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Leo released a breath behind him, the sound dissipating the air of battle in a millisecond. Donnie stepped forward, leaning against his weapon with forced nonchalance. Leo moved to stand beside him, sheathing both weapons with a solid hiss. Neither spoke. Neither needed to. 

Why had his sensor malfunctioned? It wasn’t natural, was an outlier, a fleeting error. A muscle in his jaw jumped as the softshell wandered towards the faded line he’d scratched in the floor to signify the point at which the invisible tripwire lay in wait. He’d fashioned them out of cameras and recording equipment scrapped from his forsaken battleshell. They were of the utmost quality, rarely ever needing repairs. He’d checked this particular buzzer not too long after their latest spat with Prime, feeling the need for heightened security. 

A heavy hand landed on his armored shoulder, the grip loose but reassuring nonetheless, “Nothing.” Leo grunted.

Donnie shook his head, the heavy weight of his upturned helmet forcing his skull to move slightly further to either side than it typically would. 

Leo nodded curtly, removing his hand. 

“Alright, you win,” Leo’s voice was raspy and catching on the harsher sounds, “At least it’s not my arm.” He quipped lightly.

Donnie snickered, picking up a nearby screwdriver and beginning to twirl it in his fingers. Leo watched it for a moment as it passed effortlessly through his fingers.

“Would be bad,” Donnie chided gently, “Harder to make an arm.”

Leo shrugged, “Harder to make an eye,” He shot his twin a grin, relief flooding through him to see it reciprocated.

“Guess so.” 

A beat of silence passed, stretching for just a moment too long before Leo spoke again, “Remember when I lost it,” He gestured to the prosthetic to indicate his forsaken leg, “and you gave me grief about it like I’d done it on purpose?”

Donnie hesitated, gauging the tone of his twin, “You lost it stupidly.”

“Says the one who lost his eye tinkering.” Leo teased lightly. 

Donnie stopped spinning the screwdriver, his faded brows lifting sky-high. 

Shit was that wrong to say? What if he’d hurt Donnie? His beloved brother couldn’t have prevented the loss of his eye. It was an accident. He shouldn’t have said that. He should leave. He should leave now. Before he made it all worse. He’d trapped Donnie here. He’d done this to his brother.

He stood, ready to scuttle from the room like a child sent to their room. Leo was stopped in his tracks by the unexpected sound of a sarcastic snort followed by a grumbling churr. A sound made only by one Hamato Donatello when he was in a pleasant mood.