"We're almost there, Don," Leo said softly, as they stepped into the familiar comfort of their lair.

Don groaned. Leo and Raph each one of his arms pulled across their shoulders, keeping him upright as they guided him down into their home. He had recovered enough that he was able to move his legs in a slow shuffle, but not enough that he could do it alone without his knees buckling. Behind them, Mikey was carrying an exhausted April, wrapped in a rather wrinkled blanket that was kept in the Battle Shell for emergencies. Casey followed just behind, his face unusually grave.

Master Splinter came toward them as the elevator doors opened, his eyes wide as he saw Donatello sagging between his brothers. "My son, what has happened?" he said, raising his hands to touch the genius' face.

Don didn't answer, just looked dully at his father — and that lifeless response worried Leo more than anything he could have said or done.

They made their way to the couch in the middle of their living space, which Casey hastily folded out into a bed, and then helped Raph and Leo ease Don onto it. Their brother shuddered as his shell touched the mattress, and his eyes closed in relief. Even though he was the same size as the rest of them, he looked… diminished. Worn-out. As if something had ground him down and left him broken.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Casey asked, concerned.

Raph uttered a growl, and stormed away, almost shaking with fury. Casey looked after him, his face growing grimmer at the strength of his best friend's reactions.

Leo's hands were shaking as he filled a small basin with hot water, and draped a few washcloths and towels over his arm. He still didn't know what he could do for Don — if there even was anything he could do — so he was clinging to one thing he knew Don desperately needed. His brother's body was caked with dust, sweat and blood from his imprisonment, and Leo suspected that he wouldn't be able to bathe himself until at least the next day.

Master Splinter was sitting at Don's side as Leo came back, holding his hand and speaking softly to him. As he saw Leo, the mutant rat rose, whispered something to his wounded son and gently stroked the side of his face, then quietly slipped to where the eldest was standing.

"Is he talking about what happened?" Leo asked hesitantly.

"He has not," Splinter said quietly. "But he has suffered wounds to his spirit as well as his body. Be careful when speaking of what has been done to him."

Leo nodded, and made his way to where Don was lying on his back. When he saw him, Don smiled faintly.

"Hey, Leo," he said.

"I noticed you got a little dirty when you were away," Leo said, dipping one of the washcloths into the water. "Can I clean you up?"

Don nodded, and his eyes clung to Leo's hands as his brother began gently rubbing the cloth over dust and sweat sticking to his body. Leo painstakingly ran the wet cloth over and under Don's left arm, and then his right; after re-soaking the cloth and wringing it out, he began carefully running it between the scutes on Don's belly and chest, wincing as tiny bits of concrete, no bigger than grains of sand, came loose.

Soon the first washcloth was too dirty to continue using, and Leo began running a fresh one along Don's sides, moving it under the edge of his shell to catch any detritus that had lodged there. "How are you doing?" he asked quietly.

"I'm fine," Don said faintly.

"Don, I need to clean you… I need to clean off the blood. Can I do that?"

Don's fingers gripped the couch cushion tightly, but he nodded.

Leo struggled to keep his mind balanced as he began swiftly moving the damp washcloth along the stains on Don's inner thighs. He felt his brother flinch at the touch, saw his leg muscles tense slightly with every swipe of the cloth, but Don didn't make a sound. "Almost done," Leo said, moving his hand up to carefully dab at Don's cloaca. "Does it hurt?"

"A little," Don replied quietly, though Leo suspected it hurt more than he was letting on.

As soon as he could, Leo moved his attentions lower, removing some dust and cobwebs from Don's kneepads and his lower legs. Though Don hadn't made a sound aside from a few two-word sentences, Leo could feel some of the tension seeping out of his body as he finally finished cleaning him off.

"That ought to be enough until you can do it yourself," Leo said quietly.

He unfolded a nearby blanket and gently settled it over Don, wrapping it under his arms and around his chest. Don sighed deeply and closed his eyes, letting his head sink back against the cushions. "Thanks, Leo," he said. "I—I really needed that."

There was nothing in his expression or his voice that was out of the ordinary, but Leo heard something that still ran underneath the surface — a fragility that didn't belong in Don's steady, serene voice. His level-headed little brother shouldn't sound that way — shouldn't be this broken, shouldn't have suffered what he had suffered.

For a moment, all Leo could think of was that this wouldn't have happened if he had just gone with Don. If there had been two of them at April's apartment, maybe they could have fought off the Purple Dragons more effectively. Maybe they could have managed to dispose of the gas grenades rather than falling victim to them. Maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe… maybe… maybe…

His fists clenched. He couldn't help but feel that he had failed Don — that he should have been able to find his brother faster than he had. He and his brothers had spent the last few days tearing through the Purple Dragons wherever they could find them, but it hadn't been enough. Intellectually he knew that he had done everything he could have possibly been expected to do, but… his heart told him that he had failed.

"Don," he said quietly, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We're going to find them. We're going to find the ones who did this to you, and we're going to—"

"He's dead," Raph's gravelly voice broke in.

Don raised his head slightly as Raph stumped down toward him, his face set in grim lines, one hand still pressed to his wounded shoulder. A glimmer of interest had sparked in his eyes. "Raph?" he said softly.

"He's dead," Raph repeated, leaning over the back of the couch to look into Don's face. He shifted uneasily, as if he didn't want to say what he was saying. "He — he said what he did to you when I was fightin' him, Don. I wanted him dead."

"Did you kill him, Raph?" Leo asked.

"Sort of," Raph said, his fists clenching tightly against the couch cushion. "When he tried to blow up the Battle Shell, I made part of the ceiling collapse on him, but he still wasn't dead. I pinned him down so he couldn't move, and then he got crushed when more of the roof fell. He couldn't survive that. He's dead. He ain't gonna hurt you no more, Don."

Don's expression didn't change, but he took a shuddering breath that rattled through his entire body. Leo put a hand on his brother's shoulder, feeling his chest tighten at the anguish that briefly flashed across Don's face — though Leo wasn't sure if he was remembering what he had suffered, or whether he was upset that Raph knew that he had been violated. But whatever it was, his face smoothed out after a minute, and he raised a hand to touch Raphael's arm.

"Thanks, Raph," he said quietly. "That's a load off my mind."