ruby-fury-secret

[ruby-fury-secret]

omg these two love each other so much, stop being stupid guys

Leo’s attention was clearly, perfectly divided between April’s story about… what the hell was it, Yaotl or something—and Raph himself. And Raph hated it.

 Hated Leo’s smug, golden perfection. Hated Leo’s ability to multitask. Hated Leo’s expectations. Hated that his brothers had to be summoned to come tend to him, like he couldn’t take care of himself.

 Hated that he actually couldn’t. Casey had somehow dragged his unconscious ass all the way back to the apartment, and after this was all done, Raph would have to ask just how he managed it. His arm felt like a raw bruise and his head felt stuffed full of cotton wool. He was terribly thirsty, a bit queasy, and wanted nothing more than to bury his face in the cushion and sleep this off.

 And he hated it. He wanted to groan, growl, complain about his situation. If he wasn’t already the centerpiece of the room, curled on the floor of April’s apartment, he would have.

 Raph wanted to listen to April, to follow Donnie’s follow-up questions, to at least pretend he was part of whatever situation they were facing, instead of being a victim of it. But paying attention to anything right now felt like a monumental task. He was so tired.

 And then Leo was on him again, tipping his chin, asking him… something. Surely not his opinion on anything. Probably asking if he could get up and follow orders. Hard to listen to Leo past the headache hammering in his ears.

 “You dudes figure that out,” he heard Mikey say. “He’s looking a little green.”

 Did he look that bad? Mikey took his wrists, pulling him to sit, and Raph instinctively used Mikey’s grip as leverage. His head was spinning but he didn’t feel like passing out. A small win. Mikey’s grip transferred to his elbows and now Raph was on his feet, good enough to shuffle around, but wobbly enough that Mikey held onto his elbow.

 “There’s supplies under the bathroom sink,” Casey said. And wait, Raph was expecting to go sit on the couch, to strategize with the rest of the team while waiting for his head to clear, and he realized with a slow start that Mikey was leading him away from the living room. Towards the bathroom. With him. Alone.

 He wanted to protest. The words caught in his throat in a dry swallow, and frankly he didn’t know quite what to say either.

 Mikey was quiet as they entered the bathroom. He turned on the lights, led Raph inside—damn, this was a nice big bathroom—and nudged him to sit on the edge of the tub, lifting the toilet lid before rummaging through April and Casey’s cabinets.

 “I’m not gonna hurl, Mikey,” Raph mumbled. Okay, he probably wasn’t.

 Mikey shrugged and cocked his head towards the toilet. “Probably not. You just looked like you needed to get away from Leo, stat.”

 “Oh.”

 Raph draped his arms over his knees, leaning his weight forward. Now that he had the opportunity to assess himself, the shake in his hands and legs was undeniable. Damn, what was in that tranquilizer dart? He’d been knocked out and drugged plenty of times before. Just his luck that this junk was making him feel so damn fuzzy. Leo probably thought he was a big weak joke.

 Wishing the headache away, Raph bent double until his forehead was touching his folded arms, peeking up at Mikey. He was slowly, methodically pulling out medical stuff from underneath the sink. Raph knew from experience how well-stocked Casey kept things.

 Weird though, Mikey hadn’t said a word since admitting his little deception to get Raph away from Leo’s attention. And that, Raph blearily realized, had been more words than Mikey had said to him in months. This was probably the most they’d even seen of each other in months.

 This was a bad idea, the two of them being alone like this. Mikey didn’t seem to have much interest in him other than as a nursing project. Raph wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that or not.

 But he was grateful for Mikey saving from Leo’s scrutiny. He should say something about that.

 “Uh… thanks.”

 Mikey shrugged. “Yeah.”

 That hurt. More than the pounding of his head and the cramping of his arm. For Mikey to have so few words for him now.

 He wondered if Mikey’s room still looked the same, then gulped back the guilty feeling. He’d promised he wasn’t going to hurl.

 Mikey held up an antiseptic swab like a question, and Raph straightened up, pointed to the spot on his arm where the dart had struck. It was fine, just a pinprick, not a gaping wound that needed any sort of real treatment, but he didn’t protest Mikey’s attention. Despite the awkward silence, it was nice to have someone touching him, even if it was with more gentleness than he deserved.

 “Been a while since we’ve done this,” Mikey murmured.

 “… Yeah.” He waited for Mikey to say more. Nothing.

 The antiseptic stung. The skin felt deeply bruised when Mikey swiped over it, despite how softly he moved.

 Raph’s eyes followed as Mikey tossed the swab in the trash, picked up a roll of gauze, unraveled about a foot. The sight of the gauze catapulted Raph back to that night, and self-consciously his hand moved over his thigh, covering up the scars from the bullet wound. It had healed almost completely out of existence but Raph could still see it. And if he could, then Mikey, who knew him so well, could too.

 Four loops of the gauze around his bicep. Mikey wasn’t moving slowly, but he wasn’t exactly rushing through the bandaging either. Feeling Mikey’s fingers on his skin again made him shiver, made something twist deep in his gut. He wasn’t sure what longing felt like but maybe it was something like this.

 Again, Raph wondered about Mikey’s true intentions about sneaking him off to the bathroom. Maybe it really had been about giving him a break from Leo. Maybe Mikey could somehow sense his blood pressure skyrocketing whenever Leo got on his case.

 “Your head okay?”

 “Hurts.” No real sense in lying to Mikey. He’d done that enough.

 A bottle rattled and Mikey handed him two ibuprofens. Something they’d done a hundred times before, something that now felt deeply intimate as Raph took the pills from Mikey with an unsteady hand.  

 Mikey picked up an empty glass from the bathroom counter, filled it with water. Not to the brim, that would be too easy to spill. Just enough that Raph could hold it steady if he really concentrated on banishing the shake from his fingers, gulping down the pills and water without dribbling it all over himself.

 The water felt good. Mikey wordlessly took the glass, refilled it, handed it back, watched as Raph drank it down too. Hopefully it would help flush out whatever drug was still floating around his system.

 Voices drifted from the living room beyond. The scrape of a chair. The thud of furniture put back into place. The familiar restlessness was now coursing through Raph’s limbs, the need for action. His feelings could wait. There was a monster—or monsters—on the loose out there.

 “We oughta go see what’s going on,” Raph said, hoping his voice sounded a little sturdier than it felt.

 Mikey nodded. He carefully, methodically put the supplies back under the sink. “You’re dumb, you know.”

 Raph raised his right arm a bit and shrugged. He was so used to being reprimanded for dangerous stunts that the words came automatically, barely registered the undertone in Mikey’s voice. “It’s not that bad.”

 “Not that.” The supplies were put away and Mikey straightened up, meeting Raph’s eyes for the first time that night. For the first time in ages. “I thought things would be different when Leo came back. That everything would go back to normal.”

 “What the hell’s normal,” Raph muttered. He rubbed his temple, not clear on where Mikey was going with this. “We don’t really have a normal anymore.”

 “Yeah, I get that now.”  

 Raph rubbed harder. Why weren’t the damn pills kicking in yet? Through the fuzz, he did realize one thing about this stilted conversation: he hadn’t heard one bro or dude or anything from Mikey. Not a single term of endearment.

 He wasn’t shocked. But it did sting.

 Mikey didn’t look angry. He looked resigned. “I just thought you’d be happier once Leo came back. Because you sure as heck weren’t happy when he was gone.”

 Raph blinked. Why would Mikey think that? They were doing fine without Leo. Him coming back ruined everything. Ruined…

 Okay, Raph ruined the one good thing he had going. Maybe that wasn’t Leo’s fault, as much as he wished it was.

 “Don’t need him to be happy.” Raph directed his reply at the floor. Why weren’t those stupid pills kicking in already?

 Mikey continued as though Raph hadn’t spoken. “Some things change. Like you, when Leo left. And you keep changing and changing and I don’t know what’s up with you anymore.”

 “Mikey…”

 “And some things don’t change.”

 Mikey paused. The silence dragged Raph’s eye back up. This whole thing would have been better if Mikey was yelling, if he was pissed. Raph’s safe emotion was anger. He understood it and knew how to face it in others.

 Mikey just looked sad, and Raph didn’t know where to begin with that. “Like me. I still love you. So I guess that makes me the dumb one, right?”

 “Is that wha—” Is that what you dragged me here to say, Raph wanted to ask, but Mikey gave him a weak little smile and left before Raph could get all the words out.

 Just as well. He had no reply for that, and it wasn’t just because of the tranq juice making him fuzzy. Because he felt the exact: dumb as hell, and still in love with Mikey.

 And with absolutely zero way to express any of it that wouldn’t result in people other than him getting hurt.

 He let Mikey have a head start back to the living room. Predictably, no one paid any attention to him, so Raph cast one quick look at Mikey, sitting on the couch with his legs bouncing nervously, listening to April’s story, and stuck to the kitchen, pacing back and forth. Got the blood pumping. Got for the fire going. Stopped thinking about Mikey and all those feelings like love and anxiety that weren’t useful right now.

 And Raph did what he did best: took the pain and fear and shoved it into a neat little box, putting a veneer of anger on top, because anger was useful.

 Shoved it all away, because they had monsters to deal with. He could figure out his own monsters whenever.

[ruby-fury-secret]

the fourth part, ft. heartbreak all around

They never actually talked about it. But the great thing was that, as far as Raph and Mikey were concerned, action spoke louder than words.

 And boy, were they good at action.

 Three weeks had passed since their first kiss. Two weeks in which they’d gone from kissing, to tentative touches beneath blankets, to bolder and bolder displays that left Raph panting, shaking, and unable to feel his legs. Yeah, turned out Mikey was really good with action.

 Most of the time, they fooled around under the cover of night. The great thing about Donnie being so consumed with whatever project he had going on—he paid very little attention to what the rest of the family was doing. Master Splinter turned in early. No one noticed, or cared, that Mikey and Raph would retreat to Mikey’s room almost every evening and remain there for hours.

 Still, they’d taken the precaution of wedging a pillow between the headboard and the wall, just in case.

