A/N: This takes place a few hours after the end of Walking Wounded, and overlaps slightly with the events in Interlude: Westron Wynde.

Miyamoto Usagi, Genn, Tomoe Ame, and Chizu are all characters in Stan Sakai's fantastic Usagi Yojimbo comics.

Mikey's best line and also the Tiger Claw vs. Usagi headcanon belong to hotmilkytea 3

When Raph wakes, it's to a stiff neck and a damp, warm spot on his shoulder, where Casey's mouth is almost, but not quite, pressed against his skin. He stretches slowly, careful not to wake Casey, and cracks his neck twice before looking around. As his eyes adjust to the dark, the common room shifts silently, the familiar shapes of the TV and couches changing, flowing, growing —

Raph squints, caught in the middle of a stretch with his arms over his head. There's something at the far edge of his vision, down the hall, near the door of the lab. In the dim light spilling out of the kitchen like an afterthought, Raph can just make out the humped, heavy shape. It shifts — or does it? It looks like it's breathing, though Raph is too far away to be sure. It could be anything.

It's just trash, he tells himself, still half-asleep. A pile of junk Donnie left laying around. Stuff even he couldn't fix. It's just —

It moves, rising up on four legs, steam curling off its sides, and turns its head toward him. A dull red eye travels the outline of the room, slowly, slowly, not missing a single corner, and Raph knows it'll see him and Casey soon enough. The eye will fall on him.

He's not scared. What he is, what he feels, he doesn't have a word for. His brothers would be able to name this surge within him, but he can't. Raph can barely handle the words I'm sorry; there's no way he'd be able to explain the hollowing in his chest, or the ringing in his ears, like the echo of hoofbeats.

The eye reaches him, and lingers.

Raph curls closer to Casey, one hand inching toward Casey's. An anchor. Raph needs an anchor, or a direction to point his internal compass in. He can't orient himself against that feeling rising in him, the fascinated, repulsed draw, the anticipation of what will happen next.

Don't let it see Casey, warns a voice that sounds like his own, and Raph listens, putting himself in between Casey and the eye as much as he can. Casey grumbles in his sleep and buries his head in one of the cushions, then goes still and quiet again.

The eye lingers for a few seconds, long enough for Raph to know notice has been taken, and then it disappears. Not a blink, just gone, without a noise or sign to prove it had been there to begin with. The shape vanishes as well, soundlessly, so abruptly it hurts Raph's eyes.

He still isn't scared, but he feels — he feels like he's been found wanting. He hadn't measured up. He —

Raph yawns. He's so tired his vision pulses and wavers, turning shadows into strange, twisted shapes. Mind's playing tricks on me, he thinks, yawning again, the unnameable feeling fading out of him as he slips toward sleep again.

Mikey wakes Raph up for good a few hours later, when he comes tumbling back into the lair with an enormous Ikea bag slung over each shoulder.

"Dude," Raph snaps, still a little groggy. "Can you be any louder?"

"Probably!" Mikey stage-whispers, but he sets the bags down quietly enough. He nods at Casey. "How's he doin'?"

Raph turns his head to look over his shoulder at Casey. He holds down a snort when he sees the huge drool mark he left on Casey's t-shirt, and can't see anything to immediately worry about. Casey's breathing is smooth and even, his mouth slack, his color good. When he presses the back of his hand to Casey's forehead, Casey groans and bats his hand away, but not before Raph can feel the healthy warmth radiating off Casey's skin.

"He's good," Raph tells Mikey, not taking his eyes off Casey. He's allowed to stare a little after the night they all had, and Mikey can go screw himself if he thinks it's lame or cute. At least he's notkissing Casey in front of Mikey.

"Think he'll want some brekky-brek?" Mikey toes one of the bags. It crinkles invitingly, and sends a subtle hint of yeast and sugar toward Raph. He breathes in deep — cinnamon rolls, maybe, and still warm too — and glances again at Casey. If there really are fresh cinnamon rolls in the bag, Casey will kill him for not waking him up, but Casey will kill Raph twice for waking him up when he's feeling shitty.

