"Are ya deaf, or just straight up stupid?" Angry yellow eyes seized the shorter terra by the body and held him in place firmly while he was visually dissected, every inch of his naked being roughly, and Leo suspected unfairly, assessed.
Leonardo didn't want to admit it, but he was definitely feeling stupid just then. Stupid, and intimidated by the sheer mass of hulking terra before him. He himself was considered rather tall for the average height of terra warriors; others automatically assumed Leonardo had the right to the authority of command, and differed to him in battle solely based on his size. He wasn't ignorant enough to believe he was the biggest terra of their clan, but... seriously this guy was huge, big and scary looking with all those scars, all muscley, and really, really pissed.
Dumbly, Leo stammered, "W-wa-?"
"Oh, thank shell! And here I was thinkn' ya might be a threat, but ya just a dumb little mud crawler aren't ya? Hey, do ya squat before ya sh-" Donatello growled, deafening the young one by the hastened placing of his hands on either side of Raecoo's 'innocent' head.
Attention averted, the giant saw past a blustering Leo and took in the bearer's haggard expression, and the weary slump of slender shoulders. Donatello sweat in visible waves, his coloring almost sickly, and his breathing shallow. Raecoo was crouched in front of Don's midsection, small noggin resting easily against upper plastron, little hands rubbing light patterns on his mama's now obvious conception bump, and cooing short childish chirps of comfort to let it get across: that it was going to be okay because father was here now.
Raphael shouldered past Leonardo and approached the kneeling pair somewhat cautiously, voice filled with concern and something else entirely different that Leo couldn't name, "Don! Sa'matter? Is ...is it-?"
The eyes leaking sadness that rose to meet his were answer enough, "Oh, Don... I'm so sorry sweet stuff."
Donatello couldn't hold on to what little composure he'd been clinging to for Leonardo's sake any longer, and a pitiful whimper acknowledged the falling pieces of his crumbling world.
Life... it's not fair, never was, and will never be. Not for someone like him.
He never knew what hope was- what the word meant -in his earlier years. He was ignorant of all he would eventually be sacrificing and enduring as the Clan's sole bearer. (Not that there was ever the chance he'd be given a choice) But it had been easier, if only just, when the things that happened to him- were done to him –things he'd always been taught to believe were just how things were.
The time he noticed something was off about the way he existed was the day of his very first conceiving, the experience had shocked its haunting memory onto an eternally revolving slate of horrified understanding, never to be forgotten by his mind's eyes. Donatello was what they called a bearer. He lived for a specific purpose and would perform flawlessly, not only without a say or break, but to the conditioned expectations one would beat into a mutt. Over the grueling course of several years that lasted far longer than forever Don dealt with his lot in silence. It hurt. The terras would breed him whenever, and treat him however, they pleased. He would fight the one battle they, biologically, could never. Give birth to their young and watch, infuriatingly helpless, as one after the other, the little bodies of his babies, who he had slaved so hard to meet, where whisked away... never to see him in the light of a living being with as much right to feel, to cry, to live... to love...as a budding terra.
Then he'd met Raphael, and a strange longing/idea took seed in Donatello's oppressed heart, but it never progressed past its sewing... Until Michelangelo. With this abnormal terra he learned what hope was, and how promising, uplifting, and sustaining such a miraculous thing was. Hope.
And now Don's hope was dead, stabbed and drained of its red beauty to dry in gory splatters all over the bound feet of fate's bitch. It was gross and so very wrong.
"The baby Raph... I-I- w-what will M-Mikey think? This is my last-"
The burly terra crossed the last foot of distance between his shaking friend, and his pressing urge to comfort, in one great stride.
