Archive of Our Own

Raph knows today is going to be a bad day.

He knows it because he’s awoken to a cacophonous sound of voices and wails, all of which coming from his younger brothers.

“—give it back!” Donnie is heard shrieking, his voice still shrill and pitchy, it sets Raph’s teeth on edge as he hunkers down under his blanket, hoping that maybe whatever argument they were having would calm itself before dad stepped in to separate the two.

Leo’s voice is heard next, loud and boisterous as it often is these days, there’s slight malice in his tone, just to simply get a rise out of his brother; Raph is all too familiar with that side of hisbrother now.

“No! I want it. It’s mine now. Finders keepers.”

Raph turns over in his bed, pausing to listen out to the sounds of his fathers feet hurrying across the room to separate them before their argument could grow physical, he fails to hear him over the sound of Donnie huffing and puffing, whining and crying, Raph feels his gut just sink.

Over the sounds of Leo and Donnie arguing over whatever it is the other one wanted, Mikey starts to kick up a fuss too.

It was mostly because Mikey was still little and at that age where he tended to copy his brothers, for better or worse, if one of them was crying and on the edge of a tantrum, Mike was sure to follow.

“Shuddup Mike!” Donnie whines, upset that his moment was being foiled by his little brother. “This isn’t about you!”

There’s the sound of Mikey sucking in a deep breath to no doubt retaliate, Raph moves quickly to ensure it stops before he can let out one of his high pitched screams he had a habit of bellowing out to gain any kind of attention, Raph is met with the cool air of the lair as soon as he disentangles himself with his bedsheets to meet his brothers.

“Quit it.” He scolds them. He scoops up his youngest brother who fists at his eyes, scrubbing away imaginary tears, Donatello’s bottom lip gives an unsteady wobble.

“Leo took my crayons,” he starts up, voice climbing higher and breathier as he attempts to get a word in before his twin can butt in. “He took my crayons and I need them for my drawings! He stole them!”

Leo crosses his arms over his chest. “They’re mine. See.” He holds his hands out to where he’d proudly got a handful of ratty old crayons fisted tightly in his grasp. “They’re blue, so that makes them mine.”

Raph, despite having Mikey balanced carefully on his hip, is able to move forward and pry the crayons out of his brothers hold with expert fingers, it leaves Leo gasping as his eyes go wide and there’s the look of betrayal flashing behind his eyes before Raph is able to stomp it out.

“If you can’t share, nobody can have the crayons,” he tells them both, feeling the space between his brow ridge start to slowly knit together. He attempts to smooth it out by relaxing his face but he’s met with a pudgy little hand slapping at the side of his face.

“Mine!” Mikey squeals. “Mine, mine, mine!”

Raph jostles him to silence him before shooting Leo and Don with pointed looks.

“You’re teaching him to be selfish, see?”

Don looks a tad sheepish but Leo doesn’t seem to care, hiking his shoulders up rather defensively he stomps off in the direction of the main room, mumbling words under his breath that Raph hasn’t the energy to chase up, Raph sets his brother down once he starts to wiggle in his hold, the eldest turtle turns to face his other brother, handing him the crayons.

“Is dad up?” He asks.

Donnie crouches down, he collects up the scattering of craft paper that had been strewn across the ground, he stands, clutching them close to his plastron, he shakes his head.

“Nope,” he tells him, popping the p confidently. “We tried to wake him but Leo said he was in a bad mood.” He used a free finger to push his sliding glasses back up his snout, the overheadlight catching it in a flash.

Raph sighs, his gut already twisting itself into a hard, unmoving knot. He was all too aware of what these days entailed for their father, and as a result, for himself and his brothers.

He sighs, reaching over to unstick Mikey’s finger from up his nose, he tugs him along.

“Okay,” he says, trying to mask the slight waver in his voice. “Come on. I’ll make breakfast.”

***

Raph isn’t so good at making pancakes or warm oatmeal like dad is — he’ll watch him carefully as he works around the stove but he’s told Raph numerous times that he’s just too young still to do such a task.

Which sucks because it’s cold and a warm breakfast might lighten everybody’s sour mood. But there’s not much Raph can do but stick a couple of slices of bread in the toast and wait.

