A/n: Well, this chapter didn't turn out how I expected... I was expecting only one chapter and an epilogue after chapter 10, but Don hijacked this part, so there will be more. The joys of not planning out where your story is going, haha. I'm just hoping it hasn't thrown the pacing totally out of whack.

Chapter 11 – Coming Unravelled

.:…:.

Raphael almost wished that Splinter wouldn't be waiting for him when they reached the Lair, but nothing could have kept his father from his front-door vigil. Splinter moved with a speed that belied his age, and he was beside Raphael before his son had taken more than two steps into the Lair.

Raph was grateful that his father managed to control his expression at the sight of his face. He wondered just how long Splinter had been holding his breath for, as he exhaled:

"Raphael, my son." He reached up to place his paws on his shoulders. "It is good to have you home," he said simply, pulling him into a light embrace, and then mercifully releasing him.

Home. Raphael absently shook off his brothers' hands from where they lingered on his arms and shoulders. He stood unaided just inside the entrance of the Lair, trying to breathe deeply through his nose. Home. In the terrifyingly familiar space he wanted to be relieved, but instead he felt out of place. Just a short while ago, he'd been nothing more than a freak in a cage. Right now he was intensely conscious of the wires piercing his flesh, burning reminders of where he'd come from. How could he belong here again?

"… Raph?" Mikey looked as if he wanted to ask if he was alright, but already knew the answer. They were all looking at him. Watching him.

"Come on, bro." Donatello took advantage of his distraction and began to lead him to the lab. "Let's get you fixed up."

Keeping an eye on Raph's faltering steps and a hand ready to steady him if he stumbled, Don sensed the presence of his other two brothers drawn along in his wake, as if they were connected magnetically to the one they had been missing for so long. At the door to his lab he paused and looked back at them over his shoulder.

"I think I can handle this without supervision, you guys." He said pointedly. Raph continued into the lab, seemingly oblivious to the stand-off behind him.

"But Don – "

"Leo," Don lowered his voice, "I know you don't want to let him out of your sight right now, but… can't you see how uncomfortable you're making him?"

Mikey's puppy-dog-eyes fell slightly.

"Just give him a little space. At least til I've got the… the stitching out." His stomach clenched at the words, but judging by the look of resignation on Leo's face, he was beginning to get through to him.

"Will he be okay?" Mikey asked, seeking some sort of reassurance.

"… Physically? I should think so."

After a moment, Leo sighed. "Do what you can, Don. Mikey and I will wait out here." He took his youngest brother by the arm and led him firmly to the couch. Mikey was still trying to peer through the door into the lab, right up until Don disappeared through it and shut it behind him. Mikey's eyes snapped down to the floor and he sat on the couch abruptly.

"Mikey?" Leo tried to block out his feelings of uselessness as he sat beside him. His brother's eyes remained downcast, his arms crossed over his chest. When he spoke, there was a strange tightness in his voice.

"I hate seeing Raph like that."

"We all do - "

" – But it was like I couldn't stop staring. Couldn't look away. Couldn't stop thinking about what he must have gone through, in that place. Geez, Leo, what kind of sick people…" His throat closed over and prevented him from finishing the sentence, so he just shook his head slowly as his eyes squeezed shut.

Leo could find no answer for him. Michelangelo had always believed in the best parts of human nature. Every time some scumbag stole a purse or robbed a store he was disappointed, but he always seemed to bounce back to maintain a faith in humanity that none of the rest of his family had ever quite been able to share. But Leo suspected that this was going to put a permanent dent in Mikey's attitude. To Mikey, it would seem like a betrayal of trust, that people could be capable of such actions.

Leo's world-view was slightly more jaded than Mikey's, and sadly, he was not all that surprised at the levels to which people were capable of stooping.

He found that the lack of surprise did not seem to reduce his pain at seeing the results.

.:…:.

Don closed the lab door behind him, and turned to find Raphael standing in front of the medicine cabinet on the wall, staring at his own reflection in the mirrored doors, with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

Understanding came to Don in a flash – No mirrors in that place. This must be the first time he's seen himself since they…

Raphael lifted a hand slowly to his face. He touched the stitching with one thick finger. His beak was swollen and inflamed. The wire had never been given the time to heal over and settle into the skin. Almost every night, when he couldn't stop his reflexive yells (or when his anger got the better of him and he tried to scream curses at the crowd), the stitching had tugged at his flesh.

Darmonaz was right, he thought with something approaching numbness. His appearance was… monstrous. Not human. Even less human than he had been before, though he hadn't thought that would be possible… and even the removal of the stitches wouldn't fix that, not really. He felt very cold. The monster is under the skin.

"Raph." Don's pained voice interrupted his thoughts, and he dragged his face away from the mirror. Don was standing next to the medical bed, waiting for him with an expression that was as close to neutral as he could manage.

Raph eyed the white sheets of the bed with distaste. He had always hated playing the Patient to Don's Doctor. He made himself cross the room anyway, and sat on the edge of the bed. There was a smooth electrical buzz as Don raised the head of the bed up into a half-sitting position.