 Most nights, after their fun, Raph snuck out of their shared bed, slipped into the Nightwatcher suit, and busted a few heads. Mikey let him go, every time, without so much as an argument. Sure, in his trusting heart, he still believed Raph needed the time alone topside to catch up on solo training. But he still refrained from protesting, knowing deep down that whatever sent Raph to the surface was not something worth arguing about.

 And that was why, on some nights, Raph decided he’d earned a break from crimefighting, and spent the night curled up next to Mikey.

 On these nights, the words you’re going soft came to mind. You don’t deserve softness.

 The whole situation felt soft, the sort of thing Raph assumed was forbidden to him. It was easy, and safe, and fun, in the little sanctuary of Mikey’s room under the orange glow of the fairy lights draped across the ceiling. In here, no one could threaten them.

 And when a night spent curled up to Mikey meant he could wake up to a friendly face, Raph could allow himself a little softness.

 Scratch that. That wasn’t a friendly face looking down at him now. That was a lustful face. Mikey lay on his side, head propped in hand, a gleam in his eye that made Raph snap from sleepy to fully awake in an instant.

 Raph rubbed the sleep from his eyes, smirking back. Playing it cool, as though he wasn’t already turned on beyond belief.

 “You watchin’ me sleep? Pervert.”

 Mikey’s hand was on him, rubbing his arm, stroking his plastron. He always had a mighty need for touch that Raph was rapidly getting used to. “Technically I was watching you wake up. It’s romantic, dude.”

 “Romantic? If I ever get that sappy, kill me and bury the body.”

 “Are you saying romance is dead?” Mikey purred. Beneath the blankets, his hand wandered to the bottom of Raph’s plastron, nudging its way between closed thighs.

 Raph delicately avoided mentioning that treating yourself to a handful of crotch first thing in the morning wasn’t exactly romantic. It was fine, because he wasn’t exactly romantic either. The slick glide of Mikey’s fingers against his slit was proof enough that romance was the furthest thing from his mind right now.  

 And to think…

 Raph had been apprehensive, the very first time their kissing had escalated to below-the-belt touching. While Mikey knew, intellectually, what Raph was packing down there, Raph’s anxious mind conjured up a dozen possible reactions from Mikey, none of them pleasant, ranging from disgust to outright laughter.

 But like so many things with Mikey, he had nothing to worry about. That first time, Mikey had touched him, hummed in appreciation, kissed him harder, and the rest was a blur. Apparently working out with nunchaku left one really good with wrist action.

 Not fair. It’d taken Raph enough time to figure his own body out, in his early teens, getting it to do what he wanted to do. And Mikey had figured him out, with fingers and tongue and cock, within minutes of their first encounter.

 It wasn’t romantic, but it had to be something.

 Back in the present, Raph pretended to glare and resist as Mikey tried to wedge his thighs apart, and finally let his legs fall open, giving Mikey all the access he needed.

 They weren’t going to do anything that could be considered fucking, they never did when they fooled around in the morning. Too risky, too difficult to be quiet or subtle if Donnie walked by and happened to hear moaning and thumps and the suspiciously regular creaking of Mikey’s bedframe. Even then, he’d probably assume Mikey was jumping on the bed or playing a really vigorous video game.

 “You know, we should go out somewhere, sometime,” Mikey said, so casually, as though his finger wasn’t wiggling its way into Raph’s slit. “Someplace where we can be loud.”

 Raph rolled to his carapace, spreading his legs wider beneath the blanket. Mikey’s fingers, expertly curled against and inside him, followed him the whole way. The idea of being real loud was sexy.

 “Where’re we going to go? A fancy hotel?” Raph tried to keep the hitch out of his voice. He tucked his hands beneath his head, trying to appear more nonchalant than he felt while Mikey’s fingers worked absolute magic between his legs.

 It was a good thing they only had three fingers: Mikey with five fingers would be absolutely devastating.

 “Shell yeah, imagine the jacuzzi!” Mikey’s look of genuine wonder at the thought of a fancy bath was a weird counterpoint to their early-morning sex. But then Mikey got that sexy, sly look back on his face, shifting a little closer and pulling his finger free, carefully peeling soft and damp folds apart until he found the little nub nestled within. He gave it a slow rub and Raph twitched. “But better yet, imagine what we could do if we didn’t have to sneak around. I bet you can get real loud.”

 Raph huffed, canting his hips up to encourage Mikey to rub a little harder. “Y-yeah right. You’d be the screamer.”

 “Nah,” Mikey purred. “I can picture it now. I’d stick you in the jacuzzi and then go under the water and go nuts.” Mikey wiggled his tongue, just in case it wasn’t clear what he meant to do under the hypothetical water of this hypothetical jacuzzi. “And you’d be all, ‘Oh Mikey! You’re so handsome and talented! Oh Mikey! More!’”

 “Oh my God, shut up.” He was tempted to shove Mikey’s head under the blankets and between his thighs, if only to occupy his mouth, but even though Mikey could be a little shit even in the bedroom, he was working his fingers exactly as hard and quickly as Raph needed and he wasn’t going to stop any of it.

 Not even when Mikey leaned in closer, angling his body so his hard cock poked the muscle of Raph’s thigh. “Make me.”

 Great idea. Raph dragged his hands out from under his head and grabbed Mikey’s neck, kissing him deep and a bit sloppy while Mikey worked his wrist quickly and wound him up more and more.

 Raph didn’t have to make a sound. His breathing quickened, his thighs clenched, and Mikey knew the moment he was about to come because he pulled away from the kiss to stare at Raph’s face. Raph snapped his eyes shut as orgasm rolled like a wave, and he pulsed around Mikey’s fingers with stuttered breaths until Mikey stopped rubbing and slowly pulled his finger out.

 Yeah, Raph wasn’t a screamer, though it was by necessity. They had the ability to sneak around but that didn’t mean either was going to abuse that advantage by screaming like porn stars. Maybe it would feel good to get a little vocal sometimes, but that wasn’t meant for them.

 It was as though Mikey was reading his mind. “I take it back, it’s sexier like this. It’s real hot to watch you come all super-quiet.”

 “So you are a pervert,” Raph huffed. The discovery that Mikey was quite the dirty talker in bed was not an unpleasant one. Still flushed and twitchy, Raph went hunting beneath the blanket until his fingers wrapped around Mikey’s cock, still hard and wet against his thigh. A few pumps later and Mikey quietly moaned as he came on the sheets, and Raph had to admit it was pretty hot.

 Not to mention messy. There was no saving the sheets, and he’d probably left some stains underneath as well, so Raph wiped the cum off on them, then relaxed as Mikey cuddled up to him.

 “Should get a shower,” Raph murmured. He was warm and sleepy, body thrumming pleasantly. Staying here all day sounded nice, but was definitely pushing it.

 Was it so wrong to want to keep this safe, secret little thing going on a little bit longer? He was content here, next to Mikey. Oh yeah, the sex was nice. But the idea of being raw and open with someone like this? Raph was too cautious to ever use the word ‘happy’, though this came as close as he’d gotten in ages.

 “I’ll shower when I’m dead, dude,” Mikey said, heavy and drowsy against Raph’s side.

 Raph grinned. Idiot. Mikey was lucky that Raph liked him a lot. “I’m gettin’ up before you start drooling on me. You better change the sheets later. I’m not sleeping in crusty stuff tonight.”

 Raph pecked a kiss on Mikey’s forehead and slid out of bed, taking a moment to confirm there were no suspicious fluids left on him. A shower would be awesome. And later, a bike ride and some time spent with the police scanner. It’d been a few nights since the Nightwatcher was out, and he couldn’t have the scumbags of the city think they were in the clear.

 Mikey watched his movements as he gathered his gear, propping his chin on folded arms. “I’ll just swap them with Donnie’s sheets. Think he’ll notice?”

 “Ew. Yeah, and he’ll burn the whole lair down.”

 “Fiiiine,” Mikey huffed dramatically. “Maybe I’ll swap them with Leo’s instead.”

 Raph’s grin faltered. It was supposed to be funny. Bringing Leo into the room, if only in name, felt wrong. “You won’t die if you do laundry, Mikey.”

 Mikey’s look practically screamed are you really willing to take that risk? Raph grinned again.

 “You are going out tonight, right?” Mikey asked. “For some training?”

 There it was again, that pang of guilt. Raph wasn’t sure what was worse; that he kept lying to Mikey about where he went at night, or that Mikey still completely bought it without question. “Could use some fresh air, yeah. Just for a few hours.”

 And on top of that, the realization that Mikey knew him so well that somehow, he could read it in Raph that he needed to be out tonight. Mikey didn’t know the full story, but he still knew Raph so well.

 Mikey stretched, yawned, and slithered out of bed. He was definitely going to need a shower too. In a perfect world, they could shower together. Maybe one day. And Raph wouldn’t even have to be sick to enjoy the privilege of bathing with Mikey.

 “Don’t come home too late, got it?”

 How could he, with the promise of more fooling around and more time with Mikey? “I won’t, mom.”

 Mikey stuck his tongue out, and to Raph’s delight, actually began stripping the sheets from the bed. “You should let me join you up there sometime, bro. I could use a workout too.”

 Raph wasn’t so crude as to mention that Mikey was getting plenty of working out in these days. “One night soon. That’d be nice.”

 He leaned into Mikey, enough for a parting kiss, and left the room unseen by anyone.

 And it would be nice, to go out with Mikey one of these nights. Maybe they could actually run some katas on the roof, like in older days. Maybe they’d even start fooling around topside.

 And maybe, just maybe, he could trust Mikey with his secret.

 Mikey hadn’t said much about the Nightwatcher since the two of them started their whatever-this-was. Kind of cute to think that Mikey was distracted from his crush on the vigilante, now that he was occupied. He’d still be thrilled to learn the Nightwatcher’s identity, Raph knew it. He’d ask to ride the bike. He’d ask to come along.

 Maybe they could become a team. Mikey, on the bike behind him, holding on to Raph’s waist. At his side, while they busted some bad guys.

 He had to think about this, because revealing his identity to Mikey was not something he could take back. But Raph dared hope, for a shining moment, that things would actually turn out okay.