Mikey is still fussing about in his high chair; he’s such a picky eater, he’ll most likely demand something else presented to him, but Raph is willing to hop that hurdle when he gets to it.

Leo is nosing about in the fridge, pulling away empty handed and wearing a pout.

“There’s no strawberry jam left,” he whines. He doesn’t bother to take the empty jar out, however, just closing the fridge door with a bit of force. “I want strawberry jam.”

Donnie huffs impatiently. “Yeah well you can’t. There’s none left.”

Leo doesn’t take kindly to such news and Raphael can feel the beginnings of a headache crawl across the front of his skull.

“Probably cos you ate it all, greedy guts!” Leo retaliates, voice shrill and loud.

Mikey smashes his little fists against the table.

“Greedy guts! Greedy guts!” He chants gleefully.

“Guys, stop it,” Raph sighs, rubbing his palm over his forehead. “You’ll wake dad. And you’re giving Raph a headache.”

None of his brothers take notice of him, instead continuing to bicker and have Mikey mimic them both.

The toast pops up out of the toaster so he moves to remove it and butter it up.

He slides Donnie and Leo their share. He cuts Mikey’s up into little squares when he pushes it away with his hands before it can touch his lips.

“No.” Mikey protests, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “Yucky.”

Raph sighs again, more heavily this time. “It’s not yucky, it’s good. Just eat it, Mike.”

Donnie, who’s picking apart his share of breakfast, shakes his head, pushing away his own plate.

“Angie is right,” he states, looking up towards his older brother with a rather diplomatic look about him. “We can’t eat this.”

Raph pitches himself forward to push his plate back towards him but then it’s Leo turn to pipe up.

“Ew!” He reacts, practically flinging his toast to the other side of the table which only causes Raph’s stress levels to rise. “It’s moldy!”

Well. To that, Raphael can’t ignore. He picks up Mikey’s square of toast, and no doubt there in the edges of the crust was blotted bits of blue that made his stomach sink.

He gets up off his seat, and that’s when Mikey starts making a fuss again, because he’s hungry and he can’t quite grasp the fact that Raph isn’t just leaving him here, but instead he’s off to scavenge about in the fridge for something else that could be a substitute for breakfast.

But the moment he opens the fridge door, his gut sinks even lower, touching the ground now.

There was nothing here. The shelves were barren. Raph couldn’t not feed them but what else was he to do?

He was well aware of what these bad days consisted of for their father — trying to reason with him or ask for anything was usually met with an unmoving silence. Raph could rush in there and exclaim that the kitchen was on fire and he’d have zero reaction.

A lack of food wasn’t going to worry him right now.

He sucks in a breath, looking over at the table towards his brothers where they sat, squabbling still. He walks towards them, clearing his throat to gain their attention, it takes a few tries before they’re turning their heads towards him.

“I… Raphie needs to get us some food,” he says, putting on a brave voice for them all. “You have to promise me that you’ll be good whilst I’m gone.”

Leo’s eyes light up, entirely oblivious to the situation at hand here, it’s clear that he only has one thing on his mind right now.

“Does that mean I’m in charge?”

Donnie pushes himself forward, clipping his shoulder with his, his face furiously screwed up.

“Nuh uh!” He whines. “I’m in charge while Raph’s gone! I am!”

Raph doesn’t need this right now. He walks forward and slams his hands on the table, startling them both.

“It doesn’t matter!” He tells them sharply. “I need you to work together to look after Mikey for me. Can you both do that?”

Leo and Donnie meekly share a glance towards one another before solemnly nodding their heads.

“Good, “ Raph breathes. “I won’t be long. If dad wakes up and asks where I am, tell him I’m at the junkyard.” That was a sure fire way to avoid getting himself into trouble.

It’s then that Leo slides off his chair, tottering up towards Raph with big, round eyes.

“Are you really going up there?” He asks in wonderment. “To the surface?”

He’ll have to disguise himself in his jacket and baseball cap but it’ll still be risky, especially during this early hour. He nods, then lands a hand on Leo’s shoulder for comfort.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll get us breakfast. Don’t you worry.”

