Big Brother

by RandomPenName

Summary:

After nearly losing Leonardo in battle, Raphael confronts the painful truth that while his younger brothers would still have him, he would be left without the big brother he quietly depends on.

[Following the final battle of tmnt2k3]

....

Look at him. Out cold by three this morning, finally. Still sitting up like he’s guarding Mikey, hand clamped on his arm even in sleep. Guy got run through, and he’s still playing protector. Freakin’ typical. That’s Leo. Too noble for his own good.

I’d never tell him, but… part of me respects it. Always has. He takes the hits no one else needs to. Always throws himself in front, like he’s the only one who can. We all got each other’s backs, but him? He makes it a damn mission.

When I heard that sound—him choking, dropping to the floor on Shredder’s ship—I thought that was it. Thought we lost him. Nobody survives that. And for a second, I swear something inside me broke clean in half. Every fight, every time we screamed at each other, all that junk we carried—it didn’t matter. He was just *gone.* Ripped out of my world.

And I lost it. I don’t cry like Mikey. Donnie thinks too much. Not me. I just… snapped. If he hadn’t dragged himself back up, forced himself to stand, to lead us—hell, I don’t know where we’d be.

I can see it now. Donnie’d lock himself away, thinking himself into a hole. Splinter’d go quiet and carry the weight like always. Mikey? He’d burn the whole damn world down trying to laugh it off. They’d all be wrecked, yeah. But at least they’d still have me. I’d still be their big brother.

But me? Who the hell would I have?

That’s the part that chills me. The ugly truth. I’d be alone. No one above me to grab my arm, drag me back when I go too far. No one to call me out when I cross a line. No one to stop me from hurting the people I’d die to protect. Without him—I’m not sure I’d survive myself.

I hate thinking like this. Hate admitting I *need* him. Makes me feel weak. But it’s true. If Leo hadn’t stopped me years back, I might’ve killed Mikey in one of my rages. That thought never leaves me. He saves me, over and over, and I act like I don’t care. But I do.

Now here we are. Grandmother Jones’ attic. Quiet. Smells like smoke and blood. Everyone breathing but him—it’s too shallow, too ragged. The blanket slips off his shoulders when he jerks in his sleep. Bad dreams. Figures. My ribs are screaming but I cross the floor anyway, pull it back around him. Don’t move his arm. Can’t risk it. That hand’s glued to Mikey, and I know if it slips, he’ll wake up.

I turn to leave. Then I hear it. Deeper breath. Awake.

“Thank you, baby brother.” His voice is rough. Real.

(I love you, Raphael.)

I freeze. Don’t know if he’s joking, messing with me, or if he means it. But I feel my face twist into a smile before I can stop it. Lucky for me, my back’s to him. He won’t see.

“Yeah, whatever.”

(…Love you too, big brother.)

I slump back onto the couch, shut my eyes. Mikey and Donnie—they’ll always have me. But it’s good to know I still got him. That I’m still someone’s baby brother. That my big brother’s still in my corner.

Not that I’d ever admit it.