 ***

 It took two hours for things to go from okay to fucking disastrous.

 Raph’s hands shook as he struggled to peel himself out of the suit. His fingers were slippery with blood and sweat and the light-headedness wasn’t helping either.

 His pulse roared furiously in his ears yet he kept hearing, again and again, the sound of the gun going off. Raph always forgot how loud those things could get.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

 Raph’s entire body was practically rattling now, working the leather down from his hips and then his thighs. Blood, thick and tacky, splashed free from the material, and continued to ooze from the holes on his right thigh.

 Cocky. Stupid. Careless. Raph continued the litany of self-hatred as he managed to kick off the rest of the suit, pulling out the small first aid kit he kept with the bike. It had a couple of band-aids, a pair of tweezers, a roll of gauze. It was small and useless and Raph tried to control his breath as he spun the gauze around his thigh until the roll ran out.

 It should have been easy. Couple of idiots doing smash-and-grabs in cars at midnight. The kind of thing Raph could have ignored, because his focus was more on keeping people from getting hurt than stopping wallets lifted from cars. Still, it should have been easy.

 But, they had guns. Nothing new. Punks with guns? Yeah, sure, Raph dealt with that all the time. Punks willing to fire their guns? Bit rarer. If Raph hadn’t reacted as quickly as he did and kicked the guy’s arm down, the muzzle would have been pointed at his abdomen instead of his thigh, and he definitely didn’t have enough gauze to pack his guts back in.

 Raph tied off the last of the gauze, leaned over his leg, and groaned. The bullet missed the femoral artery. He was no doctor, but Donnie had drilled a few things into them over the years. They all knew first aid. They knew how to set broken bones. How to stitch. How to recognize the signs of concussion. And they knew the places where you absolutely did not want to get sliced, stabbed, or shot.

 But Raph was lucky. The bullet had gone in and out of his right thigh, leaving both entry and exist wounds and no bullet to pry free, missing that all-too-important femoral artery, the one that meant you were a goner in minutes if it so much as got nicked. But the wound was still deep, hurt like hell, and bled a lot.

 Like a lot. The gauze was only good for three layers around his meaty thigh, and blood was already saturating the white.

 He had more supplies back at the lair. More gauze. Butterfly bandages. He could stitch himself up if he had to. He just had to make it back.

 Every step was like a white-hot poker in his leg. Dizziness slowed him down, made him nauseated. He hadn’t even managed to tie the gauze that securely: the momentum of his steps loosened the bandage, and blood flowed freely down his leg.

 “Ugh, dammit…” They’d had it drilled into them not to leave clues that would lead anyone back to the lair. A trail of fat blooddrops was a huge frickin’ clue. Before he got any further, Raph tied off the gauze, tight enough that it may as well have been a tourniquet, and reached down to swipe his hands up his leg, rubbing off the worst of the blood before it could trickle to the ground.

 He'd had to repeat the motion four more times before finally reaching the lair. He was smeared with blood, but at least none of it had reached the ground and left footprints. He thought so anyway. It was getting harder to breathe, harder to think.

 Raph made it to his room. The gauze was now completely soaked with red, drooping down his thigh from the weight of the blood. Raph was barely able to close his door before falling to his hands and knees, swallowing thickly as blood spattered to the ground beneath him.

 He had to… had to clean that up. He found a rag on the floor near his bed, dabbing at the spatters. Dried blood was the worst to clean out of the flooring. Had to mop it up while it was still wet, or…

 Nausea rose. Sweat dripped to the floor. Raph rubbed at the bloodstains with the rag, blinking, dizzy, wondering why the splatters kept growing even though he was cleaning them up.

 Raph blinked the gray out of his vision. Chills prickled up and down his spine. A moment later, he hit the floor. Maybe it was his addled brain, but he could have sworn he saw a blur of orange before he passed out entirely.

 ***

 Despite everything that followed, Raph was grateful it was Mikey who found him. Mikey had the good sense not to yell for anyone else to get in here.

 Waking up was slow and hazy, like wading through mud. Raph’s head felt like it was full of helium. Mikey was handling him, cradling his face, moving his body, calling his name.

 When the rush in Raph’s ears calmed to a dull roar, he blinked and saw Mikey hovering above him. The shock of pain from his thigh had him clenching, grunting weakly, enough to draw Mikey’s attention.

 “Raph! Raph, I got you, but you need to breathe.”

 Was he hyperventilating? It felt like it. Raph grunted again, throwing his focus on the sensation of Mikey pressing hard on his thigh, letting the pain anchor him to reality.

 “Atta boy. Holy crap dude, you got yourself good here. I can fix this though, I can fix anything, you’ll see…”

 He was babbling, probably another way to help Raph stay conscious. It was pretty hard to fall asleep with Mikey chattering in his ear.

 He watched as Mikey pulled more gauze from a roll, sectioned it off with his teeth, rolled it into a thick pad, and pressed it to Raph’s thigh. Raph shifted a little, trying to get sensation back into his freezing limbs while Mikey worked. Okay, so he was on his back, something wedged under his head. Too hard to be a pillow, probably a bunched-up towel or blanket. Probably because Raph’s pillows and blankets were currently wedged under his legs, elevating them while Mikey worked.

 Oh. How was he going to get the blood out of his blankets?

 “Okay, that’s it for now.” Raph felt medical tape tacking to his thigh, then Mikey’s hand on his forehead. “Once we’re sure the bleeding’s good, I can do stitches. It’ll all be good. Damn Raphie, you look like garbage.”

 “F-feels like it too,” Raph huffed. He wanted to take Mikey’s hand. His own hands were still too shaky for that, resting on his abdomen while he caught his breath. In and out. His pulse was coming down, beat by beat. He felt thirsty as hell but at least clarity was returning.

 Thanks to Mikey. Another quick glance revealed a pile of bloody gauze, and the very real possibility that he could have bled out on his bedroom floor if Mikey wasn’t forever looking out for him.

 Mikey’s hand was on his cheek, stroking it. The serious, frightened look in his eyes was giving way to something softer.

 His next question made everything come crashing down. “Raph… Raph, what happened to you?”

 Chills prickled down Raph’s spine again, this time due to dread. No. No. There was no way to explain a bullet wound. Mikey wasn’t stupid: the moment he got close enough to stitch, he’d be able to tell what caused the injury. And Raph would have to admit everything. And Mikey would be worried about the wound but thrilled about the revelation and--

 He’d been an idiot to think any of this could work out. Stumbling home with bruises or a broken wrist were negligible things. A bullet wound, though. Raph could have died. Which meant, if he told Mikey about the Nightwatcher, and Mikey got excited and tagged along…

 It meant Mikey could get hurt. Mikey could die. What if Mikey got shot? What if Mikey got a knife to the gut because some punks were feeling brave and Raph was too slow to react? He couldn’t have that happen, there was no way.

 Mikey being Mikey, would not take no for an answer. He’d probably agree to stay home while Raph went out on Nightwatcher business, only to follow him in the shadows, looking out for him. Out of love. And that love would get Mikey hurt, and no. No.

 Mikey was still talking, still touching him. “Kinda looks like you ran your leg through with something? Like a spike, or…? I won’t laugh if you screwed up a flip again, it’s okay.”

 “Shut up! Just… stop.”

 “Whoa, Raph.” The hurt in Mikey’s eyes was palpable. “What’s the big deal? I’m not going to laugh at you for screwing up!”

 Raph lashed out, smacking Mikey’s hand away from his face. There wasn’t much energy due to the blood loss but his meaning was loud and clear. “I said stop. Stop fussing. I don’t need it and I don’t need you.”

 “Okay, I think you’re delirious, bro.” Mikey’s voice wavered, as though he was trying to convince himself. “Let me take care of your leg properly, get some sleep, eat something, then we’ll talk.”

 Raph managed to work his hands under him and sat up, slowly, pausing to blink the spots from his vision. It’d be safer for him to stay horizontal but he wasn’t going to be able to sell this conversation if he was flat on his back. If Mikey was going to buy his anger, Raph had to make himself imposing.

 “I don’t want you to take care of anything,” Raph huffed. It hurt to lie to Mikey. It could hurt even more if he stopped lying to Mikey. Raph was still addled, dizzy from blood loss, but he knew what he had to do. “Shit, Mikey. It’s not cute anymore. I don’t want you hovering over me.”

 Mikey held up his hands. Raph didn’t miss the way they were still coated with blood. “Dude, you passed out. What did you expect me to do? Leave you to bleed out on your floor?”

 It was better than the alternative. “Look, this thing we got… it only works if you get off my ass. I don’t need to deal with this.”

 “What are you saying?” Mikey’s voice was brittle. “Raph?”

 Raph clenched his teeth. It was getting hard to breathe. Every word hurt like a poker in his gut. “I’m saying this thing, this… whatever we got. It has to end. It was stupid in the first place.”

 Mikey’s eyes welled with tears. “Raph! Okay, okay fine! I’ll back off if that’s what you want. Whatever it takes. Can you at least let me fix your leg? Then I’ll leave you alone.”

 “I can stitch it myself.” Planting his palms on the sticky floor, Raph managed to scoot back a few inches, leaving his leg propped by the pillows but creating space. “We’re done here.”

 “Raph—”

 “We’re done, Mikey!”

 “Come on!” Mikey slammed his hands on the floor. “Stop being dumb! Everything’s so messed up, that’s why you and I are working out. We’re good together. Don’t give this up, please. Whatever’s bothering you, we can work it out.”

 They should probably have been worried about the noise alerting Donnie and Splinter. Raph didn’t care. It was hard enough to keep a scowl on his face, to pretend he wasn’t crumbling on the inside while he tore Mikey apart. “I don’t want to work it out. I want you to go away.”

 “…I put new sheets on the bed.”  

 Shit. Why did that hurt most of all? “I don’t care, Mikey. And I don’t need you. Go away.”

 Raph saw it in his eyes: the fight left and Mikey was done arguing. And not a moment too soon, because Raph wasn’t sure if he could keep up this horrible charade any more.

