out. I want to help him. I need to help all of them. My brain seems to not enjoy staying up as much as my body does, it's making my body need more stimuli than usual. I've installed precautionary sound proofing along my walls incase I throw another dumb dumb fit. The others should be sleeping, not worrying about something as simple as a case of "Donatello not being able to fit into the world around himself". Anyway, my battleshell is fixed, and although I'm not able to wear it still, it's here when I need it.

Leo takes a deep breath. "Okay, so he's been having shutdowns. He used to have those a lot when we were little, right?" I nod. "And he can't wear his shell because his is hurt, but when we saw him earlier it looked relatively healed to me. Do you think it's internal damage?"

"I'm not sure." I take a moment to look once more at my younger (smaller) brother. He looks more worried than before. "Are you okay, though? I knew we were all having nightmares, but Leo, you can talk to me, you know that right?" He doesn't make eye contact and flips pages for me until he pauses.

"Here. Look at this one." My eyes travel back to the book.

LOG 392:

I can barely fix anything. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. got back online this morning and I thought I could program to be like the one that was destroyed by the Shredder, but something was wrong. He wasn't the same. I don't even remember what happened, but I came to to find him destroyed once more. I'll put off building him again. Anything I've been building lately just isn't right. If one of them come in here they'll ask, but I'll either have to clean up or just actually fix something of use for them to keep attention off of it. I did fix my battleshell at some point, that was an easy project I've done thousands of times, but I can't wear it for some reason. I can't let anything touch it. My tests are proving nothing to me as I can't figure out if this is a symptom, reaction, or just my stupid dumb dumb brain being its normal stupid dumb dumb self. The battleshell might be broken as well. I feel shadows surrounding me and the tentacles grabbing onto me when I'm not focused on my work. I need to find something worthy for us to use if something happens, and I feel like something is going to. I'm not sure soon, or what, but we HAVE to be prepared. I can't lose any of them.

I need more coffee. I'll be logging again soon to keep a record of my work.

"I think we all need to talk." Leo nods, still not responding to my question.

"Well, it's almost our usual time to get up. I'm not sure about you, but I'm going to make some breakfast and wait for Mikey to wake up. Don'll be down for the count for a bit, and I'll be ballz to the wall bored if I don't do something." I give him a disapproving look at the language. "What? After all we've been through, and I can't even curse? Lammmeee" He walks out and I put the book back where it was kept before. Taking one more look around I can feel my eye get agitated from the lack of the eye patch I've been keeping on it, but both begin to tear at the sight of the lab. This wasn't the brother we grew up with. He was strict on cleanliness and rules, his handwriting was always neat and his blueprints were precise and displayed where we could all see (if he welcomed us into the lab).

We have a lot to talk about. If his journal is right, all of us need to get through what we've been dealing with together or else we'll all fall apart. Don can take hits like a champ, and usually he doesn't let things get to him, but he isn't good with emotions. It's almost scary to see how in denial he is about it, but the destruction he's surrounded himself with is just showing all of us how hard it's been on him. On Leo. On Mikey. Heck, I'd even admit the nightmares for myself haven't gotten any better. I've already admitted to myself that the person that almost killed his brother wasn't him, but when you have to relive being trapped and only being able to watch as his own hand chokes him, it kind of feels like I just wasn't strong enough to stop it in the first place.

I walk out, shutting the door behind me and walking to Don's room, peeking in the cracked door. It's dark, but I can see the way he grips on the sheets and the sweat building on his brow. He's having a nightmare. Not bad enough to make me wake him (god knows he needs the sleep), but enough to make me walk in and sit on the beanbag in the corner to keep watch. I couldn't stop what happened before, but I'll stop him from falling even if it's just in his dreams.