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gosecretscribbles · 4 months ago

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Rise August 2024: Weapons

Summary: Raph has a nightmare about being created, viewed, and used as a weapon. His brothers are there to ground him.

Trigger warning: Gets a bit gory when towards the end of the nightmare, mentions of bodily fluids, blinding someone, and neck-snapping. A main character dies (but not really, it’s a dream.)

A/N: Never realized how hard it was to do these challenges. Whew! Kudos to authors who do monthly challenges like this. Anyway, enjoy the hurt/comfort!

Raph was having a training session with Barry in the crumbled courtyard outside the castle. Raph was using his tonfas today, mostly in position one, ramming the short end of them into rock after rock in an explosive burst of power. Barry animated the rubble into lumbering golems with hooks for hands. Magical sigils glowed at the center of their chests. Raph grinned, flipped his tonfas so the long side pointed forward, and stabbed each of them through the sigil until they crumbled into gravel.

“Not bad,” Barry said approvingly. “I’ve always been impressed with your destructive power.”

“Shell yeah!” Raph said, pumping both fists. “That’s what the Mad Dogs are about!”

“Mmm, quite. Childish moniker aside, you make an excellent weapon.”

He rolled his eyes. “Barry, you still can’t sic me on the high school kids. No matter how much they quote memes at you.”

“But think of the senseless violence!”

“That’s Red for you,” Splinter said, nodding. He was sitting on a rock next to Barry, eating his way through a box of donuts.

Raph frowned. Had he been there before?

“You should have seen him when he was little,” Splinter continued, waving his fork. “The first time he tried to skateboard, he used Blue’s board. Broke it clean in two. Blue cried for hours!”

Raph grimaced. “Raph didn’t know how strong he was.”

“Or that time he was playing football. He tried to swipe it from Orange, but hit his stomach instead. Orange went flying! If Blue hadn’t caught him, Orange would have smacked shell-first into a pipe.”

Raph’s stomach twisted. “That was an accident.”

“And of course there was the time he nearly carved Purple out of his shell. That was the first time he turned into Savage Raph.”

“An appropriate title,” Draxum approved.

Raph stared at Splinter. “But – you never called me that,” he sputtered. “That’s – that’s what I called it, but you said – you never call me Savage –”

Splinter rolled his eyes. “I should be calling you that instead of ‘Red.’ You’re built to be a weapon. Even against your own family!”

“No! Raph would never hurt –”

Suddenly a river gushed over Raph’s feet, strong enough to force him back even though it only came up to his ankles. He stumbled. He was standing on the outstretched palm of the Crying Titan. Its stony fingers curled up and around him. No – not fingers. They were the giant stone figures of his family. The river around Raph’s feet gushed from the empty sockets of the Titan’s skull. That wasn’t right. The hand was supposed to be farther away, but it was now so close it looked like the Titan was going to claw out its own eye and squash Raph against his cheek in the process.

Suddenly the rushing river turned a bright, sickening pink. A cloying rot filled Raph’s nose. Ice-cold shock gripped Raph’s spine. The smell was sickly, sour, and unmistakable, burned deep into the back of his brain.

Sister Krang and Brother Krang emerged from the Titan’s right socket.

“Well, well,” Sister cackled. “If it isn’t my brother’s favorite toy soldier.”

Raph snarled. His heart pounded. “Get your eye checked, Lady. Your brother ain’t here to hold me back.”

“Correction. He isn’t here to hold me back.”

Raph charged before she was done talking, but Sister was faster. She shot forward with the same move she’d used to try and skewer Leo. Raph side-stepped and twisted his left sai – hadn’t he been holding his tonfas? – but he slipped in the river. He turned the dive into a flip, trying to toss her, but the tentacle he’d blocked wrapped around his arm so tightly he couldn’t feel it anymore. He roared and stabbed with his other tonfa.

Her eye burst, the point of his sai driving deep into her rubbery flesh. Viscous fluid the color of motor oil spurted over Raph’s hand and then his wrist as he drove deeper, deeper, until he heard a nasty crack –

Leo’s body dropped from his hand, already cold.

Raph stared at his arm in shock, disfigured with bulging swells of Krang infection. The technodrome? No, he’d – he’d been fighting the Krang, he hadn’t – he’d never –

Prime Krang’s voice purred in his head. “Wonderful. An excellent weapon. Assimilate the others.”

Raph’s vision swung and he was facing the throne. Mikey and Donnie struggled in their prisons, screaming for him to wake up. Raph was screaming, too, but he couldn’t talk. He couldn’t even stop walking. He was moving closer to Donnie, Donnie was screaming, Raph couldn’t hear him, he couldn’t hear anything, he couldn’t stop – he couldn’t stop –

The sudden sensation of being crushed forced air out of Raph’s lungs. Raph’s brain felt like it was being torn apart and twisted, every sensation so distorted and overwhelming that Raph couldn’t tell where he was or even what he was. Was he still a Krang zombie? Did he have his hands back? Was he breathing? Was he dead?

Were his brothers –

He tried to scream, but he couldn’t hear it. He felt his jaw scrape something rough. Had he opened his mouth? He tried it again, scraping harder, pouring all of his concentration into the single point of contact.

