"there's something sweet, and almost kind
but he was mean, and he was coarse and unrefined
and now he's dear and so unsure
i wonder why i didn't see it there before..."
___________

One week later...

Scarlet runs.

She practically flies down a dark street, heart racing, fear spurring her every step. Police sirens and blinding lights follow her and she picks up speed, but no matter how fast she flees, the street keeps going and going in an endless path. She looks desperately to the apartment buildings around her, but their doors slam closed as she runs past them. Voices reach her ears, taunting her in whispers: "thief", "lowlife", "pathetic", they call her.

Her heart lurches as the road suddenly stops, trapping her in a dead end. The sirens grow louder. Police cars close in. She whimpers and hugs herself tight, bracing herself for whatever fate awaits her.

Scarlet's eyes fly open.

She gasps and jolts upward, heart pounding in her chest and pupils darting to and fro. It takes her a few moments to realize she's not out on the street, but on the warehouse floor, staring at the moonlight filtering in through the windows. Only then does she dare to relax, bringing a hand to her temple as she fights to catch her breath.

Calm down, Scarlet. It was just a dream. Just a dream...

She sniffs, drawing a shaky breath and wiping hints of tears from her eyes. She hasn't had a nightmare in a while. She was starting to think maybe they'd gone away...

On the floor some few feet away, Raphael stirs and rolls over, fixing her with half-lidded eyes that almost seem to glow in the darkness. "Kid?" he mumbles, half-asleep.

"S-sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Somethin' happen?"

"I, um...I had a bad dream."

"Oh." He blinks, his face softening the slightest bit. "Well...it was just a dream. Try to go back to sleep."

"Right. Okay."

He rolls back over on his side and shuts his eyes. Scarlet lays back down, settling her wrist back in its resting position on her chest, but sleep evades her. Her gaze drifts forlornly to her bandaged limb, then up at the ceiling.

She's starting to heal physically, but she wishes she was healing mentally, too.

---------

The next two weeks are spent recovering. For Scarlet, it's a strange experience to say the least. The past four years of her life have been lived on the move with no stop in sight-she's never stayed rooted to one place for this long. Still, she has to admit she's slowly getting used to the warehouse. Sure, it's crusty and dank and doesn't smell the best, but there's a decent amount of space, a roof over her head, and it's definitely much safer than anywhere else she's rested her head in a while.

It's starting to feel, in its own odd little way, like a home.

Raphael finds an old newspaper out in the street and uses it as a makeshift splint for her wrist, handling it with tenderness as he wraps it up. It starts to heal gradually after that, and little by little she finds she can move it with less pain. The turtle remains snarky with her, but not nearly as pushy, which she's grateful for. As far as he knows, she's a girl from a troubled household with crazy neglectful parents that could use some time away from them. He hasn't asked her about it further and she hopes it'll stay that way.

Raphael. As if living in this warehouse isn't weird enough, it's even weirder having a roommate. Granted, he's not much of one for a while. He mainly keeps to himself for the first week or so, their conversations don't consist of much, and sometimes it feels like he forgets she's even there. He paces and mumbles under his breath often. She hears bits and pieces: mentions of Kraang and "those guys" and some sort of clan. Something's clearly on his mind, but she knows better than to pry. His company is sufficient regardless. He gives her the distraction she needs during the day; she watches him train when he's not looking, they still have small conversations, and they eat together in silence. It's actually kind of nice to have someone just there with her, even if the two of them don't interact much. And Scarlet has to admit, it feels nice to be cared about, even if it's only out of pity. Being around the turtle makes her days easier.

It's the nights that are the hardest.

Raphael goes out on patrol or to find food after sunset, leaving her with the worst company possible: her thoughts. He'll leave and the moment she's alone, a million worries flood her mind. What if someone breaks in while he's gone? Will she be able to fight them off by herself? What if Raphael doesn't come back and she's all on her own again? What will she do then? She retreats to what's become her favorite hiding spot, curling up between two crates and not daring to move until her reptilian roommate returns. He always does, usually grumbling about how dead the city has been recently and how he's itching for something to beat up.

