Work Text:
The problem with crashing at your former enemy's apartment was not, as Mikey claimed, the lack of beanbag chairs.
There were multiple problems. There were many of them, actually. There were so many problems that the lack of escape routes was only a drop in the bucket of valid concerns.
Leo had made a mental note of the exits within minutes. There was the front door, or the fire escape through the kitchen window. That was it, really. Raph wouldn't even fit through the latter, but in truth, the whole exterior wall could be an exit route if property damage was not a concern. It wouldn't be, if it wasn't for the fact that April lived in the unit directly below. Unfortunately.
After that, he had moved on to the next step: lines of sight.
From the couch, he had a clear view of the front door and the kitchen. The window glass was too obscured to be of much use with the blinds pulled down, but the reflection from the TV screen could cover some blind spots in the right lighting.
It was acceptable. Not good – it could never be good – but acceptable for a temporary fallback position while they got their bearings and figured out where to go next.
Temporary. This was only temporary.
The lair was gone. Their home had been buried under literal tons of rubble, with a hole in the floor that went all the way to the freaking Hidden City. They had needed somewhere safe, somewhere secure. Draxum had offered, and Splinter accepted.
Leo had… not objected. Out loud. Much.
Draxum's apartment may not have felt like a villain's lair, but it did feel like the home of somebody who prioritized control over comfort. Everything had its place. It wasn't clean – one look at the kitchen made that evident – but it was precise. Books were organized by size and subject. Kitchen utensils had been placed neatly in their drawers like surgical tools.
Also, a new development from the last time Leo had seen the place: there were plants everywhere.
Leo didn't trust the plants.
Each of them had been meticulously labeled with small, neat tags, displaying botanical names in elegant handwriting. Some of them glowed, and one seemed to be watching him.
Leo watched it back.
The first night, Leo didn't sleep.
None of them did, for a while. They all had a surplus of leftover adrenaline. There had been too much life change crammed into too few hours. Gram-gram was here, and then she was gone. And with her, went the only home they had ever known. They had no lair, very few salvaged possessions, and no idea of what came next.
Still, the exhaustion creeped in as the adrenaline wound down. Splinter nodded off in a recliner that was not his, but was just as worn and clearly secondhand. Raph still managed to pass out sitting upright against the couch, with Mikey curled up tightly against his plastron. Donnie worked on who knows what until his tablet battery died, then slowly but surely powered down after it.
Leo let his eyes close. He kept his breathing slow and even, one hand hanging loosely over the armrest near his dual katanas. He could grab them in half a moment if needed.
He tracked Draxum's movement by sound.
Footsteps. Fabric shifting. The refrigerator door opening. Liquid pouring. Ceramic touching wood.
Draxum moved carefully through his own home, like a parent trying not to wake a sleeping toddler.
Leo cracked an eyelid open, just enough to get a visual.
Draxum had paused beside Mikey, frowning down at him with an expression that Leo couldn't quite place. Then he leaned down…
Leo touched his fingertips to a sword.
… and the goat-man's hands slid Mikey's blanket gently up over his shoulders, tucking it carefully around the edges of his shell so that it wouldn't slip off again.
Leo kept his eyes locked on Draxum as he walked away, something churning uneasily under his plastron.
It wasn't proof of anything. Bad guys could do nice things too, for strategic reasons. Probably.
Over the course of the next week, Leo gathered data. He was subtle about it, inconspicuous as a lone oozequito on the wall. He inspected seals and expiration dates while pretending to snack. He checked their belongings twice over for evidence of tampering. He made a mental note any time items changed position. He monitored Draxum's wake times, sleep times, how long he spent in each room, and whether he locked the door behind him.
He even checked the trash.
He wasn't digging through it. He was a turtle, not a raccoon. He just had to be thorough with his investigation, is all. Private investigators did it too.
That was how he discovered the peanut butter.
Raph didn't make a big deal about his allergy. He never had, but Leo always kept a close eye on it. So when he opened the pantry to find only almond butter, sunflower butter, and something called “tahini” – all new, still sealed – he immediately knew something was up.
He checked every cabinet. No peanuts in sight.
He found it in the trash later that evening: a discarded peanut butter jar, buried under a day's worth of paper towels and crumpled wrappers. It had been intentionally removed, replaced with not one, but three potential substitutes.
Leo leaned against the counter and frowned.
Okay.
Weird.
The weighted blanket came next.
