On the table beside Leo's bed - Raph's bed now - was a pile of red fabric. That fabric held most of Raphael's attention lately, and it was only getting worse as time went on.

There were a couple of reasons for that. The first, obviously, was what the fabric was. Mike, in one of his endless attempts to cheer Raph up, had brought down a bunch of things from his room. Raph's CD player, some comics Raph had stolen from Mike's collection. And his bands.

There they lay, useless in a limp pile. Just like Raph.

He'd slipped the eyeband on once, just to remind himself how it felt. Looking at the world from inside a peripheral circle of red had been jarring. It was so fucking long since he'd worn the thing, and he jerked it off after just a few seconds and dropped it on the table, where it lay now.

Because he wasn't a ninja anymore. He wasn't a fighter. He might have been again one day, but suddenly his legs were gone. That life, suddenly, was gone. Which gave the red fabric a whole new meaning, and a new, distracting purpose there on that table.

It was funny, in a way. If Raphael was anyone else he would have been alright. If this had happened to any one of his brothers...

Mike would have dealt with the blow and found a way to be satisfied with a life of TV and comics. Don would have fine-tuned his new position, whipping out communication devices, making his computers another weapon to aide when the other three went aboveground. Don of all of them would have been content, because he would have been of use.

Leo? He'd've been a wreck, same as Raph. But he would've dealt with it. Considered it some spiritual challenge, and somehow he'd've been alright.

Not Raph. Not when everything he had to give was physical. He was a fighter, and that's all he was. Mike was heart, Don was brains, Leo was spirit. Raph was nothing.

In his darkest moments he wondered if he shouldn't have let Leo take the bullet that was meant for him. Stupid, useless thought, because he never would. All the dark thoughts in the world didn't change who Raph was. He would have jumped in front of Leo, in front of any of them, no matter what.

No, if he could go back to that day and change anything, he would change only one thing: he would have dove lower and let the bullet catch him right in the head.

Because, when he had to think about it - and he had nothing anymore but time and silence and nothing worked but his brain and all he could fucking do anymore was think about it - he realized that the only tragedy was that he hadn't died all at once.

If he had died they could have mourned him and dealt with the grief. They could have moved on.

Instead he lingered, and he watched Don come in more grave and weary every day, and Mike's smiles grew more fake, and Leo got more distant. Because they were mourning every fucking day they had to come in and see him just as bad, just as useless, helpless...

Shit.

They were trapped the same way he was. Stuck in this weird limbo. Waiting for some miracle that wasn't going to happen. He was costing them.

He went through pain pills, went through sheets like a fucking infant - and wasn't it pathetic that his one trip to the bathroom was apparently going to be the high point of his fucking life? He ate food and drank water and took up all this space, and he didn't give a thing for it.

A burden.

That's all he was, and all he ever would be.

Of course he knew they loved him, and they'd fight him with real ferocity if they knew what he was thinking. But that just made it worse, really. Because Raph was lost. He was. He was gone, but it was happening a little bit day after day, not all at once.

Should've let the bullet hit him in his fucking head. Damn the Purple Dragon for not being a better shot.

Which, actually, led him back to the bands that sat on the table by his bed, and the other reason why he was thinking about them more and more lately.

"Raph?"

He turned his head, tugging himself slowly out of his thoughts. Move slowly, he reminded himself. Don't talk fast. He was supposed to be medicated.

But it wasn't Don that stood there, it was Mike. Glass of water and bottle of pills in hand, and a smile on his face, so Raph could relax a little and not worry about mimicking the effects of those killer pain pills.

He cleared his throat - he wasn't talking a lot these days. "Hey."

Mike moved in, eyes moving over Raph's face so intently it almost felt like a touch. "So. I know you get some of these pills about now. How you feeling?"

Raph shrugged. He didn't hurt anymore - hard to hurt when half his body was fucking numb. But Don hadn't questioned his request for more, stronger pain medication. "Okay," he said finally.

Mike came right up to the bed and sat with a thump. "I was thinking. We should ask Casey and April to see if they can't find up a TV somewhere, and we could set it up in here. I can finally get you hooked on some of my shows, so you can't make fun of me anymore for watching them."

Raph almost smiled. "Yeah, I don't think Leo wants a TV in here."

"Well, come on. It's your room too, now. More than his. Actually I think he really likes your hammack, because he's sleeping longer every day. Getting practically lazy."

Raph's trace of a smile vanished. Getting lazy. They were all in fucking limbo, weren't they? His brothers hadn't been patrolling, or training, or anything. They were stuck. Waiting.

Mike stretched out the glass of water. "Here."

"It's quiet." Raph took the glass. "Where is everybody?"