"Sit back," he instructed his brother. He went to gather some instruments, and returned to lean over Raph and examine his face closely.

Under his brother's eyes, Raph shifted uncomfortably. Part of him wanted to hide away from the intense gaze, to not be seen. But then Donatello placed gentle fingers on either side of his face – for a moment they were the hands of a brother, not a doctor – and suddenly Raph was hit by a powerful surge of delayed relief. He was really here. He was really out of that place. It was really over, and his family still wanted him back, and Christ but he'd missed them, all of them, so much.

Worry and relief warred for control over Donatello's face.

"Raphie…" And he actually smiled at the watery glare he received at the use of the dreaded nick-name. "It'll be alright. I'm going to get the stitches out, but I don't want you to try to talk right away, okay? We need to get some liquids down your throat." He picked up a sterilised pair of scissors from the tray beside the bed, and then he hesitated.

"It looks like there's a bit of infection, so this is probably going to hurt a little. Want me to give you a local?"

Raph shook his head sharply.

"Should have known," Don muttered under his breath. "Okay, hold still…" And with a precise snip at the first knot in the stitching, he set to work.

It had been so long since Raph had had the luxury of lying on a real bed that he would have dropped off to sleep then and there, if it weren't for the relentless sting of the wire sliding slowly from his flesh. He managed to keep himself silent as his brother worked, twitching only slightly when a stitch snagged against his skin. He kept his gaze firmly fixed somewhere over Don's left shoulder, unable to look him in the eye at such close quarters.

The sensation of bits of wire being pulled slowly out of his skin was beginning to make him feel slightly nauseous. More and more twisted pieces were piling up on the steel tray next to the bed, dropped there by Don's careful tweezers, and instead of relieved, Raph was starting to feel nervous. When the stitching was gone he would be expected to break his enforced silence. And he simply didn't know what he could say. Couldn't get his brain to form the words. Never his forte, the concept of stringing words together now seemed completely alien to him. In the Battleshell, and heading into the Lair, he had watched his brothers' mouths as they spoke to him, to each other, and marvelled at the unthinking ease with which words came bubbling out, their lips and tongues shaping meanings he was sometimes too distracted to grasp.

He was glad that Don had given him a short reprieve with his orders not to put stress on his throat as soon as his mouth was opened. But soon…

What if he couldn't do it? What if he opened his mouth to speak, and nothing came out?

As the stitches were pulled, he felt himself starting to unravel.

Don removed one more short piece of wire, and dropped it on the tray. "That's all of it."

Raph cracked his mouth open just a fraction, and ran his dry tongue tentatively across his lips. He could taste old blood. Experimentally, he breathed in through his mouth and coughed a little at the unfamiliar sensation as the air got caught in the back of his throat.

"Remember what I said," Donatello admonished, placing a stern hand on Raph's shoulder. "Just take it easy. It's going to need disinfecting and bandaging. Your ankles and wrists, too…"

Raph nodded wearily. He thought that he was trying to act more tired than he really was, in order to escape from the questions and attention coming his way (he just knew that Leo and Mikey were right outside the lab, waiting for their turn with him), but the acting made him realise how exhausted he truly was. When he peered up at Don's face, as he returned to the bedside with some bandages, he realised that his brother looked just as exhausted as he was himself, if the bags under his eyes were anything to go by.

Raph wanted to thank him, somehow, but he still didn't want to speak, (couldn't speak?), and his body was beginning to shut itself down for rest. I'll just… deal with it later, he surrendered, and let his eyes close. At this point, unconsciousness seemed the easiest option.

Don stayed quiet as he noticed Raph's descent into sleep. He was burning to question him about his imprisonment, partly from a genuine medical need-to-know, and partly from a decidedly non-medical worry; if he didn't know for certain what had been done to his brother, then his imagination was free to fill in the blanks.

When he finished bandaging the raw skin around Raph's wrists and ankles he took the opportunity to examine his brother more closely, while he wasn't awake to suffer any discomfort from his gaze. Don's eyes travelled over Raphael's skin. Small signs of his mistreatment were scattered all over it. He was just glad that so much of their bodies were covered by the protective shell and plastron, because there was barely an inch of exposed skin that was not unmarked. He noticed a few blemishes that looked different to the others, and turned them over in his mind analytically. They looked like… the marks of a whip. Old, and faded now, but…

Don resisted the sudden temptation to wake his brother up and… And what? What exactly would I do? He just felt that he hadn't managed to express to Raph just how worried he'd been, or how relieved that he was finally home, or how angry he was at the monsters who'd dared to hurt him, to keep him from his clan…

Don found that he was shaking (with fury, fear, relief?), a fine trembling in all of his limbs, and his eyes were suspiciously hot. He'd have to compose himself before he went out to talk with Leo and Mikey. He didn't want to scare them into thinking something was wrong.

Aside from the fact, of course, that our brother had been treated like a beast, he thought blackly. Perhaps worse.

He headed out of the room. Maybe later, once he'd talked to his Sensei and caught up on some missed sleep, he'd go a round with Raph's punching bag.

.:…:.