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Sometimes, just before throwing himself with reckless abandon into another confrontation with Shredder’s endless forces, Raph found himself glancing over his shoulder. What did he expect to see?
(Leo, silently nodding to confirm this course of action. Raph hated that something innate still looked for Leo’s backing.)
Sometimes muscle memory brought his hand to his belt for a shell cell that wasn’t there. Who was he supposed to call?
(Mikey, who had called for days after he left. Raph hated himself for never picking up.)
Sometimes he startled awake with a hoarse “Don—” on his lips and just hated everything.