 “Fine. Asshole.” Mikey sniffled, stormed to his feet, and paused only to kick the first aid kit towards Raph. It smacked Raph’s hip, hard. “Next time you hurt yourself, deal with it. See if I care.”

 Raph said nothing. He should have been relieved, and maybe he would be later, knowing this was all for the best. It was hard to feel anything but terribly sick for now.

 Mikey paused by the door. Raph feared he was going to try to plead his case some more, but he turned back to glare, tears soaking into his bandanna. “You know what, you deserve to be alone.”

 The door slammed. Raph slumped to his elbows.

 This was okay. It was better than the alternative. Raph was the protector. It was his job to take all the pain so his family wouldn’t have to suffer. So they wouldn’t have to die.

 He was already no one’s favourite. Mikey might as well hate him too.

 Hands shaking, Raph rummaged through the first aid kit and dug out the needle and suture thread. He could do this himself. He didn’t need Mikey.

 He didn’t.

 Fuck.

[ruby-fury-secret]

the third one (aka one day I’ll think of titles, I swear)

He wasn’t thinking about Mikey. He wasn’t.

 Raph revved his bike, cruising out of sight in the roads outside the city core. Normally he’d park and wait for the police scanner to announce anything interesting, but tonight, he was out for a casual drive as much as he was out for Nightwatcher business. And mindlessly riding the bike around off the beaten path was a nice way to clear his mind.

 Except it refused to be clear. He’d spent three days down with a stomach flu, and Mikey had been at his side the entire time. Playing nurse, keeping him distracted, giving him the care and attention Raph should have protested. But it felt so damn nice to have someone give a crap about him that he was almost disappointed to be back on his feet.

 His mind kept going back to their little impromptu bath. He’d been loopy with fever and covered in puke, but cuddling with Mikey had been the best thing he’d felt in ages. They hadn’t talked about the bath, not directly, but Raph couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something there they should probably talk about.

 Speaking of puke, though. The lazy loops around backroads normally soothed Raph’s entire being, but nausea had been gnawing at his stomach since he’d started the bike. Not enough for him to fear a repeat of hurling his guts out in an alley somewhere, but enough that he was starting to think cutting the patrol short was a good idea.

 The police scanner was quiet tonight, anyway. And maybe…

 Maybe Mikey would be up.

 He was not thinking about Mikey though.

 Parking the bike and getting his feet on firm ground did help the nausea a bit, as did removing the Nightwatcher suit and getting a few gulps of fresh air. At least enough that he was pretty sure he didn’t feel like barfing.

 By the time Raph returned to the lair, his plan was to slip into bed and sleep this off. Who knows, maybe he’d even find it within himself to stumble out of his room and spend some time with everyone the next day before heading out again. He’d become a tad less nocturnal while recovering from being sick and while he missed his nighttime patrols (and he’d skewer anyone who said it out loud) he missed being surrounded by his family.

 Hell, Donnie had stopped looking at him like a walking germ factory, so maybe Raph could make an effort to be sociable.

 Get home, go to bed. But… the light was on in Mikey’s room. It was early in the night, not that weird. Less than a year ago, it wouldn’t even have been all that weird for him to walk into Mikey’s room and ask if he was up for hanging out or playing video games. And Mikey did tell him to stop hiding when he wasn’t feeling well.

 He wasn’t about to start listening to Mikey, but…

 Raph’s knuckles, as they often did, made the decision for him, rapping on the closed door. Almost immediately, Mikey called out, “Come in!”

 Before he could talk himself out of this, Raph pushed the door open. “Uh… hey.”

 “Raph!” Mikey was sitting cross-legged on his bed, his comic book tossed aside as he beamed at his brother. The room looked and felt warm, illuminated by orange and yellow fairy lights. They were criss-crossed in disarray from one end of the ceiling to the other. Even the disarray was charming. “What’s up?”

 “You’re still up?” Raph shuffled by the door, not coming in, leaning against the frame. He’d waltzed into Mikey’s room a hundred times before. Why was he feeling nervous now?

 Mikey nodded. “And you’re back early!”

 He didn’t bother asking how Mikey knew he’d been out in the first place. Rather than piss him off, the thought of Mikey watching out for him almost made him smile. “Yeah, I… I dunno. I was trying some spinning kicks but it was making me feel…” Raph put a hand to his stomach and stuck his tongue out to explain.

 He wondered how long he could maintain his ‘I’m just going out at night to train on the roof’ lie, and how long Mikey wouldn’t bother questioning it.

 “Aw, you feeling sick, bro?” Mikey was on his feet instantly.

 “Not bad or anything,” Raph quickly added, before Mikey could tear the room apart to grab a bucket for him. “Just a bit queasy.”

 Mikey nodded wisely. “You know, I kind of had the same problem. When I got a stomach bug from the kids the first time, driving the van gave me gnarly motion sickness for like… a week. Even after I got over the bug.” Mikey patted his shoulder, nudging Raph towards his bed. “C’mon. Lie down, it’ll go away soon.”

 Raph hesitated for a second. He’d sat on Mikey’s bed plenty of times in older days. Reading comics. Playing video games. Chatting about nonsense. Lying down in Mikey’s bed like this was kind of different. Still, he let Mikey pull him, only putting up a token resistance as Mikey punched a pillow to fluff it and got him settled.

 “Come on, Raphie. Just until you feel better. I’ll go get you something to drink.”

 “Thanks,” Raph murmured as Mikey bounded out of the room. He drew in a breath, held it, released it slowly. Mikey was chirpy as ever. Maybe Raph was the only one still overthinking their little moment in the tub. Overthinking the way Mikey’s arms had felt around him, overthinking how he’d clung to Mikey like his life depended on it, overthinking how Mikey had cuddled his head and pressed a little kiss to it and sure it was probably just Mikey being his usual friendly and nurturing self, but--

 He was still overthinking when Mikey returned, a can of ginger ale in hand, nudging the door closed with his foot. “I looked for crackers too but I think Donnie ate them all. He does this thing where he eats them with sliced bananas on top, like some kind of lunatic… I don’t know about him sometimes, Raph.”

 Raph couldn’t help a small smile. “Gross. Thanks Mikey.”

 In the time it took Raph to pop the tab and hoist himself onto one elbow to take a sip without spilling, Mikey wedged himself on the bed next to Raph, head propped on hand. Right alongside Raph, in fact. The bed wasn’t exactly huge, but still.

 It didn’t help that Mikey had the slyest, smuggest grin on his face.

 “Oh God,” Raph sighed. “What are you smiling about?”

 “You came to me,” Mikey said. He was positively bursting with glee. “You were feeling sick and you came to me.”

 Raph took another gulp and rolled his eyes. Just because Mikey was right didn’t mean Raph was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. “It’s just motion sickness. And I’m only here ‘cause I’d be bored otherwise.”

 “Mmhm. I think you like having Dr. Michelangelo all to yourself.”

 “As long as he keeps waiting on me hand and foot.”

 “You say that, but wait ‘til the rectal thermometer comes out. That’s how I got fired from being a dentist.”

 Damn it. Raph couldn’t fight the sudden smile, doing his damnest to hide it behind the soda can. God, he missed Mikey’s dumbassery.

 “Raph!” Of course Mikey didn’t miss the rare smile, seeing as how he was practically draped on top of him. “Holy crap, you’re smiling! It’s been like fifty years since I’ve seen you smile. You are capable!”

 Raph barely had time to put the soda can down before Mikey’s buffoonery caused it to spill. His brother shot to his knees, bouncing on the bed like a toddler, dramatically cupping Raph’s face. “Does it hurt? Are you getting a cramp?”

 “Get off!” Raph snorted. The smile in question didn’t disappear as he bucked, easily catching Mikey’s legs between his own to flip him to the side. Memories of happier times, wrestling in the dojo and roughhousing in their teenage years, came and went and were interrupted by Mikey’s mock hysterics as he grabbed Raph’s ankles and tipped him skyward.

 “Oh my God, it looks painful! Let’s elevate your legs, STAT!”

 “I’ll elevate you!”

 “WE’RE LOSING HIM!”

 He wrestled Mikey off him, not roughly, and while he could have easily pinned his brother in a real sparring match (technically he had been keeping in shape) Raph found it remarkably easy to let Mikey wrestle him back to the bed, holding Raph in place with his full body weight while they snickered like kids.

 Chest to chest. Pelvis to pelvis. The snickering died away and Raph shifted a bit to free his legs from their awkward fold beneath Mikey’s, ending up with thighs spread open. Not a lot. But just enough.

 The way Mikey landed on top of him was kind of deliberate. He wondered if Mikey could read his mind, because Raph didn’t even know what he himself was thinking right now, except that this felt nice and his heart was hammering out of his chest.

 “Mikey, can you--?”

 And Mikey kissed him.

 It took Raph a split-second to realize that’s what this was, a kiss, a real one, warm and wet and too frantic to be sweet, but it spurred Raph to chase the lips against his own, wanting nothing more than to make it last.

 It felt good. Oh god, so good. He wasn’t thinking anything except for how good this felt, and how warmth was suddenly pooling in the pit of his stomach, and his hands were white-knuckling around the edges of Mikey’s carapace like he needed this to live—

 And then, Mikey pulled away. Not too far though. Just enough to look Raph in the eye, a sheepish smile on his face.

 “Sorry! Sorry. You started talking and I thought I was going to lose my nerve if I didn’t… uh, you can beat me up and we can pretend this never happened, I’ll understand. I won’t tell anyone, you can totally--”

 Now it was Raph moving, rearing his head up so quickly he almost smacked Mikey in the nose before landing where he wanted, his mouth on Mikey’s. One of them moaned. Maybe both. Raph’s heart was hammering against his plastron when they pulled apart, panting as though they’d both run a marathon.

 “Sorry,” Raph huffed, finding some of his bluster back with a smirk. “Now you started talking and I had to shut you up.”

 The moment was going to turn awkward at a moment’s notice. Until that happened, Raph was too preoccupied with how everything felt like… so much. Mikey’s body was an undeniable weight and heat on top of him. Raph’s own pulse was rushing from head to fingertips, which were still firmly clasped around the rough edges of Mikey’s carapace. For the first time, he realized where Mikey’s hands had ended up during the wrestling and subsequent kissing: one pressed to the bed by Raph’s head, supporting his body weight, and the other resting against Raph’s collarbone, the thumb moving restlessly against Raph’s pulse point like a caress.