Other bits and pieces forced their way through the chaos. He lying on his plastron. He wasn’t being crushed. There was something heavy on his back. His hands felt weird, but he could move both of them. He curled and uncurled his fingers. It took him a while to feel it happening. He felt numb and sore and jittery, like he’d swallowed six of Donnie’s patented energy drinks and then been trapped in stone with nowhere for the energy to go. Then he realized he was moving at least a little bit. There were ice gels packed around his neck and tucked into the back of his shell. He was shivering. He blamed it on the cold. A trickle of condensation ran down his shoulder and he gagged. He wanted to throw up but his stomach felt too liquified to know how to contract.

Someone was talking. As soon as he noticed, he realized someone had been talking the whole time he’d been awake. It was Donnie’s voice.

“…September 21st, 2:14:01 AM Eastern Standard Time. You are in your room. The lights are turned down low. There are cold packs around your neck to induce sluggishness, and a weighted blanket on your back to activate your parasympathetic response. You are safe. Everyone is safe. You are Raphael Hamato. It is September 21st, 2:14:18 AM…”

Raph was having trouble hearing him. He’d left his mouth open and he was breathing way too hard. His muscles were so stiff it hurt, but h forced his head to turn. He needed to see Donnie.

Donnie saw his head shift and paused, stepping closer. “Raph? Are you lucid?”

Raph tried to talk. A croak came out. He forced himself to nod.

“Good. You had a nightmare. Don’t touch your face.”

“My…face?”

There was a sudden knock at Raph’s door. Leo poked his head in, squinting. “Heeeey, Raphie. You alive in here?”

The light from the door made everything blurry. No, not the light. Something was wrong with Raph’s vision. He tried to squint and a sharp pain stabbed straight through his skull.

“Ow –”

“Hey hey hey!” Leo was in front of him instantly, grabbing Raph’s hands. “Looks like you messed up your eye, buddy. Let me rinse it and then we’ll get the drops.”

Raph growled. “Ugh. Hate those.”

“Then don’t scratch your eye. Did you wear your patch to bed?”

He squirmed. “No. Forgot.”

“No chore chart sticker for you.”

“Wouldn’t’a scratched if I hadn’t had a nightmare,” Raph muttered. “S’like I’m being punished for a bad dream.”

“I can fix that,” Donnie said, typing rapidly on his vambrace. “There. Shelldon will have the den set up for a turtle pile in 2.43 minutes, complete with a large pitcher hot chocolate.”

Leo shot him a suspicious look. “I thought Shelldon was banned from the kitchen after the Dutch Oven Incident.”

“He is. Mikey’s making it.”

“With little marshmallows?” Raph asked hopefully.

“And freeze dried strawberries.”

“Ahp-up-up!” Leo sing-songed, dangling Raph��s saline eye wash in front of him. “Strawberries are only for good snapper turtles who hold still.”

Raph grumbled, but held still anyway. He really did like freeze dried strawberries.

When they were done, Donnie pulled the icepacks off Raph’s neck and handed him a towel. He sat up and scrubbed his scales dry. The rough texture felt really good. He ran it over his face, too, careful to avoid his eye, scraping away the eye wash that had dripped down his face. Then he dropped the towel on the floor to handle later and levered himself to his feet.

The den was already set up for an Official Turtle Pile Sleepover, complete with a thick spread of fluffy blankets and a Jupiter Jim movie already playing on the wall. Mikey stood at the ice hockey table, which now doubled as a hot chocolate stand. Shelldon hovered at Mikey’s shoulder. Mikey was pouring with his eyes closed, but cracked one open when he heard them enter.

“M-m-mornin’,” he yawned. “Chockie?”

“With strawberries,” Leo said, patting Raph’s arm.

“Ooooh, eye drops. Extra berries for Raph.”

He handed Raph his favorite half-gallon mug, covered with mini marshmallows, whipped cream, red sprinkles, and a generous heaping of freeze-dried strawberries. Raph’s face lit up and he plunged his beak straight down, slurping up the coco and half-melted toppings. He caught the crisp fruit slices and crunched them between his teeth. He was pleasantly cool from the ice, and feeling the warmth spread through him felt amazing. His stomach settled and he sighed deeply.

“Th’nks for the compl’ment,” Mike mumbled sleepily, nursing his own cup.

Leo squealed. “Oooh, I didn’t know we had blueberries! Yes!”

“I robbed a grocery store!” Shelldon said proudly.

“Insert parent-figure approval,” Donnie said, doling out his own toppings into separate cups.

When they’d each prepared their cups, they piled onto the blankets. Raph sat with his shell against the sofa, legs crossed with Mikey nestled in his lap. Leo leaned on Raph’s left side and Donnie on his right. Shelldon perched on Raph’s shell and restarted the movie. Jupiter Jim IV, one of Raph’s favorites.

“You good?” Leo asked him.

“Blood pressure has dropped to resting levels,” Donnie announced.

“I really don’t want to know how you know that.”

Raph chuckled and scrubbed a hand over Leo’s head. “Yeah, bro. I’m good.”

A/N: Gentle reminder that if you know someone who needs help coming out of traumatic episodes, PLEASE talk to them about it well before it happens so you know what will help and what to avoid. I like to think Data Collection Donnie and Dr. Feelings got together and created lists of useful strategies for all four brothers. Donnie responded first because he received alerts from subcutaneous medical trackers he absolutely did(n't) put in Raph.

@sariphantom

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