After months of drowning in fantasies about his rape, Raphael had finally had the chance to relive it, in a sense. From an outside perspective, perhaps it would have sounded twisted, but he had been burning for a chance to redo everything, to take the actions he hadn’t thought to take back then, to force a different outcome. Having been given that chance, he had taken none of the actions he had imagined taking for those long, dark months of struggle. For that, he felt a disturbing lack of satisfaction.

Whenever he felt that way, he would remember catching Michelangelo with his arms and rolling him away from death.

Then he wondered if he should have thrown himself on that grenade.

For a few days, Michelangelo wandered the lair, not hollow, but blank, as though still deciding if the world was real or not. Once he made his decision, it was like a glass cage had been broken, and he was suddenly wilder than ever. Occasionally something else broke through, as though he was remembering something dark, but the moments were short, followed by forced joy until he seemed to forget all solemnity.

In Raph’s experience, starting to feel again, especially grief, was simply part of the process—one Mikey was reaching faster than he had. It helped confirm that Mikey had not lied about the events of his captivity. He had already begun to piece together what had happened to him, and as he spoke, Raph had begun to remember parts of his own brief captivity that he had already forgotten, slowly digesting them and relating them to his father later. It felt a little like he was starting the process anew, albeit with less intensity.

I didn’t even make it through the process in the first place before they hit the reset button on me.

But he had rescued Mikey. He had achieved victory. He wasn’t helpless any longer.

What helped him?

Then it struck him that he never felt more like himself than when he was hanging out with Casey. His best friend was the first person he had begun to trust after he had been attacked. Letting his guard down and still feeling safe was more healing than any therapy session with Splinter. Reconnecting with people, re-establishing ties—that was what it was all about, wasn’t it?

“Hey Mikey.”

“Yeah?”

“Gotcha somethin’.”

“A transformer?”

“Yeah, um. You uh, you remember when we were kids, an’…shit.”

“Dude, is this the one I broke?”

“No, it’s a different one, but uh…I kinda thought it’d be, like, ironic or somethin’. Finally gotcha yer own so you’d leave mine alonevermindit’sstupid.”

“No it’s not! It’s…kinda funny, actually! I totally forgot about the whole thing. Thanks!”

“And uh…you wanna grab somethin’ ta eat?”

“You mean topside?”

“Well, I figure we just proved we can kick the asses of anyone who tries to mess with us. I ain’t lettin’ some scum make ya too scared ta go get pizza topside with your big bro. An’ I’m cravin’ that weird pineapple an’ pepperoni shit you like. Thanks for nothin’.”

“I uh. You don’t suppose we could order delivery?”

“We could, but then we couldn’t stop for a movie an’ ice cream afterwards.”

“Um. Raph?”

“I guess we could order out an’ play cards. Whaddyou think?”

“Let’s…let’s start small. Let’s go out for pizza and come back and play cards. That sounds…kinda awesome.”

“You okay, Mikey?”

“Yeah. Just makin’ it through the day, right?”

“You don’t hafta pretend.”

“I’m not pretending, Raph. I guess…I made it, right? Nothing really bad happened, even though all kinds of horrible things could’ve gone wrong. They tried, but I fought ‘em off, and when I couldn’t, you could. It…it still scares the fuck out of me, but I’ll be okay. I think we’re all gonna be okay.”

“What do you need, Casey?”

“Uh, hey, Leo. Is Raph there?”

“He’s out with Mike.”

“Uh, okay. I’ll call back later.”

“Just a second.”

“Yeah, ‘sup?”

There was a long pause.

“I really need to swallow my pride and thank you. I would’ve lost two brothers if it hadn’t been for you. I…I owe you my life. I’m sorry.”

“Um. Wow, uh. It’s no problem. I mean, it’s okay—uh, you’re welcome. Really, don’t mention it.”

“So there’s no problem between us.”

“No! I mean, uh, that’s cool. Thanks. That’s, uh, a huge relief. You got not idea.”

“I kinda think I do.”

“Well, that’s…thanks so much, man.”

“Thank you.”

“Uh, I’ll seeya sometime, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Uh, seeya then.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Donatello’s general lack of faith in the world was beginning to be shaken. All this time, he had assumed that if something needed to be fixed, he would have to fix it. It had never set in that some things didn’t need to be fixed—at least not by himself. Maybe things weren’t automatically a worst-case scenario.

“We’ll keep testing you every six months until we run out of tests, but I think this means we can’t get HIV.”

“That sounds suspiciously like optimism, Don.”

“It might be.”

“Quit smirking and give me a real smile, for once. You don’t have to hide anything. This isn’t a time to be serious. I’m okay.”

“Yeah. I just…”

“Yeah?”

“I think I just realized I’m okay, too.”

Some days weren’t as easy for Michelangelo as others. Occasionally, when the sheer horror of what had happened caught up with him, it became difficult to do anything, or to connect with anyone.

If Hun had wanted to kill me, he could’ve.

If Raph hadn’t been there, I’d’ve died. I couldn’t stop it.

Did I really get tortured with a taser? How did I let that happen?

“Michelangelo. You cannot lie on the couch all day. Come join us in training and you will feel better.”

“Why?”

“Exercise is good for the soul. It encourages the flow of positive chi and lifts the spirits.”

“It’s just treating a symptom.”

“It is also involving you with your brothers. That is treating the disease. Now come.”

“Sensei?”

“Yes, my son?”

“When you get older…when things like this happen to you…is it…is it even possible anymore to, like…I dunno how to say it. Like, can you ever feel really close to someone again? Like, have a really, really deep connection like you used to? Ever again?”

Michelangelo felt the cushion beside him depress as he lay on the couch. Splinter’s fingers trailed over his face, gentle as the brush of a kitten’s tail.

“My son. Look at me.”

The effort was nearly too great for him, but Michelangelo turned his head, raising his eyes to his father. What he saw there in Splinter’s eyes nearly burned him, like staring into the sun, and he couldn’t look for long. It was completely incomprehensible, almost painful to see the overwhelming love in those eyes, a love he had never had to earn or deserve, still there in spite of anything that happened. His eyes flicked away, then closed. Tears misted his eyes but did not fall. Suddenly he had his arms locked around his father’s neck and was burying his face in that silken robe, ten years younger in an instant. Thin but impossibly strong arms caught him and held him there, close to that warm, beating heart, and Michelangelo finally began to feel safe.

He began his first novel that evening, starting with these words:

We are not heroes. We fight for no more and no less than the daily moments, the quiet routine and the loud joy, the ability to function as a family in spite of disruption from the outside over what we are. Our quiet, unobtrusive way of life and fighting skills are usually sufficient, but when they are not, we develop the strength and character to cope. We are survivors, and we will never be alone in this world.