Going to sleep is like playing a game of roulette. Sometimes her rest is undisturbed, but more often than not she dreams. Sometimes they're more tolerable, even pleasant. She sees visions of a warm, cozy home, of herself sitting by a fireplace with a mug of some warm drink, a pair of loving arms holding her safe and sound. Other times they're not dreams but nightmares, visions of dark, lonely streets and voices taunting her, reminding her of everything she doesn't have.

She wakes from another one night, her breaths quick and panicked, and as always it takes her a few moments to realize she's perfectly fine.

"Bad dream get you again?"

Her head snaps up. Raphael is awake, sitting on a crate by the window. His back is turned to her, but he's gazing over his shoulder at her with what kind of looks like sympathy in his eyes.

"Yeah," she admits quietly.

"That...sucks."

"Yeah," the girl repeats, quieter this time. She gets up and shuffles toward the turtle, sitting down on a crate beside him. "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"How come?"

"Just got some stuff on my mind."

She nods and shifts to rest her chin in her hands. She hesitates a moment, then scoots a little closer to him, hoping maybe it'll make things feel a bit less lonely—for him or for herself, she's not quite sure. They sit side-by-side, watching the moonlit city in silence. After a while, Scarlet's eyelids start to droop as exhaustion finds her once more. She allows it to claim her, eyes closing as her body sinks into slumber.

Raphael goes rigid as a light weight appears against his side. Slowly, he turns his head. Scarlet's slumped against his shoulder, the soft rise and fall of her little body letting him know she's no longer awake.

Oh, he thinks. The child is sleeping on me.

She looks so small here, so much more like a child than usual, but also just a little more at peace. Something stirs inside him, something sort of warm and faintly amused, the same feeling he'd get watching his brothers fall asleep during a movie or when Spike would cuddle up to him after a long day.

"Sleep tight, kid," he murmurs.

---------

Raphael told Scarlet that he wasn't a babysitter, but by the third week with his new housemate, he's starting to feel like exactly that.

Okay, maybe not a babysitter—he'd consider Scarlet past babysitting age—but the responsibility of looking out for her is starting to sink in. He monitors her progress; her wrist has just about healed, the stiffness vanished and the swelling gone down. He can tell she's a little less skittish, too. He still sees that nervous glint in her eyes when their gazes meet, but she no longer acts like he's going to bite her head off. While she recovers, he scavenges for food for the both of them. If there's one thing his brothers were good for, it was memorizing the pizza delivery boy's route, which makes snatching pizza boxes off the back of his little bike all too easy. He never thought taking care of a human girl would be a priority of his, but this is his life right now, and at least he's kind of getting used to it. It's almost like taking care of Spike, in a way.

Spike. He keeps an eye out for his former pet when he goes on patrol, but there's no sign of him. He has to wonder how a giant monstrosity of a mutant could manage to stay hidden so well in New York City, but if he and his brothers could do it for fifteen years, he supposes Slash can too.

His brothers—more people from his past that occupy space in his brain. As hard as he tries to fight it, his thoughts often wander back to them, to his old life.

More questions swirl through his mind than he'd like. Do his family and friends miss him? Are they looking for him right this moment? Or are they doing just fine without him? Better yet, has he already been replaced? Sometimes memories resurface: nights spent scaling the rooftops with his brothers, beating up baddies with Casey, the glorious taste of Mr. Murakami's pizza gyoza and the movie nights in the lair. It all comes and goes like waves against a shore, and he tries not to think about it too hard. His old life is behind him now, and it's better that way. He loves the freedom he has, the ability to go anywhere and do anything he pleases without someone breathing down his neck or berating him.

He's starting to not even mind sharing his new home. Scarlet doesn't get on his last nerve, or tell him that everything he does is wrong, or treat him like he's crazy for wanting to be safe. She sits and listens when he speaks and treats him like a normal person, which is a welcome change.

One morning, the two of them sit on the floor around a box of pizza freshly-stolen the previous night, munching on slices for their morning meal. The girl's eyes latch on something and widen suddenly, then narrow, nose crinkling in disgust. "Oh, ew."

"What?"

"There's a roach."

"WHERE?!" Raphael's on his feet so fast it's comical.

She points toward an empty spot on the floor. "It was right there a second ago. It crawled away."

"YOU LOST IT?!"