 The weirdest thing was how Mikey seemed to fit so perfectly between his spread legs. It shouldn’t have felt so perfect and natural to have ended up in this position, and yet.

 But there was no time to unpack that.

 Above him, Mikey gulped. Awkwardness was descending and Raph broke the silence first. “So what’s going on here?”

 Mikey managed to shrug with his entire face. Some of the smile returned. “We kissed. We can keep doing it. If you want.”

 “Shouldn’t we talk about this?” It seemed like the thing to say, but Raph wasn’t exactly keen on talking about this, about analyzing and somehow talking himself out of this.

 Luckily, he and Mikey were so similar in so many ways. Mikey made a face that made it clear what he thought of ‘talking about this’. “Or we could just relax and enjoy. Raphie, look, things are changing. Leo’s gone. I don’t know what the future’s got in store for us, if there’s even anything to look forward to.”

 “Kind of dark, Mikey.”

 “Not like in a… ‘the future is a dark depressing void’ kind of way. Just, if Leo’s not coming back, and we’ve got nothing to fight for, and this is our lives now…”

 Oh, Mikey. Raph’s hand loosened its grip on the edge of Mikey’s carapace, turning into a caress. “You want to feel something good.”

 In tandem, the fingers against Raph’s collarbone began to stroke against the skin while Mikey struggled with words. “I mean, yeah. But it’s not just that. Okay, let’s talk. I like you, Raph. Like, a lot. For a really long time. You’re like my safe dude, my favourite bro—"

 He’d been smiling throughout Mikey’s little babbles, but Raph tensed at those last words. “Don’t say that. I’m not…”

 Not anyone’s favourite. Hell, Raph figured he was at the bottom of everyone’s list.

 At least it had knocked Mikey’s babbling off. He was looking down at Raph with those big blue eyes, sager than anyone gave him credit for. “How could you think you’re not?”

 Raph didn’t answer, but his face said it all.

 “Oh Raphie.” Mikey kissed him again, a tender peck to his forehead. “Bro, I wish you wouldn’t keep it inside when you’re hurting like that. I don’t know how to fix that yet, but I know we can have something good here. If you don’t think it’s weird. If you want to. If you--”

 “If I kiss you again, will you shut up?”

 Mikey grinned. It did shut him up, and Raph followed through on his threat, rearing up for a kiss.

 It was more deliberate now, rather than frantic and anxious. Raph had absolutely zero experience but he would insist on the fact that Mikey was an excellent kisser. Raph craved more, hands moving restlessly against Mikey’s carapace. Mikey was starting to feel heavy on him, more so as he relaxed into the kisses and let his weight fall on Raph. It wasn’t a bad thing. It felt nice to be pinned like this. Safe. Secure. Like he could pretend Mikey knew was he was doing and could take over for both of them.

 The heat was making Raph restless. On their own accord his hips began to circle, pushing up, seeking something, thighs clenching around Mikey’s hips. He was inexperienced, but he wasn’t stupid, and he knew where they were going as Mikey started to answer with a slow grind of his own.

 It was good. So good, that it took everything for Raph to stop, pushing Mikey’s tongue out of his mouth and sinking the back of his head into the pillow to stop the kiss, to create space. His hands were still clenching the edges of Mikey’s carapace.

 Mikey seemed to understand. His lips were shining as he quirked them into a small smile. “Okay. Yeah. Too much?”

 “For now, yeah.” Raph panted. He wanted more, desperately wanted to chase this feeling as far as it could go. Not the potential for sex—though that intrigued him too—but the feeling of being wanted, so much.

 Raph had a tendency to rush into things. And he knew, from experience, how poorly that went for him. This was not something he wanted to rush... or ruin.  

 “Let’s take a breather. But just for now.”

 “Just for now,” Mikey agreed. He peeled himself off Raph and crashed halfway to bed, still entirely pressed up against Raph’s body so that the heat of him was undeniable. Raph didn’t object in the least. He didn’t object either to the fact that Mikey had landed a few inches higher on the bed, so Raph could tuck his head against a nice warm shoulder. Just like they’d been cuddled up in the bathtub.

 It was nice. Raph smiled. He didn’t need to look up to know Mikey was sporting a similar, definitely goofier grin. For this moment in Mikey’s room, he could forget all about Leo, the city, the Nightwatcher… if only for a moment.

 “Hey Mikey?”

 “Mhm?”

 He had to get this out, before they dozed off—and if, in the morning, the thought made his cheeks burn, Raph could play it off as a fever dream. “I like you too. You’re the only one who makes me feel safe. Not in the fighting way, but I know you’re never going to laugh at me—not seriously. Hell, Mikey. I think you’re only one who makes me feel sane.”

 “Aww, Raphie,” Mikey cooed, hugging him tighter. “You are so mushy.”

 “Shut up.”

 “Only one way to shut me up!”

 Convenient. But Raph smirked, pulled his head from Mikey’s shoulder, and angled upward until he could kiss Mikey. Not fevered or anxious, but tender. When it was over, they fell back into the embrace, natural as could be.

 Despite their assurances, they would still need to talk about what exactly was starting here. And how much they needed to share with the family. And how far things would go. And Raph would need to decide how and when his turn as the Nightwatcher would affect this new, tentative thing with Mikey.

 But that was a tomorrow problem. For now, they slept.

[ruby-fury-secret]

another draft for now, but hey

Raph ran, jumped, stumbled on the landing. Okay, ow. Surely he wasn’t out of shape—just yesterday he’d parkoured his ass across what, ten buildings? Stuck every landing. This? This was nothing.

 He wasn’t hurt. His busted wrist from last month was fine now. He hadn’t even seen any action yet tonight, aside from trailing those two thugs with baseball bats. Something was getting smashed tonight, and it wasn’t going to be whatever target those ugly assholes had in mind. Not with the Nightwatcher out.

 But he was off tonight, for whatever reason. His legs felt a little wobbly as he set up his next jump, launching himself onto a fire escape eleven stories above his targets’ heads. He landed fine, but sweat bloomed on the back of his neck, tacking his skin to the inside of his armour and he warred with whether or not to remove his helmet so he could breathe. Was the armour always this hot? Was it always this hard to see through the visor?

 Things felt… blurry. Swirly. Good thing he’d ditched the bike, pursuing tonight’s quarry on foot. He’d hold a damn Viking funeral for that bike if he ever crashed it while feeling off.

 Luckily, Raph didn’t have much time to reflect on this so-called off feeling.

 One of the thugs below laughed, a humourless bark that was meant to intimidate. Clearly they’d found whatever they were after, and yeah, there was a woman walking a half block ahead of the meathead pair, quickening her pace when she heard the laugh. There was nowhere safe for her to slip into at 3am, not along this stretch of road, and the thugs knew it.

 Raph hated people sometimes.

 Okay. So this was a mugging. Or maybe worse. The world would never know, because Raph slid down a fire escape ladder, making as much damn noise as he could as he landed a few feet behind the thugs.

 They jumped, and their look of blustery machismo turned to terror in an instant. They stood their ground, but only just. They’d either heard of the Nightwatcher, or the sight of a cryptid metal-armoured man in the middle of night was enough to put some kind of fear into them.

 Raph stood his ground, keeping his (still blurry, still swirly) sight on the woman until he watched her continue her frantic walk, until she was out of sight. She was safe. Good, because Raph was doing a whole lot of work here to avoid swaying on his feet. Quiet intimidation was his friend right now.

 Time to end this.

 Most street punks were cowards when confronted by someone bigger and tougher. Raph didn’t even say a word: he made a lunge towards them, stomping his foot for maximum noise and startle.

 They both yelped, turning to run. One dropped his bat. Normally, the Nightwatcher would pursue, put a little more fear into them, make really sure they wouldn’t pick up a bat again and threaten lone people at night without crapping themselves in fear.

 Not tonight.

 Raph made sure they were gone (and ran and tripped and ran again) in the opposite direction from where their would-be victim had disappeared. And now he could fully focus on how the off feeling had morphed into something much worse. He felt outright sick now.

 He had to get out of sight. Now. Raph ducked into the nearest deserted alley, which is what he’d normally do, melding with the darkness and climbing up to find another vantage point. Now though, he got a few feet into the alley before his knees felt like jelly and sour saliva filled his mouth.

 Oh shit. Oh shit.

 His stomach tightened, making him gag. Raph fumbled with his helmet, yanked it off just in time to vomit all over the grimy ground.

 He coughed, puked again, and then again, and then it stopped. By then he’d thrust one shaking hand against the cold brick, panting and spitting and dragging the back of his other hand across his mouth.

 Okay. So that sucked.

 Collapsing to the ground sounded really nice right now, but he couldn’t stay here. This stretch of road was mostly empty this time of night, but it wasn’t completely deserted, and he wasn’t sure just how much noise he’d made just now. His helmet was off and he was sure he looked like shit, even without the whole mutant turtle situation.

 At least most people would hurry away from the sounds of a stranger hurling in an alley.

 Gathering his strength, Raph pushed away from the wall, waited a few minutes to make sure his stomach was settling, and slipped the helmet back on. It was hot, too hot, but comfort came second to anonymity.

 He just had to make it home. Then he could sleep this off, and get right back into the swing of things tomorrow night. He was fine.

 ***

 By the time Raph made it back to the lair, he was most assuredly not fine.

 It was just past four in the morning, giving him plenty of time to sneak back into his room. By the time he sat down on his bed, his stomach was burbling with nausea once more, his head spinning miserably.

 At least he felt better, cooler, without the Nightwatcher suit on. He could handle this. He wasn’t awesome at meditating, not like golden boy Leo, but he’d practiced it enough to know how to calm and centre his body. He breathed deep. He could do this.

 Raph sat on his bed until morning, arms crossed tightly over his plastron. He’d managed not to puke through sheer angry spite.