In an instant the bearer was grieving into Raphael's neck, the other's securing arms the only obstacle in the way of misery's crushing claim on Donatello. Don let loose, he felt no shame or weakness in weeping while it was this turtle who held him so caringly. (And fuck what the other terra in the tent thought)
The blacksmith was solid, safe, and understanding. Someone Don needn't hide from. Aside from one other terra, unlike the others Raphael cared. He never hurt Don, intentionally or otherwise, physically or emotionally. Every time the large turtle lay with the bearer he handled him as though his very shell might cave and his skin bruise by every wayward breeze. Raph even allowed the bearer to match him gaze for gaze. Went as far as to demand that Don look nowhere else but at his face when the candles burnt low, the flickering orange glow playing the shadows of their entwined bodies. Just the two of them.
What Don loved most of all about his dear friend was the mini hoard of precious bitties Raphael had gifted him. Twenty and two little terra-turtles who loved and adored their 'Dona' (It was difficult for some tiny mouths to pronounce Donatello and the nickname had stuck perfectly). Raphael had been the first and only to allow further contact other than the womb between his children and Donatello...
.../The infant's cries tore jagged breaths of profound loss from the bearer's deflating middle. Twenty-four hours. That's all the time he'd had with the mite terra and all the time he'd get. Pitifully, Don clutched at the elastic section of plastron that had cradled his babe only seconds ago.
'Correction', his mind stated bitterly, 'The babe. Not yours. He may be of you, but never yours.'
Don's eyes shut tight, crinkling to the point of producing a minor headache. This child was Raphael's; caring, strong, crazy, gentle Raphael, and that made this birthing colossally tragic. Tragic, because Raphael was just so good, so... Raphael, and Donatello knew without a smidgen of doubt that any child of Raphael's would be beyond beautiful. Even the declarative mewls and burps Don tried unproductively to ignore were gorgeous and echoing in his ear slits.
So, he did not look.
Instead he trapped his tears behind the iron clamping of his earth toned lids. The new baby's sounds silenced with a chirping gurgle, and the bearer heard the rustling of thick fabric as someone exited the tent, the minutes old terra probably being presented to the clan for the first time.
The bearer gingerly sat himself up, wincing only slightly as his body dumped the last of the evidence of labor and repaired itself with uncanny ability. Don's whole countenance sagged in his dreary sadness. Alone in the tent. Left to clean the afterbirth and ready himself for the warriors within the hour. Alone and dirty, with no one to scoff and berate him for his born weakness.
So, he let it all out.
He cried and raged. Still in his state of self-made blindness the fed up turtle crawled to his sleeping pallet and hammered the pillows with clenched fists.
"Damnit! Damnit, damnit!" he croaked.
"Do ya really want that ta be the first word the tike says, Don?"
Disbelief and shame had the bearer crying harder and turning away from the terra's voice. He'd thought he was alone! Now Raphael knew of his real weak self and would quit coming around. No more sweet nights with the only terra who seemed to care, and hold him like the world couldn't possibly bear a hope of getting to him. He didn't know if he could handle the cold end of a grueling day of breeding by himself after having known the blacksmith's kindness. It was all too much.
"Hey, Don I don't know what I've done ta upset ya, but at least don't treat the kid so hard," the big terra's words sounded softly and close by, earning Don's full attention, "He's a wiggly little bite'a and he's cute as a hellion. Wanna see?"
"N-no." Donatello's answer just as wavery as his trembling lower lip.
"Afraid I might take him away afta'?"
"Y- ...yes."
Raphael's deep chuckle was fond and knowing. Reluctantly Don let it ease the cramps in his chest and shifted to face where he could feel the terra's aura. Without receiving fair warning, a warm youngling was placed into his shaking hands. Startled, he quickly cupped the infant to his plastron to support the back of his silky feeling shell. Raph was right, the terra in his hands wiggled all over the place, centimeter length fingers patting and grasping at the scutes of the bearer's belly, spoon sized heels trying to dig into Don's plastron.
He couldn't help his smile.
"He's looking right at ya Don." Raph laughed, gripping the bearer's chin in one hand and guiding his head down, egging him to peek.
So, he looked.
Only to have more tears of a different kind mar the perfect sight snuggled happily against him.
"Oh! Oh, he's perfect, a little angel." Don breathed, then sagged tiredly against the largest of the three, who'd moved up behind him to hold them both at the same time.