"Nah," says Raph. "Let him sleep." His hand twitches toward Casey, to smooth his hair, to rub his back. Raph wants to take care of Casey, but he doesn't want to mess up. He's not good at taking care of people. Casey's tougher than most, and more patient, but that's all the more reason for Raph to be careful.

He settles for pulling the blanket higher, almost to Casey's chin. The lair gets cold in the morning, no matter how many space heaters they have running, and Casey makes a sleepy, grateful noise that sounds almost like Raph's name.

"No reason for us not to eat." Mikey, probably on purpose, is staring at whatever's inside the bags, and avoiding Raph's gaze. "You should see the stuff I brought back, we're good for like, a week."

"Went to see Team AARP?" Raph asks as he stands up and walks toward Mikey. As he gets closer, he thinks he can smell pasta sauce, and his tongue clenches.

Mikey nods and picks up the bags, holding one out to Raph. "Yep. Couldn't sleep. Needed to get out for a little while, you know? So I figured I'd go check on Sandra and company."

Raph thinks it's weird with a side of bizarre that Mikey has a whole army of grannies that he hangs out with, but he can't argue with the way the grannies collectively decided to feed Mikey's entire family. Especially not when he knows he's smelling fresh cinnamon rolls.

"Did they make this all for you, or do they just have this much food laying around?" Raph asks as they reach the kitchen. "Jeez, this thing weighs a ton."

Mikey is already elbows-deep in the bag. "Hey, dude, don't complain, they don't have to cook for us." He squeals, delighted, as he pulls out a long, flat Tupperware container, marked by a note that says FOR MY MIKEY. "Oh, Rosa, my girl, thank you." He unsnaps the lid and breathes in, groaning with delight.

Raph doesn't bother asking what's in the Tupperware. Only three things can get Mikey to react like that: Antonio's pizza, Murakami's pizza gyoza, or Rosa's lasagna. He pulls the bag away from Mikey, hoping that Rosa sent a second batch, because Mikey's not going to let anyone else touch the one in his arms.

Sure enough, there's a second Tupperware container nestled at the bottom of the bag, under the boxes of tea for Splinter and the bags of cold-press coffee for Donnie, with a Post-It on top that says FOR NOT MIKEY.

Yeah, it's weird that Mikey hangs out with grannies, but if anyone looks at them wrong, they'll have Raph to deal with too.

The next few minutes are taken up with sorting the food, dividing it into what gets stored and what gets eaten. Raph and Mikey work in silence except to ask murmured questions, and that's fine with Raph. He finds he's craving the quiet, the simple ritual of creating meals, and giving thanks. Ten years ago — hell, five years ago — he wouldn't have believed they'd be eating anything other than worms and algae, or making friends, or —

Don't be all sappy, he warns himself, not soon enough to stop his smile. He ducks his head, and forces himself to frown at a container full of sausage gravy. Just don't.

"You seen Donnie or Leo?" he asks Mikey a few minutes later, a little guilty that he hadn't asked before. Leo was with Sensei, and Donnie's with April, which means they're probably fine, but — he should have asked sooner.

Mikey pauses with his hand on the fridge door, and Raph knows he's feeling just as guilty as Raph is. "Nope," he says. "Well, I checked Leo's room, and he was still out, so I just left him. Figured he'd need to sleep off…everything, you know?"

Raph knows. Raph fucking knows. "So no Donnie?"

Mikey scoffs, and rolls his eyes at Raph. "Dude, he's in his room. With April. I am so not gonna interrupt."

Well, there's no arguing with that. Raph has absolutely no urge to go see what they've gotten up to, but someone should check on Donnie. And since he's the one who made such a big deal about Donnie not being alone, about them needing Donnie, it makes sense that he's the one to do it.

"I'll give them another hour," he says, feeling better now that the decision's made. "Then I'll bring them some breakfast or something."