 If he could do this for another few hours, then this whole stomach thing would run its course and everything could go back to normal.

 Except, now he really had to pee.

 Great. He had to make decisions when he could barely focus on the wall in front of him. Walking around was not going to end well for his spite-contained nausea, but another hour of sitting here wasn’t going to end well for his bladder either.

 He stood up, swayed a bit, and went to his door.

 Raph knew there would be an audience though. He’d heard someone using the shower earlier (Donnie, probably), someone jumping or falling with a resounding thud (Mikey, definitely) so Splinter and his brothers being up was something he’d have to face.

 “Ah, Sleeping Beauty has arisen,” Donnie dryly remarked. Whatever he was doing was taking up the entire kitchen table, tools and all.

 “Hm,” was Raph’s eloquent reply. Anything wordier would have made his stomach flip.

 Splinter and Mikey were on the couch, caught up in the latest drama in one of Splinter’s shows. It was kind of cute. Raph didn’t know Mikey was into those shows too.

 “Hey Raph!” Mikey’s head popped over the back of the couch, greeting him with a smile, and plopped back down.

 Raph managed a slow and dignified shuffle to the bathroom, blinking away spots of exciting new colours and sizes. Donnie’s eyes were on him part of the way, before he returned to his project. Maybe Raph looked hungover to him. Let Donnie think whatever he wanted to think.

 Once he was done with the bathroom, he took the opportunity to splash some water on his face. That felt a little better. Maybe he really could beat this thing through force of will.

 The walk back was equally slow and (he hoped) dignified. Donnie didn’t even bother looking up at him. All Raph wanted was to collapse on his bed and sleep the day away.

 He was halfway there when his stomach seized and cold sweat broke out on his face and neck. Raph whimpered from the rising tide of nausea, but it was the sudden collapse to his knees that caught Donnie’s attention.

 “Uh, Raph? Are you all right?” Donnie’s query had Mikey whipping his head over the back of the couch to see what was going on.

 Goddammit. Why hadn’t he just stayed in the damn bathroom? If he moved from the floor now, he was going to pass out.  

 Mikey now. “Raph? You good?”

 “… I’m gonna puke.”

 Funny how three words could bring so much chaos. His name was called out, there was the rustle and thump of someone getting to their feet in a flash, the frantic scrape of a chair, and a voice that was definitely Donnie’s shouting, “Oh God! Don’t!”

 Well damn, wasn’t like he was going to puke on the floor for fun.

 But then an empty trashcan was shoved right under his face, and what perfect timing. Whoever was holding it was remarkably steady as Raph threw up. He gagged a few times for good measure, and that was even more embarrassing than the actual puke part, because it sounded so loud and pathetic.

 “Damn, bro!” A chuckle, and Mikey sat down in front of him, still holding the trashcan. “I don’t think I’ve seen you barf since we were… like, ten?”

 Raph managed to turn his last dry heave into a cough, which wasn’t much, but it sounded better to him. He was a lot shakier than he’d care to admit and if he looked up he just knew he would find everyone staring at him.

 Swallowing against the burn in his throat, he looked up. Yep.

 Mikey, obviously, was sitting crossed-legged and serene right in front of him. Splinter was a few feet away, concern on his face, keeping his distance so as not to crowd his son. Donnie was still standing in the kitchen, keeping his distance to stay away from the unspeakable horror of it all.

 Meanwhile, the state of the lair told a story: flipped cushion on the armchair where Mikey had been sitting, pile of empty soda cans and food wrappers on the other side of the couch. Mikey must have what—somersaulted twice to grab the trashcan, upend it to empty out the garbage, and thrust it under Raph’s face just in time?

 He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so shaky.

 “I’m okay,” he panted. Waved a hand in Mikey’s direction to signal he didn’t need the trashcan anymore. “I’m okay, m’done.”

 “For now, anyway. I’ll take care of this in case you’ve got another round in you!” Ugh, how could Mikey sound so chirpy while carting off a bucket of puke?

 He felt Mikey’s absence though, dumb as it was. It left him gracelessly kneeling on the floor by himself, pondering the logistics of crawling back to his room to sleep this off, when a warm touch on his carapace made him shiver.

 Splinter was at his side. And, surprisingly, Donnie had dared approach, if only to hand Splinter a glass of water. That was sweet of him.

 “Here, slowly.”

 He let Splinter tip the glass to his mouth and took an uneasy sip. His stomach felt a bit better but the queasy heat that had bothered him all night was back. As though reading his mind (not going to lie, occasionally he wondered if their master could), Splinter pressed the back of his hand to Raph’s forehead, cheek, and neck. Raph leaned into the touch, transported back to younger days when papa could make everything better.

 “You have a fever, my poor son,” Splinter sighed and helped him sip more water. If Raph hadn’t felt guilty about hiding his illness before, the tender concern did him in. “Come. I will help you back to your bed. You need to rest.”

 “Nah, I got this,” Mikey declared as he waltzed back in. He’d parked the trashcan, presumably emptied and clean, under his arm. “It’s kinda my fault anyway.”

 “… Wha? How?” That didn’t make sense. Raph’s first thought was food poisoning, but he hadn’t eaten Mikey’s cooking in a while. And Mikey’s cooking, as creative as it could get, was usually pretty good.

 “So remember that birthday party on Sunday? It was kind of awesome and no one’d even punched or kicked me yet. It was a great time, until… oh man. This one kid just barfed all over the place. Like let loose. It was like firehose meets sprinkler. The cake was marble and yeah, it came out the same.”

 “Mikey!” Donnie groaned. “Seriously. That’s disgusting.”

 Raph agreed with a wet burp. Luckily, it didn’t announce a round two (technically, round three).

 “Sorry, sorry! But see, I’ve been around so many germ factory kids that I don’t catch anything anymore. I got a stomach of steel now.” Mikey punched his own plastron for emphasis. The thought of that much pressure near his stomach made Raph hiccup. “But I guess I still brought that kid’s bug home. Sorry, Raph.”

 “It’s okay,” Raph rasped. The water was helping, but now his shakes were due to cold, and he was kind of tired of being the centre of attention. “I’m just going to go lie down.”

 “Yeah. C’mon, I got you.” With Mikey on one side and Splinter on the other, Raphael managed an unsteady rise to his feet. Followed by an unsteady walk over to his room, with Mikey at his side the whole way. He would have, should have protested at least a little, but damn it, he felt really crappy right now.

 And Mikey was definitely taking this whole ‘I got you’ business seriously. He plopped Raph down on the edge of his bed, sorted his pillows, pulled out spare blankets, and made the whole bed look a lot more comfortable than it had in a long time.

 “Okay! Your bed has been prepared for maximum comfiness, aaaand the most important piece—monsieur’s barf bucket—is standing by.”

 “Gross, Mikey.” Raph sighed and collapsed into bed. Thank goodness he managed to get his head on the pillow the first time, because he wasn’t about to move to adjust. As it was, pulling the blankets up seemed like an insurmountable task.

 He didn’t need to worry about it though. Mikey tucked him in, then stuck his palm on Raph’s forehead—not nearly as gentle as Splinter’s touch, but comforting all the same.

 “Yep, you could melt cheese on that,” Mikey declared. “Don’t go anywhere.”

 “Funny,” Raph muttered into his pillow. He was on the edge of a light doze when Mikey returned, arms full. Raph didn’t take note of any of it, until the wet cloth made contact with his forehead.

 “There you go!” Mikey dabbed at his cheeks and forehead again, something that Raph should have found irritating, but instead found genuinely soothing. Maybe—weird to admit—because it was Mikey and no one else.

 “Thanks,” he rasped, eyes sliding shut of their own volition.

 “No prob, bro.” Raph was already drifting off to sleep, but he could have sworn he heard Mikey add “You know I always got your stupid butt.”

 ***

 Raph awoke to gentle bleep and ping noises.

 When he managed to blink most of the blurriness away, he saw Mikey comfortably settled on a chair, handheld game resting on his knee while he furiously jabbed his way through whatever level he was on. His tongue was poking out in concentration.  

 He wasn’t so engrossed that he didn’t notice when Raph stirred. “Hey! Rise and shine, Raphie. How are you feeling?”

 Cold and crappy, but he kept that to himself. “Have you been here the whole time?”

 “Well yeah! Someone’s got to make sure you’re okay.”

 “What time is it?”

 Mikey’s game made a game over sound. He didn’t even look at it, switching it off and tossing it out of sight. “You napped for about two hours. Want to try eating? I can make some soup.”

 Raph swallowed hard. Now that he was awake, his stomach felt weird again. Soup was definitely not on the table yet.

 “Nah, I’m good. You didn’t have to stay here.”

 “I miss you,” Mikey shrugged. “Besides, this is more interesting than everything else going on in here. It’s been a weird few months.”

 It had. Raph made a noise of agreement and pulled the blankets over his chin.

 “It’s like someone sucked all the life out of this place. Donnie’s happier this way, I think. He gets to do whatever he does with his gadgets without worrying about training. He’s turning into such a nag though. Like dude, if you wanted to go barf on him, feel free. Might take him down a few pegs.”

 Raph grinned under the blankets. “’Least you get to watch TV all day. You always said that was the dream.”

 “No, that’s the worst part!” Mikey groaned. “Master Splinter’s trying to get me into his shows. I’m too nice to say no, but I’m going nuts here! Christine has another twin who tried to steal her husband, but that doesn’t even matter because turns out she was married to her husband’s twin anyway. Why do I know this, Raph? Why do I know this??”

 Raph pictured Mikey sitting on the couch, holding the pain inside, and chuckled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a laugh out of anything. It felt nice… until the movement made his stomach flip. No. Not again. He refused.  

 He’d managed to will his puke down for most of the night. He could do this. Bad enough Mikey watched him get sick once. He could hold this down. He was stronger than puke. He was—

 Nope. No, he wasn’t.

 Raph made a mad grab for the trashcan, while struggling to get into some kind of upright position so he wouldn’t die choking. He kind of made it, kind of didn’t, settling the trash can in his lap but hitting the rim when he threw up, splashing his thighs. Oh God. Gross.