"I put Don to bed. Kinda forced the issue, actually." Mike grinned. "Leo? I think..." There was a strange gleam in his eyes. "I think he's talking with Splinter."

Whatever caused Mike's grin to grow, Raph didn't know. But he forced a smile in response and thought to himself, good. It's quiet.

He looked at Mike's hands suddenly, at the bottle he'd brought in.

Raph had never been one for predestination, and fate, and that other higher-power crap that Leo and Splinter believed in. But this was luck. Of some kind, anyway.

He took the pill bottle from Mike, nice and easy. "Just leave 'em. Let Don sleep in the morning. I know he's been working hard."

Mike shrugged. "Whatever. You know, I could bring some books in or something. Some of that stuff Don's got is actually a little bit interesting."

"That's alright."

"But it's so quiet in here." Mike looked out at the room, and when he looked back at Raph his grin was gone. "I don't like you being in here all alone in the quiet. You think...we could move you into the living room?"

Raph snorted, more bitterly than he'd intended. "And never get a private second? No thanks."

"But."

Raph reached out. He lay his hand on Mike's arm. "Look. I know you're worried, but it's fine. Things are gonna be fine, okay?"

Mike smiled faintly, but took Raph's hand in his. "You're cold." He rubbed Raph's hand between his palms. "Anyway, when did you turn into an optimist?"

"I'm not," Raph answered. "Just...it can't really get much worse."

"Raph." Mike's hands slowed, his eyes going bleak. "Come on. Don says there's a good chance this is just temporary. And Leo...Leo's talking to Splinter."

Raph didn't bother to ask why that was important. He tugged his hand away from Mike. "I'm gonna sleep, okay?"

Mike frowned, but stood slowly. "I think things are going to get better, Raph. In a lot of ways they are. You just have to keep fighting until they do."

Fighting. Raph smiled to himself, dark and bitter. "Yeah. Thanks."

Mike blinked, his frown growing deeper. As if he saw something in Raph's face he didn't like.

And Mike really would see it. Mike knew him, better than any of his brothers. Raph felt a sudden, tight curl of affection in his gut. It came up so bright, so out of nowhere, that it almost made his eyes water. "Hey. Mikey. Don't worry so much, okay? You shoulda stopped worrying about me a long time ago."

Mike breathed in, almost a sniffle. He smiled at that, faint. "You know better than that."

"Yeah." Raph held his hand out.

Mike didn't hesitate, moving back to the bedside and grasping his hand tightly. "You scare me lately."

"Sorry."

"You should be."

Raph smiled. "Thanks. You know? For everything. You've always been sweeter than I deserve."

"I'm sweeter than anyone deserves." Mike's grin returned, smaller than his old grins but better than the sad smiles he'd been giving lately. "You shout if you need anything."

"I won't need anything else." Raph dropped his hand. "Get some sleep."

"You too, hero." Mike moved to the door, and with only a brief glance back he left.

Raph sat for a long time, watching the door. His hand brushed the bottle of pain pills Mike had left, and he wrapped his fingers around it and held on tight.

His eyes finally moved to the other side of the bed, the table. The red eye band lying in its heap. He reached over. His finger pushed aside the top strip of the band, and in the middle of the fabric a pile of white pills sat waiting.

Don didn't bother watching him swallow anymore. It had been Raph's request to keep taking the pills, why would he ask if he didn't want them?

It was awkward, pushing away the eyeband without losing any of the pills. He picked them up, one by one, and dropped them into the pill bottle with the others. There were too many to fit - Don must've had to ask Casey to bring more.

More than a bottle. More than enough. He just hoped there was enough water in the glass to get them all down.

Raph dropped his head back against the headboard of the bed. He shut his eyes.

It was cowardice. It was giving up. He knew that, and hated it. He'd let his family down. But it was final. They could mourn and move on, the way they should have been able to in the beginning.

If he had his legs he would have left, gone somewhere else and done this where they wouldn't have to deal with it. But he didn't.

And that was the crux of the matter. He didn't have his legs. He wasn't anything anymore. He wouldn't allow himself to linger, to last years as nothing more than sheets that needed to be changed. It was selfish, maybe, but he was who he was. He could go out now a quitter, or go out eventually a feeble withered lump in a bed. That was his choice and he'd made it.

If he was anyone else...there would be reason to keep going. If he had anything to hold on, anything besides a family that hurt every time they looked at him...

He was supposed to be the strong one. Funny that he was giving up because of something any of them would have survived. He was the weakest of the chain after all.

Raph opened his eyes and let out a breath. He looked at the full bottle, and the few pills on his bedsheet that had spilled over.

"Sorry, guys," he said into the silence.

It was as much a note as he'd leave.