The rest of the night was a sleepless one. At least, it was a sleepless one for Raphael.
Every time his fist hit the punching bag, his shoulder throbbed. He wasn't even punching with his injured arm — but the strikes kept sending jolts through his skeleton, jarring his shoulder every time.
He grimaced and pressed his unaffected hand to his throbbing shoulder. Even though after going without sleep the previous night, he knew he should be exhausted. But the anger inside him was keeping him awake — it practically crawled under his skin, itching at him to go out and beat the stuffing out of someone. Even though he didn't have anyone to beat right now.
He punched the bag again, and felt another throb in his shoulder. That was the frustrating part — he had already gotten revenge for Don, but he still wanted more. Most of the Dragons who had hurt his brother were probably either dead or hospitalized, but he still wanted to punish them. Especially that rapist — Racer, Leo had said — who had died way too quickly and painlessly. He threw one last punch at the bag, and winced at the jolt.
Then he glanced across the lair at Don. Splinter had decided that Don should not be left alone that night, that someone should stay with him at all times. The Turtle in question had lapsed into a deep, unmoving sleep on the couch, cocooned in a blanket and supported by a small nest of pillows Mikey had provided. Just looking at him, nobody would guess that anything had happened to him.
On the other hand, April had wept away the rest of her strength against Don, and was half-asleep when Leo had carried her away to his own room. Raph had gallantly offered his hammock as her temporary resting place, declaring that "I ain't gettin' any sleep," but Leo was uneasy with the idea of her sleeping in something that might suddenly tip over and throw her to the floor. So he carried her up to his room, placed her in his own bed, and had watched her tear-stained face growing peaceful at last as she fell asleep.
Mikey had gone up to his room just as an exhausted Leo had come back down, his eyes heavy and a stifled yawn on his lips. "I'll take the first watch," he had announced.
"No, you won't. You're all worn out from fightin' for two days without sleep," Raph had said.
"You've been awake just as long."
"Difference is, I'm too angry to sleep."
Splinter had intervened before Leo could come up with a response, commanding the blue-masked Turtle to sleep at least until morning, when they would see if Donatello had awakened. So Leonardo went up to Raphael's room and sprawled in his hammock, while Splinter reluctantly went back into his own private room.
That left Raphael effectively alone in the lair, the only one left awake to watch over Don. As he sat down in the nearby armchair, he felt a rush of gratitude that Splinter had taken his side.
He felt like he had failed. During fights, it was his self-appointed job to watch Don's back, to make sure nobody could hurt his brother. Don wasn't as fierce a fighter as the rest of them — maybe it was the trade-off for being so ridiculously smart — and sometimes he got cornered or knocked down during a battle. When that happened, Raph was always there to deflect a blow, attack a foe, to place himself between danger and his genius brother.
This time, he hadn't been able to do that. Don had been taken by the Purple Dragons, and hurt in ways that might never fully heal. Raph hadn't been there to save him. Now he felt a burning, gnawing feeling of failure in his core — the sense that he had let Don down when he really needed him.
It was then that he heard a rustle and a squeak, and looked up. Don was sitting up on the fold-out couch, looking blearily around himself in mild confusion.
"Don!" Raph said, scrambling to his feet.
Don looked up at him as the red-masked Turtle came over, a strange, distant look in his eyes, and began to move his legs to the edge of the couch. Then a spasm of pain crossed his face, and he pressed a hand to his lower plastron — and Raph's heart leapt into his throat.
"What's wrong, Don?" he said, putting his hand on his brother's scraped-up, bruised arm.
"N—nothing," Don said faintly. "Don't worry about it."
"Don't worry about it? Are you crazy? You're hurt, Don!" Raph said fiercely. He had to force himself not to grip Don's arm tighter — the last thing he wanted to do was hurt his brother further.
"It's nothing serious," Don said, wincing. "I—I'll get over it."
But he moved more gingerly as he let his legs hang over the edge of the couch, and seemed to be testing them against the floor. His movements were clumsy and slow, but at least he was moving — he had been limp as an old rag when they had escaped the warehouse, and he had barely moved as they drove him home.
The worst part, Raph thought, was that Don was the one of them with the most medical knowledge. He was the one who knew their mutated bodies best, whipped up chemical cures, and was able to handle their cuts and injuries with steady hands and mild sarcasm. It wasn't his preferred field of science, but it was still something he knew more about than any of the rest of them.
The problem was, that meant the rest of them were less likely to know what to do when Don was the one who was hurt. Raph didn't know how the rape might have hurt his intelligent brother physically — and even if he did know, he wouldn't know what to do about it. He felt frustration spiking inside him, mingled with worry that Don was going to start bleeding or something like that.
Don braced himself against the back of the couch, slowly drawing himself up to his feet. Then he slumped back down, and rubbed clumsily at his calves. "I still can't stand up," he said faintly.
"You had a lotta that drug in you," Raph said. "Just take it slow."
Don seemed to huddle forward, cradling his arms against his plastron. "I—I'll try," he said. A thought seemed to strike him, and he looked up at Raph with a faint question in his strange, distant eyes. "Where's April?"
"She's sleepin' in Leo's room. She was pretty worn out after she cried."
"Is — is she okay?"
"Not really. Neither of you are okay," Raph said. "You should lie down and get some more sleep. It's still the middle of the night, and you've —" His voice caught a little on the words he wanted to say. "You've been through a lot."
Don closed his eyes, listlessly allowing Raphael to place his hands on his shoulders. But when Raph's hands slid down to grip his brother's biceps, pushing him back to the couch, something seemed to snap inside Don. Raph felt Don stiffen as his eyes snapped open, wide and staring, suddenly awash in stark terror. A gasping breath rushed out of him, harsh and rasping.
"Don!" Raph let go of of his brother as if he were red hot.
Don drew back from him, pressing himself against the back of the couch. It was only then that Raph noticed the dark, mottled bruises on his brother's upper arms. Bruises from fingers gripping him tightly. His stomach turned as he realized what had set Don off — he had touched him where they had touched him — when they — when Racer had —
"I'm — I'm sorry, Don," he said desperately. "I didn't realize —"
"It's okay," Don said breathlessly, his body still tense.
But it wasn't okay. Just the thought that he had reminded his brother of his rape made Raph feel filthy — nauseous at what he had done, innocent as it had been. His hands balled into fists, only for a bolt of pain to suddenly lance through his shoulder. He winced, and pressed his good hand to it.
"You're hurt," Don said, his voice a little less distant.
"It's nothin'. Just a strain."
"Let me see."
Raph reluctantly let Don draw him down to the couch, and probe at his throbbing shoulder with cool fingers. "You should have this in a sling," Don said.
"I'm doin' fine," Raph protested.
Don shook his head.
"Look, I'll — I'll put on a sling if you lie down and get some more sleep, okay?"
Don seemed to consider that proposition, and then slid down to his nest of pillows and pulled the blanket over himself. He lay there watching Raph expectantly, his arms crossed almost protectively over his plastron, and his knees drawn up.
Raph waited until his eyes closed, and then set out for Don's work area, and the medical paraphernalia he knew were stashed there. He was so busy seeking a sling that he didn't notice Don's eyes drifting open again, and the few small tears that trickled down to soak into his pillow.