"Aw, dude, that's sweet," says Mikey. "Breakfast in bed! Then they won't have to leave the love nest. Maybe you should do that for Casey! 'Cause you know, the bigger the sickness, the better the —" He does jazz hands, smirking and waggling his eyebrows.

"Shut up," snaps Raph, his cheeks heating. He throws a bag of dry noodles at Mikey's head. "You're a little shit."

"Better than being a big shit, brah," Mikey tosses back, catching the bag without looking. "So what're we gonna do about Leo?" he asks, going serious in the space of a heartbeat. "Like, as long as Donnie's got April, he's good, right? They'll kiss and make up or whatever, but Leo needs…" He gives up, shrugging, and gives Raph a pleading look.

Raph stares at his hands. He has no idea what Leo needs. Who the hell ever thought things would get so bad that Raph is the one trying to figure out what other people need? He can barely ask for what he needs himself. He just doesn't have the language. Give him something to kick, punch, stab, destroy, and he's fine. But feelings are so soft, and delicate, and he's neither. He can't take care of precious things. Look at Spike.

Look at Slash.

He closes his eyes.

With anything else, Raph would just say that Leo needed to talk to Sensei. They've always been on the same wavelength — how many times had he called Leo a good little soldier, or Splinter Junior? He'd meant to hurt with those words, and they always had, because of how much truth rested behind them. Leo could always turn to Sensei, except where Karai was concerned. They're both too clouded, too close, to see clearly, no matter how much is at stake and no matter how hard they try. Karai is always going to be the wedge that drives them apart.

Raph wishes he had killed her. He should have torn her apart and left her scattered over the city, a finger here, a knot of hair and teeth there. Or he should have done what heroes in the stories always did, and cut her into seven pieces and then buried her with her mouth full of sand. He wouldn't need words for that. He's Leo's threat, his brother's last resort. What stopped him from doing what Leo couldn't?

Leo hadn't asked him to, that's what. Leo wanted her alive — no, Raph realizes, his heart plummeting in his chest, Leo wants her dead, but he doesn't want her blood on Raph's hands.

It's a terrible gift, taking that responsibility. Donnie and Leo keep giving it, over and over, and Raph will never be able to thank them enough. He's started to try, with Donnie, and that's something, but he needs to do more, he needs to give Leo something. He needs to find a way to take some of the weight off his brother's shoulders, just for a little while, or he needs to find a way to strengthen Leo's armor against Karai. Sensei can't do that, he needs armor almost as badly as Leo does, and Donnie is too wrecked to do it himself. Mikey would do it, but everyone needs Mikey, not just Leo. And Raph — Raph's a weapon, not armor.

"We can't call Radical," he says. "She'd just laugh, and…" He trails off, trying not to let his hands tighten too much on the table. Fucking Radical.

"Yeah," says Mikey heavily. He scoops up a forkful of lasagna, but doesn't lift it to his mouth. "But like, who else is there? Leo needs — dude. I got it!"

Raph looks up, his thoughts a half-second behind Mikey's. It's not quite telepathy, not quite April's empathy, but he knows his brothers so well that he can read Mikey's answer in his gaze, and in how wide his smile is.

"Oh, yeah," he says, feeling his own mouth lift in a grin. "That's…that's…you feel like taking a trip, Mikey?"

It is nothing short of a perfect spring morning. Though the air is still edged with the chill clinging to the mountains, the sun is warm, the grass is lush and green, and the lake is still as polished glass.

Such a morning, Usagi decides, was meant for a leisurely breakfast away from duty and ritual, spent in the company of dear friends.

"More tea, Usagi? Genn?" Tomoe Ame casts a look across the table, waiting for their nods before pouring.

Usagi inhales the fragrant steam before sipping. It has been brewed too long, and is bitter on his tongue, but it's the warmth he craves, not the flavor. Tomoe Ame shares his opinion, raising an eyebrow at him as she lowers her cup, turning instead to the plate of tamagoyaki. Genn, for his part, neither seems to notice or care about the bitter taste. Usagi's friend applies himself with a will to the rice and miso, humming his approval as he eats.

