#it isn't a possession but a recognition of belonging somewhere

[son-of-avraham]

Me at one of the shul members: This is my shul bubbe. There are many like her but this one is mine

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

TMNT - Drowning Out

Summary: After their little home is flooded, Splinter tries to salvage what he can but there's not enough left for everyone. Leo tries to pretend he isn't affected.

“What matters, my sons, is that we are all safe.”

Leo rolled his father’s words around over and over and over again in the forefront of his mind, trying to keep them loud and present so as to drown out all of the other thoughts and feelings clamoring for attention. Master Splinter was getting enough of that from Mikey right now, clinging to his arm, imploring him to track down this or that of his beloved belongings somehow as they floundered through what was left of their little home. It wasn’t much, after the flood.

What mattered was that they were safe, Leo told himself, swallowing again and again to break down the lump in his throat as Papa fished a lone toy car from a crevice. All of its wheels had been ripped off, its roof mostly flattened by the water pressure; Mikey stared at it with tears in his eyes, admitting in a small voice that this was only his sixth favorite toy. But he’d still take it, because there was a strained, pleading sort of helplessness in their father’s eyes as he pressed it into his hand because it was the only one he had left to offer. It was something.

Donnie’s security blanket had snagged on some of the debris. It was sodden and heavy with sewage stench and had a sizeable new tear where it had been caught but most of it was still there. Don cried anyway as Splinter wrung it out, swearing up and down that he would patch the hole as soon as they were settled somewhere else, as soon as he could scavenge for the proper tools to repair it, as soon as he reasonably could. Once the remnant of fabric was damp but not dripping, Donnie took it, wadded it up against his plastron and hiccupped to hold his breath against the smell. At least it was something.

It shouldn’t have come as any surprise that Raphie’s “boot bank” survived. The bright, shiny yellow rubber boot he’d dragged home one day was meant to withstand water messes. It should have been a relief—and to Raphie, it was, judging by how fiercely he shook the water out of it and how possessively he held it close—but for some reason Leo felt a sharp, hot twist in his chest that he couldn’t name. Sure, the cool, colorful stones and spare change and stray buttons Raph had stored in the boot had been lost, but he could start a new collection as long as he had the boot to hold them. It was something.

What mattered was that they were safe. The fact that they all had something to latch onto was just a bonus—a bonus Leo was sure he’d appreciate later whenever they found a new niche, a new home. Mikey would have something to occupy his attention, even if it wasn’t his favorite; Donnie would have something familiar and safe through this unexpected, painful change; Raphie would have something that represented the stubbornness to survive no matter what life threw at them.

Leo should be grateful. He should be happy for them.

It’s not like he hadn’t read his books a million times anyway. It’s not like he’d forget them, no matter how many pages had been soaked and stained and shredded beyond recognition, no matter how far they had been swept away. His brothers had been lulled to sleep by Splinter’s rich reading voice so many times, while Leo strove to stay awake for just one more chapter, just two more chapters, just a little while longer; he wouldn’t mind if Splinter doubled back to catch the others up on the plot they had missed tomorrow night, he’d love to hear it with them all over again, to see their first time reactions. He had learned to read for himself with those books, tracing each word with the care it deserved, because someone out there had cared enough to put them all down for him to see and feel and imagine. He had read them to his brothers so many times to distract them when they were sick or hurt. Every time he was sick or hurt or the others were bickering and he didn’t want to be involved, he had escaped the aching and noise between the lines, off on adventures he could never have for real.

He wouldn’t just forget that.

But he really should, he had to, because they were gone now and Papa said in the big scheme of things that it didn’t matter. What really mattered was that the family was safe. That was all Leo was going to get and he had to be grateful for it.

He was, of course. If he had to choose between his books or his brothers, he’d obviously pick his brothers every time. So he should be happy for them. There shouldn’t be this twisting, writhing heat kindling in his gut as Mikey and Donnie cried like babies. They should consider themselves lucky they had anything to hold onto. They were all he had to hold onto and he didn’t want to make them cry any harder so he took their free hands and squeezed them very tightly, impressing the importance of it into his head and onto his heart as hard as he could—Be grateful. Be happy. Be grateful. Be happy. We’re safe. That’s something. Smile—until the fire in his stomach and behind his eyes simmered down enough that he could speak without a sob or a scream.

“Donnie, Mikey, please don’t cry.” Just shush up and stop crying already! You shouldn’t get to cry. Why do you get to cry and I don’t? “It’ll be okay.” It’s not okay, it’s not, it’s not, it’s not! But it will be, probably, once I can cheer you up. (They’re just little, they don’t know. You can’t cry and cheer them up at the same time. That’s your job as the big brother so just keep smiling.) “Like Papa said, we’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

Even if Don and Mikey’s tears didn’t stop right away, they did slow, and once they were quieter a teeny tiny bit of the strain in their father’s face eased so Leo must have done the right thing.

That was something.

It was a little strange to him then, that as they sloshed exhaustedly through the cold water in search of a new place to sleep for the night, Papa nudged Leo a little further ahead of the others so they wouldn’t overhear them over their own sighs and sniffles. “I am sorry I could not salvage any of your belongings as I could the others’, Leonardo…” he murmured. “I know some of those things were very dear to you.”

The fire surged right back up through his body at those words, head to toe. For a split second he desperately wanted to clamber into his father’s arms, hide his face away from the cold, wet, cruel world in his warm shoulder and just cry and cry and cry until he couldn’t catch his breath for even one more sob—maybe until even his brothers would forget their own sadness and care about him more, squeeze his hand and shush him gently and tell him it would be alright. His vision blurred and burned dangerously at the idea but that wasn’t their job. It was his. He should just be glad Papa was acknowledging his loss, when it mattered so little in the big picture. As far as Leo knew, he couldn’t be grateful and be sad at the same time so he kept his gaze down until it cleared again.

“It’s okay,” he assured softly, forcing a shrug so Splinter’s hand slipped off. It’s not.

Had he looked up, he would have seen the sorrow and uncertainty that crossed Splinter’s face at his reticence. “…Your brothers have already made their requests for my next scavenging trip. Is there anything you would like me to look for?” he ventured tentatively. “A new book, perhaps?”

More than anything he wanted his books back but no matter how empty the offer of a new one felt, it would be stupid of Leo to say no to the opportunity. “…Yes, please, Papa. Thank you.” The others hadn’t thanked their father for rescuing their things, he couldn’t help but notice, but they were not a part of this conversation so he said it on their behalf. Wordlessly Splinter put his paw back on his shoulder and Leo couldn’t bring himself to shrug away again.

Raphie would have new rocks, pennies and buttons to refill his boot bank and he would be satisfied. Leo would have new books in which to bury himself away from thinking about the old ones, even if he could never forget. He may not be satisfied but more importantly, he would be grateful.

It was better than nothing.

~~~~~~~~

A/N: *pats Leo's head* This bad boy can fit so much "Imposing responsibilities upon myself that I don't actually need to at this age because I too am a baby but I've misinterpreted the adult's words and don't know how to feel more than one emotion at once yet - because, again, I am but a baby - so I'll just get into the habit of deprioritizing how I feel because I consider myself just that teensy bit older and masking it all for the others' sake probably makes me better and stronger and more mature" in him :'D