"Nah, this tikes' a feisty little imp. Ya can tell by the tricky gleam in his eyes, and the powerful grip of them chubby demon fingers." Raph's point was humorously proved when the the babe refused to free his knew plaything, using picket fenced baby teeth to naw savagely on his father's knuckles.
The bearer sighed, the happiest he'd been in a long while, and struggled halfheartedly with the heavy drowsiness overcoming him, content with knowing that Raph wouldn't let their child fall should Don's arms give.
Raph jostled him lightly, "Hey, what shall our imp go by?"
"Hmm?" Don blinked, not comprehending.
"What'll be his name dumbass?" Fond patience contradicting the words.
The bearer smiled, curling around his baby and getting comfy in the blacksmith's warmth.
"Raecoo," he whispered, "My little demon angel."/...
Raecoo pouted from his awkward heap on the floor, only half annoyed that he'd been dumped without forethought. As sore as his bumby was, being a tough terra-turtle Raecoo ignored the reddening ache on his bottom and crawled over to the tense and still Leonardo to make a comfortable sitty spot at his feet. The serious, fixated face that the towering adult was making bothered the little one. He followed Leo's flinty glare and found his attention on both of Raecoo's parents.
Dona was crying. His mama's tail was twitching and jerking, curling up on itself tightly, locking the single muscle, then unfurling with an audible snap. Dona was in pain. Raecoo glowered up at Leo. In an unintentional way, mama's hurt was this strange terra's doing. He wouldn't blame the elder turtle as he'd been taught how to reason the difference between people acting out of spite and when they inadvertently caused harm.
He'd also learned a mannered respect for adults.
However, this wouldn't conflict with Raecoo's firm belief that Leo needed the lowdown, and maybe then he'd stop judging Dona so arrogantly, like he had a clue.
"Terra Leonardo?"
Leo was off in a shady state of sub conscientious jealousy. A baser part of him did its darndest to convince him that, as he watched the inexplicable show of tenderness in the rumbling churs the giant emitted for the bearer's benefit that he could be doing that. Purely instinctual, mind you.
An insistent pull to his right ankle almost succeeded in pulling him away from his funk, "Hmm?"
"Dona's tummy hurts," Leonardo looked down sharply at the deadly serious whisper in the youngling's voice, "It's because of the baby, you know? Mr. Leatherhead explained it to me. The baby grows too fast and mama's baby pouch starts too small. Dona wasn't born all the way right, so it hurts. Dona has babies almost every day... Mama always hurts."
Leo, rightly, had nothing to say to that.
Instead he frowned at Raecoo and stepped away, purposely moving his leg out of grabbing range, and 'hmphing'. An airy sigh brought his line of sight back up to the other adults, and his green faced darkened considerably with the rushing flow of embarrassed blood.
Kissing? Touching one's lips affectionately- at all -with those of a bearer?!
Leo coughed loudly, earning him a leveling, narrow eyed look, and even more surprisingly, a menacing snarl. Never breaking eye contact, the blacksmith assisted Don in lowering himself down into an easy lounging position before turning to advance on Leo, who took a startled step back, bringing his hands up in an insecure gesture of passiveness.
"Ya challenging me?" Raph asked quietly, "I don't have time for this, as little effort it'll take ta mangle ya, he," he pointed a thick index finger at the pale bearer, "doesn't have time for ya getting all horny-terra in the head."
What!? No! Leo shook his head. He wasn't so stupid as to try and tussle for breeding rights with such a heavy weight terra while the bearer was already carrying, and his child too!
"No- I.. I was just-!" He clumsily fumbled to pull off righteous indignation. Which is hard to pull off when he is pathetically pleading with the other to understand he wasn't intending to oppose; cringing to make himself appear smaller and nonthreatening. Little good it did him as the bulkier terra kept coming, growling deep from his chest and coming to stand chest to face with Leo.
"Just what, bottom feeder?"