It is a perfect spring morning, Usagi reflects, gazing around the pavilion. A polite murmur of subdued conversation floats toward him from the other tables, though no one voice is loud enough to be heard with clarity.

"Dude! Usagi! My man! There room for a turtle at this party?"

Oh, no, thinks Usagi. His stomach drops as the other patrons' heads turn, as one, to stare in the direction of the blithe, youthful voice. Michelangelo's voice.

It was a perfect spring morning.

Michelangelo crosses the room, tossing winks and smiles at all who dare to meet his eyes. The turtle does not seem to notice the chill, though he wears nothing but his wraps and leathers straps. It is very clear, from the shocked looks on the patrons' faces, that they have not failed to notice his state of undress.

Tomoe Ame tries to hide her smirk and fails, quite badly. Usagi schools his face into stillness as all eyes turn to him, and resolutely does not wince as Michelangelo drops gracelessly onto a cushion at Tomoe Ame's side.

"Long time no see," he says, reaching for the rice. "Man, I am starving, and — Tomoe Ame! How's it hanging?" He kisses her cheek, eliciting more than a few gasps from the tables around theirs. "How's little lord Pandaface? Still not-so-large and in charge?"

"Lord Noriyuki is well, Michelangelo," says Tomoe Ame, with a sharp hint of disapproval. She is a patient creature, Usagi knows, but she will brook no disrespect to her lord. "I see you are same as ever."

"You know me." Michelangelo tosses a ball of rice into his mouth and chews lustily, noisily. From long, long experience, Usagi knows what a performance this glib exterior is, but it does not lessen his embarrassment as Michelangelo leans back and crosses one leg over the other. "And Genn! Good to see you!"

"Michelangelo," says Genn, barely nodding as he rescues the rice from Michelangelo's clinging hands. "Well met."

Usagi closes his eyes. "My friend," he says, hoping with all his soul that Michelangelo has some purpose to be here beyond disruption and flirtation. "You are most welcome, as always, but I must ask — is there a reason for your visit?"

Michelangelo's face goes dark for an instant, but on a face so sunny, on a face meant for joy and laughter, an instant feels like an entire night's worth of darkness. "Yeah," he says heavily. "I got a reason. It's Leo, Usagi."

Leonardo.

He counts all the turtles as friends, as well as their human partners, but it is Leonardo for whom Usagi feels a true affinity. Beyond the distinction of samurai and ninja that separates them, they are both warriors. They are leaders. They are…righteous. And Leonardo, though shrouded in deceit as are all ninja, has a core of true honor.

Leonardo, most trusted of Usagi's friends, most cherished.

His dearest friend.

"What has happened?" he asks, no longer feeling the wind, but a deeper chill, a foreboding in his chest of greater ills to come. "Michelangelo?"

The turtle swallows. "He's no bueno in the brainpan, Usagi," he replies. "Karai's back, and she's got some new friends."

That is all Usagi needs to hear. His mouth twists into a grim line as he sets his teacup aside. A far more bitter taste rests on his tongue. Karai. The serpent, the nettles and thorns, the venom in a bite, the most gleeful of evils that Usagi has faced. Leonardo — and his family — must be protected from this blight.

"I will come," says Usagi, though Michelangelo has not asked. Judging by the pathetically grateful smile Michelangelo bestows upon Usagi, that is precisely what he was going to ask, given the opportunity.

This world, Usagi reflects, is misery given solid form. All around him, buildings rise from the earth with no thought for harmony or aesthetics; with every breath, he smells cold steel, rotting wood, damp stones. He smells filth, and suppresses a shudder as the wind blows a fresh burst of the stink toward him.

The sooner my business is ended, the sooner I may return home, he tells himself, and focuses on the fight ahead, and the daisho within his reach. A long battle may end this night, and Usagi cannot give into dreams of home, nor his exhaustion. His quarry is close; the monster he has chased across more dimensions than he can count is here, almost within reach.

It is almost over. Justice will be served.