***

In reality, it is Raph who does in fact worry.

He’s never really been to the surface before, maybe when they were very little and back when his memories were nothing but hazy, foggy images scrambled in the back of his head, dad had forbid them going up here alone, especially in daylight, warning them of what could happen if they were to be caught by humans.

Luckily Raph is able to blend in with the crowds, tall enough to pass as a child old enough to walk the streets alone, he weaves out of the back and forth traffic of people, his heart thick and heavy lodged up in his windpipe. 

He passes the bodega – he knows that this is the one his father talks of regularly, mostly because they stock their produce outside and the worker inside is too lazy and idle to worry about people stealing from him.

His gut clenches – dad usually spoke ill of this man, despite the fact that the two of them shared such similar qualities, he pushes the thought into the back of his head as he passes by the fresh bed section.

There’s all kinds; ones he’s never even seen before. He looks around to see that nobody was watching him before he reaches out and stuffs one of the bread rolls into his backpack.

His head is thumping with the dizzying beat of his racing pulse. He can’t believe he’s doing this. He takes a second bread roll, and then a third, and then he pockets a few of the apples and bananas that were on display too.

He gets a little giddy as he eyes up his stash: he’s taken quite a bit, enough to last them until the end of dad’s funk, but also not too much that he’ll struggle getting it home.

He goes to turn away when he walks straight into somebody, almost knocking him off his feet.

Sweat pricks at the base of his neck; he can’t get caught now, not when he’s this close to home.

There, standing in his path, is a girl, maybe a year or two older than he was, staring him down with an inquisitive look.

“What’re you doing?” She asks.

Raph pulls himself to his feet, yanking his cap down low as to shield his face best he can, he stutters with his words, unable to form a sentence coherently before he finally manages to say something.

“Oh. Uh. Nothing. Was just looking.”

The girl eyes his backpack over the top of her glasses. Her hands are situated on her hips – she’s not going to let him pass, it seems.

“Don’t look like it,” she muses. She’s smart for a kid her age. “Are you stealing?”

Raphael yelps, jumping forward to shush her, it’s obvious that she’s caught a glimpse of his face, evident in the way her eyes go round and her jaw slowly swings open.

“Are…are… are you an… alien?”

Raph takes her by the hand and pulls her into an alleyway. Bumping his hat out of his face, he looks to her with pleading, desperate eyes.

“Please don’t say anything,” he tells her, voice hushed. People come and go across the alley entrance, paying the two children no mind. “You can’t. I’m just getting food for my brothers.”

The girl's eyes light up, kind of like how Leo’s does sometimes. “There’s more of you?” She questions. There’s no longer anything accusatory in her tone. She sounds… intrigued. Raph isn’t so used to that.

“Yes,” he tells her. “And we’re not aliens. We’re mutants,” he corrects her.

She nods. “I knew it.”

(He doesn’t follow her up on that)

“Where do you live?” She then asks, keeping her voice quiet.

Raph hikes his bag up over his shoulder. “In the sewers. But you can’t tell anybody. You have to promise.”

The girl doesn’t hesitate to stick her little finger out. Raph stares at it for a second before she’s prompting him gently.

“It’s a pinky promise. It means I won’t break it.”

Raph isn’t so sure if he has a pinky finger, but links one of his green fingers with hers and they shake on it.

“Well. I should go,” Raph tells her, shoving his hand into his coat pocket. “My brothers get cranky when they’re hungry.”

The girl nods, then, before he can walk away, she stops him with a hand on his arm, tugging him back.

“Wait!” She says before she’s digging about in her own pocket. “Here. Maybe you can share this.”

It’s half of a candy bar which are rare finds in their household. Raph tries to not look too excited but he must give himself away because the girl just grins, clearly pleased with herself.

“Thanks,” he says, smiling at her.

“You’re welcome,” she says, smiling back.

He gets halfway home with the candy tucked up carefully in his bag when he realizes that he never caught the girl's name.

A smile touches across his lips as he grows closer to home, hearing the familiar sounds of his brother's voices.

He’ll have to go back for more bread eventually. Maybe he’ll bump into her again.