Something in the other terra's eyes brought out the worst, inopportune case of weak knees in Leo, their intensity cutting through his proud stance just above his calves. With a growl of hopeless admonition, he realized his legs were shaking as they hastily back-peddled to escape the bigger turtle's carelessly invoked power act.
"S'what I thought. Tuck in ya tail and mosey on out'a here."
Leo grit his teeth and hissed. The swords wielder hated nothing more than the humiliation of lowering one's head in defeat, surrendering, and being made less than another. Hated it to the obsessive extent that he'd made it his primary focus as a warrior to always come out the victor, no matter how excessive the lengths. Now here was this turtle, this no-name terra, and Leonardo found himself breaking under some imagined force of his dull, plain, searing, baring, stripping, unfair eyes- Huh?!
Leo shook his head to force it clear, only succeeding in making himself dizzy and twice as irritated with the way he'd been presenting himself. He was better than this. An esteemed terra warrior, a famed leader and tactician, he was immovable, he was strong. And yet...
Suddenly Raphael pulled away and the harsh V of his brow ridges softened.
Callused hands gripped the corners of Leo's shell, "Don't ya worry about ya little one. Dons' never lost one, okay? Now..."
Then he was being pushed out of the dimly lit tent and into the glaring sunlight, wondering what in the shell just happened.
"They kicked me out too."
Leo jumped about an impressive two feet. Of course the annoying terra-turtle found this funny, the little kid quality of his laughter stayed Leo's scolding tongue. Initial what-in-the-world shocked out of his system he sighed, rolling his eyes. It was just the little brat.
Raecoo smiled widely. He knew terra Leonardo was trying to get along with a difficult turtle, whose head barely reached his mid-thigh, and that it was a meddlesome first for him.
"Father likes you, terra Leonardo, sir."
"Oh, yeah?" the elder terra didn't know what to make of the odd swirling of warmth that blossomed in his chest in reaction to this news, but it was... kind of nice.
"For your sex. He likes them tall, lean, and full of themselves. The perfect size and attitude for shell scuffing."
"Excuse me?" the elder turtle grit out, a very tempting imagination of ringing Raecoo's cute grin off his adorable face by way of strangulation playing out in his head. He could get away with it too: training accident, collateral, an inconspicuous hole behind an equally inconspicuous hill, his word as an honorable terra...
The youngling took delight in the way Leonardo clenched his fists as if making a great effort not to strike him. Yes, Raecoo decided he liked Leo very much. He knew Leo had heard him well enough, and said in an all too innocent voice, "This doesn't bother you, does it terra Leonardo?"
Leo breathed in deep, calling on an exercise he hadn't needed in years before addressing Raecoo with his regularly heeded, crisp, commanding voice, "Young terra, I don't believe I was mistaken when you said you'd assist me with my equipment for thirty days. Does this unproven turtle make good on his word, or have you no honor?"
The small terra giggled and pointed from his toes to his head, "I'm full of this much honor! And I solemnly swear, on my honor, that I will not mishandle, chew on, or drop your stuff in nasty shi- mud! I will trail your big bad shadow like a good puppy, and fall back when told to do so politely! Well... most of the time."
Leo nodded, "Very well then."
He retrieved his blades from the stationed terra waiting off to the side of the bearer's dwelling, deposited them straightaway into Raecoo's hands, and sped off towards his home, purposefully turning his shell on the place he knew the terra, Raphael, was caring for the bearer, Donatello, who now suffered for carrying Leonardo's child.
A child Leo wasn't sure he even wanted.
His child would come into this world so small and helpless.
His baby, a bearer.
His long hoped for posterity, who he wished with his uncertain heart would never look at him the way Donatello had: despairing, broken a hundred times too many, and forced to keep going.
Leonardo was a strong turtle, a terra above terras and he didn't want to deal with this.
So he turned his back on the sick pity he felt he was too grown to feel for the bearer. It was their way of life. This is how it is. The clan must thrive and grow, and someone had to bear the young. Donatello was born that turtle, his child would be born that turtle...
..and there was nothing he should do about it...