He turns his head out of the wind, scanning over the tops of buildings, watching for movement through the forests of slender metal rods on the roofs. Such creatures in this world! He catches glimpses of them through windows as they yell, weep, laugh, and sleep. They all look so alike; how can they tell one from another? Such smooth-skinned creatures, most of them flabby and unused to labor.

Focus! He tears his gaze from a woman cradling a baby to her chest, rocking it to sleep, and listens. The wind has changed, and he hears echoes, a dull, distant clash of steel.

A battle.

Usagi has already turned in the direction of the fight before the roar reaches him, and he leaps without thinking, teeth bared. His quarry! Finally, he may finish the work begun so long ago, when he cut off the monster's tail and sent him slinking in shame back to his hovel.

I should have finished it then, Usagi thinks, trying to outrace his regret. I should have killed Tiger Claw, and rid all worlds of his evil. I was young and foolish then, and thought the battle over — how many innocents have suffered for my hesitation and pride?

He comforts himself as he runs with the thought that Tiger Claw will no longer vent his malice upon anyone, innocent or otherwise. Fate has given him the chance to right his long-ago mistake, and he shall not hesitate now.

The sounds of battle grow as he races over the dark, rain-slick rooftops. Usagi is silent save for the steady, unhurried rhythm of his breath and the hiss as he draws his katana from its sheath, but the combatants would not hear him over their shouts and cries.

They sound like children, Usagi thinks, with a curl of his lip. No true warriors would cry out so. It is well I am coming, for such inexperience will only lead to failure. He admires the fighters, without reluctance, for though they are loud, they have held Tiger Claw at bay long enough to Usagi to reach them.

It brings him up short — it stops him mid-pace — when he reaches the edge of the last roof, and sees that it is indeed a group of children facing Tiger Claw, with weapons he recognizes, and no small degree of skill.

Children, yes, but they are like no children that Usagi has yet seen in this world. They are —turtles, moving with speed and grace, with proficiency that gives lie to their age. They move as one, a blinding whirl of green limbs and faint bursts of other colors, and Usagi cannot help but stare.

They are ninja, he realizes; though these children move in the open, there is no disguising the origins of their art. Deception, distraction, misdirection: these are the ninja's hallmarks, and he thinks of how delighted Chizu would be with such youthful devotion to her art.

Ninja. Were he not dedicated to destroying Tiger Claw, he would count these children as his enemies — and yet, he has found them fighting his quarry. That makes them, for a brief span, something akin to allies.

He poises to leap, but pauses when one of the children, broad and red-masked, comes too close to Tiger Claw, and earns a blow to the head for his trouble. The child cries out, fury fading to pain and dismay as he falls and lies motionless, and the other three children freeze.

"Raph's down!" calls the tallest child, his own voice made reedy by fear and exhaustion, and tries to reach his fallen brother. Tiger Claw laughs, a thick chuckle that stabs at Usagi's heart, and draws one of his strange weapons from its holster.

Tiger Claw sets the tall child in his sights. "You thought you could face me, and win? You have learned nothing!"

The child does not reply. He merely covers his brother's body with his own and closes his eyes.

Usagi leaps. He cannot — he will not allow this to happen.

There are two screams, in the instant before Usagi's feet touch the rooftop. The other children, blue- and orange-masked, wielding katana and nunchaku, jump from the shadows, distracting Tiger Claw long enough for the shot to go wide and miss the targets.

Tiger Claw roars again, bringing his weapon to bear on the child in blue, who faces him with teeth bared. "Foolish cub!" he cries, as the child runs at him, in silence, in desperation.

"Tiger Claw!" cries Usagi. All movement stops, and he allows himself one moment of pure, savage delight as a shudder runs through Tiger Claw. He slowly turns to face Usagi, too stunned to do more than sneer, and Usagi smiles. It will end, here, now. Tonight.

"I see you have stooped to attacking children, Tiger Claw," he says, lazily, disdainfully, a challenge and an insult. "I admit, I am not surprised. You were always without honor. But you shall hurt them no more! I am eager to finish what we began so long ago. Do you remember that day?"