 Thank God Mikey had no running commentary. Raph was vaguely aware of Mikey standing at his side (why, why would he come any closer to this mess?) and then a hand was on his forehead and another on his carapace, holding him steady.

 “Shit,” Raph moaned, gagging into the bucket. “Shit.”

 “Hey, it’s okay,” Mikey said, stroking Raph’s rough carapace. Mikey’s touch felt warm. “Catch your breath, then we’ll get you cleaned up. No harm done. You didn’t nail the bed, at least.”

 Mikey’s voice was so soothing. Raph swallowed, swaying in place on the bed with the can still parked in his lap, seconds away from getting lulled into a doze by the touch on his carapace.

 The contrast of a cold wet cloth swiping over his thighs made him jump. Mikey was cleaning up the worst of the mess with the abandoned forehead cloth.

 “All right, let’s get a bath going.”

 Raph shook his head, so very exhausted. “I don’t want to move.”

 “C’mon, you need to get cleaned up,” Mikey said, tugging the trashcan from Raph’s limp hands and giving him a little pull to his feet. “It’ll be fun. And it’ll be good for your fever, too.”

 Well, it wasn’t like Raph had enough energy to argue. The lair was empty as Mikey carefully led him to the bathroom and sat him on the edge of the tub while he got the water going.

 The tub was a reinforced, claw-footed deal that Donnie had rigged up. It was big enough for the turtles to completely submerge, shells and all, and sturdy enough to support the weight of three of them at a time, if ever the need arose.

 Dizziness and hard porcelain did not mix, so Mikey got Raph settled on the bottom of the tub, got the shower head, and hosed off the sick before settling himself between Raph and the back of the tub, letting the water fill up so they could soak.

 It did feel better to be clean. And the lukewarm water was helping his fever. This was nice. This was… too nice. He didn’t deserve any of Mikey’s attention.

 Raph still couldn’t help twisting around in the tub, wedging himself against Mikey’s side and wrapping his arms about his brother, his face on Mikey’s plastron. Mikey’s arms came around him, a natural hug, and it didn’t help the guilt at all.

 “M’sorry,” Raph moaned. It came out sadder than intended, but fever and a whirling vision could do that.

 Mikey misinterpreted. “You good? If you need to barf again, might as well do it now while we’re here.”

 Raph shook his head. His stomach was settling, at least for now. It occurred to him a second later that Mikey, thinking more vomit was imminent, made zero move to shove him off or even turn his head away. That was… well maybe sweet wasn’t the right word, but it was certainly something.

 “… For being me. Y’know. I know I’m not easy.”

 “Aw, Raphie.” Mikey hugged him tighter. “Maybe you’re not, but I like that about you. I just wish it wouldn’t take you being sick for us to hang out. When’s the last time we spent any time together?”

 When Mikey had tended to his broken wrist, on the kitchen floor in the wee hours of the morning. Point taken. He mumbled an agreement.

 “I know you’re big into your nighttime training and junk, but you could take a break and hang out during the day. You, me and Donnie could do something.”

 “Donnie doesn’t care,” Raph murmured right into Mikey’s plastron.

 The hand on his shell began to stroke. “Not true, bro. I think we all need some quality time together. You and I could start? Maybe I could even join you on the roof one night and we can spar or pretend we’re vigilantes or something!”

 Raph had to take a moment to make sure the feeling in the pit of his stomach was guilt and not nausea. Just like last month, Raph was warring hard. He could trust Mikey. Mikey could know he was the Nightwatcher. He could tell him. He should tell him.

 Maybe not when fever was pounding at his temples. Or maybe yes. Before Raph could make up his mind either way, Mikey’s hand wandered up to cup the back of his head, rubbing gently.

 “Hey, next time you get sick, you should get some help sooner. You didn’t have to hide it all night.”

 It took a moment for Raph to realize what Mikey was saying. “I wasn’t hiding--”

 “You came home a lot earlier than normal from your roof stuff.” Mikey’s cheek was now pressed against the top of his head. “Guess you started feeling sick in the middle of the night?”

 “How do you know…?”

 “I set an alarm. After last time. A few of them, actually. Just to get an idea of if you’re home yet or not. Look, I know you breaking your wrist wasn’t a huge deal, but what if you land wrong again and get really hurt? I know your dumb self won’t come to any of us for help. You hide stuff.”

 “I don’t…” Well okay, maybe he did. But for Mikey to set alarms to keep track of him like some kind of… doting mother? “Ugh. Mikey, you really don’t need to worry that much about me.”

 “Yeah I do,” Mikey said. And there was that serious Mikey voice, the one Raph liked so much. “Because you hold everything in when you’re hurting, and that’s not fair. I can always tell though. And I don’t want my favourite bro to be hurting.”

 Favourite bro. Like he was anyone’s favourite anything.

 So why did his eyes suddenly feel hot and wet, and why was he clinging to Mikey even harder now? He didn’t even need to say anything. Because with Mikey, it kind of worked like that. He could give in a little around him, let himself be vulnerable, be cared for. Mikey was accepting, unwavering.

 Mikey held him tighter, to the point that Raph couldn’t even tell if this was platonic cuddling anymore. Maybe the fever was making him loopy.

 Maybe he just didn’t want to let go. Mikey was his anchor. An oasis of calm. A whole lot of other metaphors that involved the same thing: Mikey felt safe. How come he’d never realized that before?

 How come he’d never really done anything to deserve it?

 “Mikey…” Raph said, because he really didn’t know what else to say.

 “It’s okay. I know you want to stay strong. I love that about you.” Mikey pressed a kiss to his head.

 Raph raised his head, feeling his neck ache and stretch. Not aggressive, but curious. They didn’t really… plant kisses like that on each other. Was it just more of Mikey’s comfort, or…?

 Mikey’s smile was all sunshine. “Let’s get you better first. Then we’ll talk about hanging out. Ready to get out?”

 Not really. Getting out meant he’d have to let go of Mikey, and vice-versa, and break whatever this little bathtub cuddle spell was about. But he was starting to feel cold and really tired, and since the nausea wasn’t so bad anymore, maybe he could actually sleep.

 Still, he put up a token protest. “M’comfy here.”

 “I dig that, but I’ll get in trouble if I let you drown. I kind of promised I’d take care of you, and that would go against my doctor-oath-thing. Yeah.”

 Raph grumbled the whole time, and Mikey chuckled at him as he drained the bath, got Raph to his feet, and got them both dried off. He didn’t miss the way Mikey hugged him a little tighter than necessary to help him walk back to his room, and he didn’t fight the way his head came to rest on Mikey’s shoulder as they walked. Thank God Donnie and Splinter were still nowhere to be found.

 When they got back to Raph’s room, there was a bottle of water and a blister pack of Gravol on the nightstand.

 “Aw, see?” Mikey chuckled, setting Raph down on the edge of the bed. “Donnie does care. Even if he’s scared of barf.”

 Raph chuckled weakly, too tired to argue that Mikey was probably wrong, but he took the medicine and water without complaint and let Mikey manhandle him back into bed. The shower felt nice. The water was staying down. And Mikey settling in by his side felt nice, even if he wished he could still be in Mikey’s arms.

 Once the fever went down, Raph would probably feel different about this whole thing, and wonder what exactly he was feeling, but for now… it was nice to let Mikey take his caretaker duties seriously.

 “Bro, you’re already halfway out of it,” Mikey teased. He settled back in his chair and started up his game again. “Get some Zs, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll make you some soup when you wake up.”

 “Soup would be really good,” Raph muttered into his pillow. He drifted off within seconds. Everything would be fine when he woke up. Everything would be fine, because Mikey was here.

[ruby-fury-secret]

still a draft

Damn it.

 He was stupid. So stupid.

 Raph stumbled through the lair, pausing every minute or so to swallow back his harsh gulps of air. His legs felt wobbly, his steps shamefully lacking stealth. His left wrist, aching like crazy, was tucked tight beneath his other arm, as though the pressure could help with the pain that throbbed in time to his heartbeat.

 It had taken him way too long to make his way back to his bike. And then way too long to swear a blue streak as he realized he couldn’t drive the damn thing with a maybe-sprained, probably-broken wrist.

 Best he could do was drag the bike out of sight, hope no one messed with it until he had a chance to go back to get it, and then do his best to sneak back to the lair. Taking off the Nightwatcher gear one-handed was an experience. He’d had to shimmy his way out of most of it, grateful that no one was there to witness his graceless undressing.

 Damn it. This one hurt.  

 He’d suffered worse injuries, sure. Deep slashes, concussions, broken bones, gunshot wounds even. Injuries that he still felt, every so often, when he moved wrong or the air got too humid. He’d caught his share of bruises in the Nightwatcher getup, but it felt like so long since he’d nursed a real injury.

 They didn’t spar anymore, the three of them. He didn’t even have the chance to revel in sore muscles from throwing too many kicks with his brothers.

 Maybe he was getting old. He felt old. Tired and achy. Maybe his body, maybe his heart. He couldn’t tell these days.

 The lair was quiet. Donnie had work in the morning. Mikey probably did too. Splinter’s favourite show didn’t start until 9am. No one saw Raph slipping over to the kitchen. And even if they did, what did it matter? They assumed he slept all night and day. Hell, if he was doing that, you’d think they’d give a crap. That he was depressed or anemic or whatever. He’d laugh about it if his wrist didn’t hurt so much.

 He just needed ice. He could hide in his room until his wrist didn’t look bad anymore. What did it matter? If they weren’t concerned about his alleged sleeping habits before, they certainly weren’t going to start now.

 Raph rummaged through the kitchen, grabbing a hand towel, fumbling through a pile of frozen-solid cake slices (wasn’t anybody eating these, why were there so many) and hoping to God there was a filled ice cube tray in there somewhere.

 There was. He pulled it out, staring at the cubes, wondering about the quietest way to pry the cubes out and stack them in a hand towel and disappear in his room to sleep off the pain.

 “Oh! Hey Raph!”

 Raph yelped, sending the ice tray clattering to the ground. Shit. Well, that was one way.

 Some ninja he was, letting Mikey of all people sneak up on him. “What the hell! What are you doing here?”

