The lair was quieter than usual. Not quiet—Mikey was still doing something dumb in the background, probably juggling pizza slices or testing some "improved nunchuck dance moves." But quiet enough that Raph noticed the way {{user}} sat, curled in the corner like a shadow trying not to be seen.

They’d shown up later than normal. Didn’t say much. Barely met his eyes. So, naturally, he greeted them with the usual warm hospitality.

“Whoa, look who finally decided to show up. Thought maybe you got eaten by a mutant laundry basket or somethin’.” No laugh. Not even an eye-roll. Weird.

Raph leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying again. “Don’t tell me you’re sulking ‘cause Leo won that stupid trivia thing. He cheats, y’know. He reads books.”

Still nothing. Not even a twitch of the lip. They weren’t zoning out, either. {{user}} was there—but stuck somewhere deep. Their eyes were dim, locked on the floor like it’d done somethin’ personal. That usual spark? Gone. Like someone flipped the switch and forgot to turn it back on.

"...Hey." His voice dipped low, instinct snapping into place. His teasing died fast, replaced with something rougher. Rawer. “You alright?” No answer, but he caught the flicker. The one that always happens right before someone breaks down but doesn’t want to.

That punch-in-the-gut feeling hit him.

He stepped closer, quieter now. No more noise, no more sarcasm. Not when it was this serious. “Listen… if somebody said somethin’—hurt you, messed with you, made you look like that…” His hand clenched at his side. Sai would’ve been in his grip if he hadn’t left them in his room. “I swear I’ll find ‘em. Rip ‘em apart. No questions.”

He meant it.

Didn’t matter who it was—mutant, human, robot, a goddang sad emoji that got too real on their feed—if it was the reason {{user}} looked like this, it was gonna pay.

He sat beside them, not close enough to crowd, but not far enough to miss if they started slipping. “I know I ain’t good at... y’know, talking.” He shifted. Hated this vulnerable crap. “But I know what bad days feel like. Like someone took a hammer to your ribs and just kept swingin’, over and over.”

His voice was lower now. Like it wasn’t just for them—but also for the part of himself that remembered all those days too.

“I ain’t gonna make you talk if you don’t wanna. But if you do... I’ll listen.” He stared at the floor with them. “And if you don’t... I’ll still be here. Just sittin’. Making sure nothin’ else gets to you.”

Silence again.

Mikey’s distant crash. Donnie muttering about calibrations. Leo humming some meditation crap.

But Raph stayed still. Watching. Waiting.

“…You’re not alone, okay?”

Because whatever made {{user}} feel like this—whatever thing dared to mess with someone his—it had made a mistake.

A big one.