Oh, no, Tiger Claw has not forgotten him, not a whit. He chokes on his roar, all his attention on Usagi, and raises his weapon once more.

"The only finish, rabbit," he growls, "will be yours."

Usagi laughs. "We shall see." Without losing track of Tiger Claw's movements, he flicks a glance at the child in blue, who stares at him with an open mouth, eyes wide and startled. They are not as young as he thought at first, their shells and chests covered with scars. "Go!" he yells. "Take your injured and run! I will handle Tiger Claw!"

The child still stares at him, his mouth struggling to shape words, but the smallest one tugs at his arm, hissing at him to come away, to run, to help Raph. Reluctantly, the child lets himself be pulled away, and his mouth, smeared with blood, finally forms coherent words.

Thank you, the child says.

Usagi spares him a nod, but no more, for Tiger Claw has let the engine on his back roar to infernal life, and there is murder in his eyes.

It will end this night, for good.

Usagi staggers away from what is left of Tiger Claw, exhausted and empty, unable to tell exactly where the blood on his armor has come from, or to whom it belongs. He is fairly certain most of it is not his, but he feels light-headed enough to make him doubt the assessment.

I must hide, he thinks, and rest. I must take care not to be seen, I must —

"Hey." The voice at his side is soft, not a threat, but Usagi whirls to face it, raising his blade. If he must fight, so be it, though he is in no condition to do so. At least the hunt is over, the battle won. He will die righteous, if he must die at all.

The child faces him, eyes still wide in his blue mask. "I — we came back to see if we could help," he says. Behind him, the other three linger, bandaged and bruised, exhausted beyond telling. "Can you walk, or do you need help?"

Usagi nearly snaps that he needs no help from such as them, that they are ninja and therefore anathema to all he holds sacred. A soft voice reminds him that they fought Tiger Claw, and that this one thanked him for his help before running away. Is it too much to hope that some honor has touched them, despite their art?

"I believe…" Usagi licks his lips and cringes at the taste of blood upon them. His, or Tiger Claw's? He cannot tell, he cannot tell. "I believe I should sit down," he finishes, and collapses to his knees.

The child — blue-eyed to match his mask — kneels at his side, holding out a bottle of water. He holds it steady as Usagi drinks, lowering the bottle when Usagi begins to gasp and choke. He nods at the tallest turtle, who crouches beside Usagi and probes a cut on his arm with gentle fingers.

"You need stitches," he says, frowning. "I can get this bandaged, and it'll hold for a while, but it won't last."

"Thank you, but I am fine," Usagi says, and tries to rise to his feet. He is weary, so very weary, and longs for rest with all that is in him. "You do not need to trouble yourselves." He does not give voice to the steadily growing unease he feels, surrounded on all sides by ninja.

"I think we do," says the first child, who Usagi is certain is the leader, judging by how the others orient themselves around him, taking their cues from his subtle movements and hand gestures. "You saved our shells back there. We were already in bad shape after dealing with the Kraang, and then Tiger Claw —" He sighs, and in his face, Usagi sees an echo of his own weariness, and how care has already begun to age him. They cannot be more than ten years younger than his own twenty-eight, but they hold themselves like warriors of long standing.

He finds he admires them, in spite of himself.

"It wouldn't be right if we just left you," says the leader, with an air of finality. "You saved us. Let us help you. I promise, you're safe." He meets Usagi's eyes and holds his gaze. There is no subterfuge, no guile. "Besides, anyone who wants to take out Tiger Claw is a friend, right?" This last is directed to the others, who nod, offering Usagi variations on the same, exhausted smile.

Usagi hopes his trust will not be misplaced. He cannot sense dishonesty in them, but he has been wrong before. He trusts Chizu, and it is for her sake, and for the gift of friendship and honesty she has given him, that he holds out his hand to the leader.

"Miyamoto Usagi," he says, pleased with the solid, unflinching pressure of the leader's hand in his.