Donnie had been quiet all morning, tightly wound with movements sharp and precise, his voice pitched just a little too high. Leo knew the signs. Donnie was overstimulated, probably on the verge of snapping at something trivial. It wasn't surprising, given the situation at hand.
Leo found him later, wrapped in a heavy dark blanket. His breathing was slow, green fingers rhythmically tapping the fabric.
“New blanket?” Leo asked.
Donnie hummed, but didn't open his eyes. “Weighted.”
Leo blinked. “Where'd you get it?”
“Draxum insists it was present prior to our arrival. Statistically improbable, but I'm in no mood to investigate.”
Leo investigated in Donnie's stead. He had found the receipt buried halfway down the trash can, crumpled but still readable, with today's date printed boldly in black ink. Leo stared at it for a long time, then placed it back exactly the way he had found it.
His chest felt tight. He ignored it.
It was just… data.
Draxum still acted as though he resented their presence. He still sighed when they were loud, and complained constantly about the mess. He still judged their choice of TV shows, and looked faintly horrified at their dietary habits.
He didn't act like someone trying to buy their trust, which made the quiet adjustments even stranger. Freshly-washed blankets and pillowcases appeared, according to their color preferences. Their usual snacks materialized in the pantry without comment. Cabinets were rearranged so that shorter arms could reach the mugs more easily. It always happened when he thought no one was watching.
Leo was always watching.
He paid close attention, because if this was an act, or some form of manipulation… if Draxum was just waiting for them to relax, to let their guard down…
Leo wouldn't let his family be hurt. Not again.
The headache hit him on day eight. It wasn't surprising. He hadn't been sleeping properly, and Leo was no stranger to stress headaches. He pressed his thumb into the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore it. He failed.
A shadow fell across him.
“You are squinting.”
Leo looked up at the goat-man. “I am not.”
Draxum held out a small vial of pale blue liquid, with obvious intent. “Drink this.”
Leo stared at it.
“It is not poison,” Draxum added.
“Cool, love that you had to clarify.”
“It will alleviate the pain.”
Leo crossed his arms, defiantly. “Hard pass.”
Draxum studied him for a moment, then rolled his eyes. Without breaking eye contact, he raised the vial and tipped it back, pouring half its contents into his own mouth. He swallowed, and offered it again.
“Drink.”
Leo hesitated. He watched Draxum's expression, his breathing, his pupils, and noted nothing unusual.
His head throbbed.
Leo took the vial and downed the rest, swallowing before he could overthink himself out of it. Warmth spread through his skull, dissolving the mounting pressure like a hot drink melting ice.
“... Okay,” he admitted, begrudgingly. “That's actually legit.”
“I am aware.”
Leo handed the empty vial back, somewhat unsettled by how easy that had been.
That night, Leo intended to keep watch, per usual. He really did.
He settled into his usual position on the couch and closed his eyes, just for a minute. Just until the others were fully asleep.
Just until…
………………….
Draxum entered the living room shortly after midnight.
He paused, taking in the scene: a rat and four turtles – all four of them, for once – sleeping soundly in the dim light.
He had noticed the obvious attempts at surveillance from the beginning. He'd seen the slider’s deliberate seating choices, his meticulous label inspections, the constant trash disturbances… the nightly feigned sleep, breathing controlled just a little too carefully to be natural.
Leonardo had believed himself unseen; Draxum had allowed that belief to persist.
He approached quietly, stopping beside the couch. Leonardo did not stir.
He understood the turtle's distrust, of course. He had given all of them ample reason to doubt his sincerity, and so Draxum told himself it was justified, that perhaps some damage just could not be undone. Perhaps it was too late to fully shed the image he had carved for himself: monster, enemy, threat.
He hadn't expected the sinking feeling that came with those thoughts.
His gaze lingered on Leonardo. His posture was loose, unguarded, the constant tension finally gone from his shoulders. One hand dangled off the couch, green fingers hanging limply towards the floor. The boy's swords lay well out of reach, for the first time since their arrival.
It was unlikely to be intentional. It was just because he was tired. It was just because, somewhere along the way, his body had decided it was safe enough to fall asleep with them out of reach.
It was a small thing, an almost meaningless thing. Yet, it wasn't nothing.
Trust was unlikely to ever come as a spoken declaration, or some grand gesture. Still, perhaps it could begin to show in a momentary slip of defenses, in a forgotten weapon and a sleeping child.
Draxum placed a blanket over the slider's shoulders.
Perhaps it was not too late after all.