Raph gritted his teeth, his remaining eye fixed on the punching bag as he threw another punch. His fist connected with a satisfying thud, but the follow-up kick missed its mark entirely. The bag swung back toward him, clipping his shoulder. He growled in frustration, planting his feet and forcing himself to focus.
"You're overcompensating," Leo said, standing nearby with arms crossed. His tone was calm but edged with concern. "You're leaning too far to your left."
Raph shot him a glare. "Yeah? Thanks for the tip, Sensei. Maybe you wanna step in here and show me how it's done."
"Come on, Raph," Mikey chimed in from where he was balancing on a skateboard, casually kicking it back and forth. "You're doing fine. You've just gotta... you know, find your groove again."
"My groove," Raph muttered, throwing another punch that barely grazed the bag. His depth perception was completely off, making every strike feel awkward and imprecise. His head throbbed, a dull pain radiating from the right side where his eye used to be.
"Take a break," Leo suggested. "You're pushing too hard."
Raph stepped back, breathing heavily. He didn't want to admit it, but Leo was right. The throbbing in his head was making it hard to focus, and the more he missed his strikes, the angrier he got. "Fine," he said, grabbing a towel and slinging it over his shoulder.
As he walked away, his thoughts drifted to Donnie. Training sessions always felt more balanced when Donnie was around, quietly observing and offering precise, helpful tips. Donnie would know how to tweak the bandages around his head, making them feel less suffocating. But lately, Donnie had been distant, more wrapped up in his gadgets and research than his family.
That thought triggered a sharp pang of disappointment—and anger. It wasn't like Donnie to be this detached. Didn't Donnie see how much Raph was struggling? He needed his brother's steady hand now more than ever, and it hurt to think Donnie might be shutting him out when they both needed each other.
Leo and Mikey exchanged a look as Raph left the training area. Mikey looked like he wanted to say something lighthearted but thought better of it. Instead, he picked up a pair of nunchaku and started idly twirling them.
"He's struggling," Leo said quietly. "More than he lets on."
"Yeah," Mikey replied, his usual cheer dimmed. "I mean, who wouldn't be? Losing an eye... that's heavy stuff."
Leo nodded. "We just have to keep supporting him. He'll get through it."
Meanwhile, Donatello was hunched over his workbench in the lab, completely absorbed in his research. His desk was littered with open notebooks, each filled with notes, schematics, and timelines. In the center of it all was a list he'd written by hand, scrawled in hurried, jagged letters. A list of what he remembered about the events leading to that terrible future:
Shredder's return.
Splinter dies.
Mikey loses arm.
Raph loses his eye.
Leo goes blind.
Brothers split up.
Casey dies.
Rebel groups formed, April leader.
Donnie stared at the list, his mind flashing back to the future he'd witnessed. Arms shaking, he slowly added a jagged cross to the item in the list detailing Raph losing his eye. His eyes lingered on the cross, staring at it like it was mocking him. It felt like an unbearable reminder of his failure, a grim marker of what was yet to come.
Donnie leaned back and rubbed his temples, exhaustion weighing heavily on him. His desk was cluttered with scribbled notes and half-formed plans. He glanced at the notebook directly in front of him, open to a page filled with frantic sketches and annotations. Before he could let himself fall too deeply into those thoughts, a soft knock at the door broke the silence.
"Donatello?" Splinter's voice was calm, but there was a note of concern.
Donnie froze, his gaze darting to the notebook. In one swift motion, he closed it and shoved it into a drawer. "Come in," he called after a moment, his voice steady.
The door slid open, and Splinter stepped inside. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the dim lighting and chaotic workspace. Without a word, he walked over to Donnie and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"You have been here for hours," Splinter said softly. "Your brothers are worried."
Donnie shrugged. "I've been... busy."
Splinter gave him a knowing look. "Too busy to see that Raphael is hurting?"
Donnie flinched, guilt flickering across his face. "Raph has Leo and Mikey. They'll look after him."
"Yes," Splinter agreed, his tone gentle but firm. "Leonardo provides strength and guidance. Michelangelo offers light and laughter. But you, my son, bring clarity. You see what others do not and offer solutions no one else can. Raphael may not ask for it, but he needs your perspective just as much as he needs theirs."
Donnie looked down, fiddling with a loose bolt on his desk. "I don't know what I can say to him, Sensei. I... I should've done something. I should've seen this coming."
Splinter's hand tightened slightly on Donnie's shoulder. "You are not responsible for what happened to Raphael. And shutting yourself away will not protect him—or you."
Donnie's throat tightened, the weight of Splinter's words pressing down on him. "But what if I just make it worse? What if—"
"What if you make it better?" Splinter interrupted, his voice calm but unwavering. "You cannot change the past, my son. But you can still shape the present and the future. To do so, you must remain connected to your family, not retreat into isolation."
Donnie didn't reply immediately, his mind racing. Part of him wanted to believe Splinter's words, to trust that he could still make a difference. But another part, the part that replayed Raph's injury over and over in his mind, whispered that he would only cause more pain.
Splinter seemed to sense his hesitation. "You do not need to have all the answers, Donatello. You simply need to be there for your brother. That is enough."
Donnie nodded reluctantly, though his heart remained heavy. "Ok, I'll try."
Splinter offered a small, understanding smile. "That is all I ask."
As Splinter left the lab, Donnie leaned back in his chair, staring at the closed drawer where the notebook lay hidden. He thought of Raph, the jagged cross he had drawn next to his name on the list, and the unspoken truths he carried.
For a brief moment, he considered going to talk to Raph, to offer the support Splinter had urged him to give. But the weight of his guilt and the fear of making things worse held him back.
Instead, he stayed in his chair, the notebook's presence feeling heavier than ever.
Raph sat alone in the dim light of his room, his head resting against the cold stone wall. The silence pressed in around him, broken only by the occasional drip of water from somewhere in the lair. He stared at the shadows cast on the ceiling, his mind too restless to sleep.
The dull ache in his head was back again, a constant, unwelcome companion since the injury. He pressed a hand against the bandages, hoping to ease the pounding behind his temple, but it did little good. Usually, this was when he'd go to Donnie. His brother would have some weird but effective solution, like adjusting the tension on the bandage or concocting one of his strange teas. But Donnie wasn't here.
Donnie hadn't been there much at all lately. Raph couldn't figure out why. It wasn't like Donnie to keep to himself, not when one of them needed him. And yet, ever since the injury, Donnie had been more distant than ever. He barely spoke, let alone offered help. It was frustrating. Infuriating, even.
"You think you don't need me, huh?" Raph muttered aloud, his voice echoing faintly in the room. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. "Well, maybe I don't need you either."
But the words rang hollow. Deep down, he knew they weren't true. Donnie's absence left a gap that no amount of Leo's advice or Mikey's humor could fill. Donnie wasn't just the guy with the answers—he was the one who made sense of things when nothing else did. Without him, everything felt... off, like a fight he couldn't win no matter how hard he swung.
Even with Leo and Mikey to support him, Raph didn't feel complete without Donnie. As he stated at the ceiling, he realised that all it would take to feel truly alone was to have just one brother missing.