"Hamato Leonardo," comes the reply. "Come on, we'll get you out of sight, get you patched up. Then maybe you can tell us how you and Tiger Claw met."

Usagi sighs as he eases to his feet. "It is a long story," he says, wincing, and letting Leonardo take some of his weight.

"That's the best kind," Leonardo answers, with a bright smile.

Raph knocks on Leo's door. He doesn't get a response at first, so he waits before knocking again, glancing down the hall at Donnie's room. The door is still firmly shut, but he can hear soft voices from inside, and he decides to give them a little more time before hauling them out, and reminding the two geniuses that they need to eat sometimes. As long as they're talking, they're fixing themselves.

He presses his ear to Leo's door and knocks again. "Hey. Leo. Time to wake up."

"Raph?" He hears Leo throw off his covers and stumble toward him. The door cracks open, and Leo's reddened, bleary gaze meets him. "What is it? Is everyone okay? Are we —" He rubs his eyes, sighing, and Raph's hand tightens on the doorframe. Leo is wrecked, more than Raph can remember seeing him.

No, not true — Raph remembers what Leo looked like when he woke up in his own bed after they rescued him from Shredder's dungeon, and he looked worse than this. Young and dazed and so thankful for being safe, for being home.

"We're good, Leo," he says. "Mikey went to see the grannies, and he brought back a shit ton of food. Figured I should wake you up before Mikey eats it all."

"Oh." Leo blinks at him, and almost smiles a half-beat later. "Yeah, that'd be nice." His eyes move toward the kitchen. "Any of those biscuits and gravy?" he asks, wistfully, as he steps out of his room.

"I think so." Raph falls into step at Leo's side, ready to catch him if he stumbles. Leo is slow, no grace or rhythm in his movements, but his shoulders straighten as they get closer to the kitchen. "But you'll want to eat them later. We're going vegetarian for breakfast today. Sandra sent cinnamon rolls, though. Think those'll make up for it."

"Maybe," says Leo. He pauses, looking at Raph with a frown. "Wait. Vegetarian? Why?"

"Dude!" Mikey interrupts, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a plate of cinnamon rolls in one hand. "Get your shell moving, or I'm gonna eat all of these!"

Leo opens his mouth, shuts it, and turns back to the kitchen without another word. Raph follows a step behind, his stomach rolling over. This has to work, it has to help.

Mikey steps out of the way to let them through, but Raph lingers in the doorway, watching as Leo freezes mid-step, his eyes fixed on Usagi. He can never tell when tension breaks unless it's with a blow or with a scream, but today, in this moment, Raph feels the air shift, something sour leaching away, and what feels like light breaking through the stones around them.

He and Mikey — they did the right thing, and Raph knows this like he knows his sai or his own hands.

"Oh my God," says Leo, his voice breaking, one hand raised in a fist. "Usagi."

"Leonardo." Usagi steps forward, smiling a little sadly, and captures Leo's fist in both of his hands. "My friend," he says.

Leo doesn't sob, or make any noise at all. Instead, his shoulders slump and he throws his arms around Usagi, in a hug too tight to be comfortable, but Usagi doesn't complain. He only embraces Leo back, taking all of Leo's weight.

Raph exhales, feeling like he's been holding his breath for hours. Next to him, Mikey relaxes, and sets the plate of cinnamon rolls aside. He bumps shoulders with Raph, shared relief jumping between them at the contact, and Raph smiles at him. Thank God for Mikey, and his strokes of genius.

It's a very good thing that Mikey set aside the plate, Raph thinks a moments later, because Leo releases Usagi from the hug only to spin around and pull Raph and Mikey into an even tighter one, his breath hot on their shoulders. Raph can hear him whispering, a thanks that Raph feels more than hears, in the gradual loosening of Leo's muscles.

They're all his armor, just like he's theirs. And Raph, to his genuine, aching surprise, begins to understand that he can take care, no matter how precious a thing he's been trusted with. Whatever comes, he can do more than destroy. He can build, he can forgive. He can heal.