She stares at him strangely. "It's just a bug. You're not scared of it, are you?"

"W-what? Me? Scared of a bug?" He clears his throat and puffs out his chest. "Course not. Don't be ridiculous."

"Then why'd you run all the way over there?"

He freezes and looks down, and only then does he realize he's on the other side of the room, perched on top of a crate. "Uh..."

She snorts with laughter. "So you're a giant mutant turtle, you fight aliens for a living, and you're scared of bugs? What else don't I know about you?"

"Oh, and you're so fearless?"

"No, but at least I'm not afraid of bugs!"

His mouth falls open. Splinter would've backhanded him into the 80s if he ever spoke that way to him. "Didn't know you had a mouth on you," he says. "It's rude to talk back to your elders, you know."

"Elders? How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"You're not old! We're only two years apart!"

"Congrats, you know basic math," he snarks. "I'm still older, so watch your mouth."

She pokes her tongue out at him, a playful glint in her brown eyes that reminds him a little too much of Michelangelo. "Sorry, Dad."

He snorts. "You talk pretty big for someone so small."

"You're scared of something pretty small for someone so big."

The turtle bristles. "Oh yeah? Well, you...uh..."

He places his hands on his hips, racking his brain for a comeback but utterly blanking. Scarlet snorts with laughter before he can think of an answer. He scowls at her, to which she blinks once before a smile starts to creep across her teeth. She snickers a little, then erupts into a fit of giggles, which grows into full-on laughter as she doubles over and clutches her sides. Her laugh reminds Raphael of a fairy's, light and tinkly and utterly childish.

"It's not that funny," he tells her.

"I can't help it!" She gasps for air as she pulls herself to her knees. "You're so big and tough, but you're scared of bugs, and you make the funniest faces when you're scared-"

She bursts out laughing again, shoulders bouncing and smile the brightest he's ever seen it. Raphael notices something else about her laugh: it's contagious. He finds his own lips quirking into a smirk at the sound and he tries-far too late-to hide his face.

"See?" Scarlet wheezes, pointing at him. "You're laughing too!"

"Because you are!"

A few more tee-hee-hees escape the brunette before she finally regains her composure. "You know," she says, still smiling, "you're actually kind of funny when you're not all grumpy."

"Yeah, well, you're kind of sassy when you're not all skittish! When'd you get so talkative, anyway?!"

She blinks, then shrugs, looking like she herself isn't sure. "Dunno. I guess you've just gotten easier to talk to." She flashes a sly grin. "And make fun of."

Raphael rolls his eyes. "You're a riot, kid."

---------

"Raphael?"

Hours have passed. Raphael has returned from another fruitless patrol, the moon is starting to rise, and the duo lays on their backs on the warehouse floor, staring at the ceiling and waiting for sleep to claim them.

"Yeah?" The turtle responds.

"I'm sorry about earlier."

Raphael's brow ridges furrow and and shifts his head to look at Scarlet. "What are you talking about?"

"For making fun of you." Her voice is small and she doesn't meet his gaze. "I thought it was funny in the moment, but looking back I realized it might've hurt your feelings. I didn't mean to do that."

Raphael mulls over her words, remembering once again that he's dealing with a small child. Even if it's over something small, at least she's sorry of her own accord. It usually took some kind of crisis or a near-death experience for his brothers to even consider apologizing when they'd wronged him, and even then that never stopped them from repeat offenses. "Relax, kid," he snorts. "We were just messing around. And...I admit it was kind of funny. Kind of."

She looks at him with hope in her eyes. "So you're not mad?"

"Nah."

"Oh, okay. Good." She grins a little. "Well...good night."

"Night."

"Don't let the cockroaches bite~"

"Aaaaand that's enough of that."

Scarlet giggles, watching as Raphael rolls over on his side and shuts his eyes. When she'd first met the turtle, she found him to be harsh, if not a bit rude-not to mention terrifying. But over the past few weeks, she can't help but feel he's...changed somehow, and it shows now more than ever. Sure, he's still rough around the edges, but she's starting to see something else beneath that hard shell of his: someone brave and selfless, and actually kind of funny.

Maybe...just maybe...he's not so bad.

When she finally drifts off, not a single nightmare reaches her.