 “Uh, I live here. Remember?” Mikey’s chuckle took the sting out of it. “Oh yeah, I guess it’s been a while since we’ve run into each other. You’ve probably forgotten me. Hi, I’m Michelangelo, I have a black belt in skateboarding. I enjoy pizza for breakfast and long walks on the beach.”

 Raph sighed. Great, now a headache was threatening to overtake the throb in his wrist. “What are you doing up?”

 It was… crap, what time was it? He thought it was still night out. The coveted ‘wee hours of the morning’. Was it morning already? Had it taken him that long to get back to the lair?

 Mikey cracked a yawn. “I know, I know. 6am should be illegal. But duty calls! Cowabunga Carl’s got a gig in Jersey, so… early road trip, you know?”

 “Hm.” Raph kicked at one of the wayward cubes. Now he had a wrist, a mess, and Mikey to deal with. He got down to one knee, felt it go click (hello, old injuries) and gathered a few cubes in one hand, tossing them back into the fallen tray. Mikey crouched down to help.

 “Raph? You good bro?” He zeroed in on the way Raph held his arm, hand stiff and useless against his plastron. “You burn yourself or something? If you suck at cooking that much, I can make you something.”

 He probably wasn’t kidding, and somehow that made Raph feel a hundred times worse. They’d barely said two words to each other in two weeks, yet he knew that if he asked, Mikey would put his heart and soul into making Raph a sandwich, or scrambled eggs, or even beef Wellington or whatever.

 “I’m fine.”

 “Yeah, I mean, I’m sure you’re fine, but do you need help?”

 “I said I’m fine, so no. Don’t you have to go scare some kids in Jersey?”

 “Yeah, but I gave myself extra time to get ready, get lost a couple of times on the way over, stop at a drive-thru to get my zen back, and then find the place. I’m good. Are you, though?”

 Raph sighed. He was too tired for anger, in too much pain to put up a front. And Mikey was right there, and damn it, he missed the little idiot.

 “… Think I broke my wrist,” Raph said. He picked a spot on the floor that wasn’t covered in quietly melting ice cubes and sat down, carapace against the cabinet door. Yeah, he was lucky it was Mikey crouching there. Donnie and Splinter would have a million follow-up questions, and Leo would have…

 … well Leo didn’t matter, because the jerk wasn’t even here to ask questions.

 But Mikey, well. He preferred action to words. “Dude, that sucks. Can I help? You know what, stay there. I got this.”

 So Raph stayed right there, tucking his knees to his plastron and resting his busted hand on top of them. Some Nightwatcher he was. And to think, Mikey was probably his biggest fan. It was almost worth telling him his secret identity, if only to see the excitement in his brother’s eyes.

 Mikey returned triumphantly, a first aid kit in one hand and a stack of something in the other. Mikey was surprisingly good under real pressure, especially when it came to first aid.

 And surprisingly efficient at cleaning, when he was motivated. A dish towel dropped to the floor, followed by Mikey’s foot, who used it to sweep away the water and leftover ice cubes. Good enough.

 “All right, let me take a look at this. This is a job for Dr. Michelangelo, DDS!”

 “DDS means dentist, doofus.” Snark was useful but could only do so much to mask pain. Mikey was gentle, but it still smarted something fierce as he worked to remove the guard wrapping from Raph’s wrist and cradled the hand between his own, taking a closer look at the bruises creeping up and down the swollen joint.

 “Owie,” Mikey declared. Raph agreed. “How’d you do this, anyway?”

 Yep, no avoiding that. Questions. “Openin’ a pickle jar.”

 Mikey snorted. For a blissful moment, Raph thought he’d give up on questions, but no. He unzipped the first aid kit and rummaged while continuing to ask. “Nah, seriously, how’d you do this? This looks like you twisted it.”

 Yeah, about that.

 Raph hadn’t expected that encounter with the street gang to go sour. And technically it hadn’t. He’d beaten them just fine, and not one of those meathead jerks had put so much as a scratch on the Nightwatcher. Oh, they’d tried.

 One punk came at him with a narrow pipe. He’d pulled out his sai, blocked the pipe, and twisted to disarm. But damn it, as much as Raph tried to train solo and keep up his skills, it was nothing compared to sparring with his brothers.

 He used to be able to size up opponents and weapons in a heartbeat. He’d misjudged the weight of the pipe. He’d sent it packing, yeah, but the movement made his wrist snap in a way that made cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. Lucky for him, that was the last thug.

 Disappear into the night. Stash bike. Hobble home.

 Which left him here. Sitting on the floor, Mikey at his side, palpating a bruised-purple wrist, waiting for an answer.

 “… Long story,” Raph muttered.

 It seemed enough for now. Mikey turned his attention to his task, murmuring, “Oof, it’s pretty swollen.”

 Raph liked the way his voice dropped to a low pitch when he was serious about something. Sometimes he forgot how competent Mikey could be. How good Mikey was at patching up his hurts. Donnie, for all his smarts and science, could get squeamish about injuries. Leo was too fussy. Splinter never really gave it away, but Raph had the sneaking suspicion he was disappointed whenever his sons came home with injuries. Especially Raph.

 Mikey took his hand as though offering a handshake, nodding at the swollen joint. “Okay, squeeze my hand, tell me when it hurts.”

 Raph found himself obeying, naturally, comforted by Mikey’s tending. How long had it been since he’d just… hung out with his brothers? Since they’d given him a hug or asked how he was doing without making a crack about him sleeping in until 3 in the afternoon?

 Mikey’s hand was warm and he wanted to squeeze just to enjoy a bit of physical contact. But as he tried his damnedest to squeeze, his hand started to shake and the flare of pain forced a sad grunt past his lips.

 “Okay, so probably broken,” Mikey tsked. He kept his hand loosely wrapped around his brother’s, moving the joint up and down and rotating slowly. Raph knew from experience what he was doing, testing the range of motion, and he let Mikey manipulate his wrist for a few moments. It hurt, but it wasn’t excruciating. He could sit through the pain if it meant enjoying the contact.

 Satisfied with his examination, Mikey hummed a happy little noise and rested Raph’s palm against his own while he rummaged in the area of the first aid kit.

 Raph sighed. He was tired. “So, am I gonna live?”

 “Oh man, this is a terminal fracture. You better leave me all your stuff. The cool stuff, only. Donnie can have the junk.” Mikey held up a gel pack, popping a cartridge in the middle and giving it a little shake. “It’s not a bad break. Probably just a little crack. I’m gonna ice it a bit and then wrap it for you, ‘kay?”

 Raph nodded. Mikey didn’t let go of his hand as he draped the instant ice pack on top of it. The numbness was kind of nice. “Did you bring a whole pile of these things?”

 “Haha, yeah. My personal stash. Cowabunga Carl gets knocked around a lot. I don’t think the Foot Clan ever kicked me as much. Or bit me. Or barfed on me.”

 Okay, that got a smile out of him. “You’re tougher than me. I couldn’t handle that.”

 “Then there’s the moms.” Mikey shuddered, lifting the ice pack and adjusting it. “Some of them flirt.”

 Raph shifted on the floor. His butt was starting to go numb, but this was nice. If he asked to move to the table, Mikey might let go of him.

 Raph shut his eyes. It would be so easy, right now, to just tell him. That he was the Nightwatcher. That he wasn’t a bum, that he went outside every night because staying cooped up in the lair left him twitchy, anxious, and ready to scream into a pillow from being useless.

 “Mike… can you keep a secret?”

 “Surprisingly enough, I can!”

 “So the thing is…”

 Tell him. You’re the Nightwatcher. Tell him. You hurt yourself busting some bad guys. He’ll be happy. So happy. He’ll be proud of you and think you’re cool and might even hug you.

 “I broke my wrist ‘cause I… I uh… went out on a roof to do some katas. Tried some flips, didn’t stick the landing. Guess my wrist didn’t like that.”

 Crap. Coward.

 Mikey nodded sagely. “Thought so. I knew you were hiding something. Hey, no judgment from me, we all fall over sometimes!”

 “I miss being outside. At night.” He didn’t mean for it to sound so raw. He didn’t miss the way Mikey made a sad little hum of agreement. “I miss… all of it, you know?”

 “So that’s why you’re always sleeping in? ‘Cause you’re out late exercising on the roof?”

 “Yeah.” Raph squirmed as Mikey removed the ice pack, gave his numb wrist a few judicious pokes, and plucked a tensor wrap from the first aid kit. “Feels good to get out. It’s just… it’s embarrassing that I messed up a flip. So let’s keep that between us.”

 “Turtle’s honour, bro.” A few loops later, and Mickey pinned the tensor in place. “How’s that? Not too tight?”

 “It’s fine,” Raph said. Mikey was messing with something in the kit, rattled a bottle, and handed him two ibuprofens with an encouraging smile. Any other day, he would have put up a token protest, but he took the meds without fuss.

 “All right then, Dr. Michelangelo, DDS predicts you’ll be right as rain in no time!” Mikey leapt to his feet with an energy that Raph absolutely did not feel, pouring water in the nearest clean mug and handing it down. Raph didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d already dry-swallowed the pills, and sipped delicately.

 “Hey, Raph?”

 “Hm?”

 “When you go out at night, do you uh… y’know.”

 Raph swallowed. Thank God for the mug of water because now his throat felt dry. Had he maybe not fooled Mikey? “Do I what?”

 “You know, the Nightwatcher!” Mikey sounded positively giddy. It did nothing for Raph’s nerves, until Mikey finished his thought. “Do you ever see him? Do you ever go looking for him? Because I would!”

 Dear, sweet, innocent Mikey.

 “Haven’t yet,” Raph muttered, staring at the mug. “You like him, huh?”

 “Oh man!” Mikey crouched down to pack up the first aid kit, swooning with his entire being. “He’s so badass. Did anyone ever think that about us when we used to do this sort of thing? That were badass? Ah, I’m with you, I miss it. If I didn’t have work I’d probably be up on the roof too. Maybe when Leo comes back…”

 “Tell you what,” Raph interjected. Better to squash any thoughts of Leo and coming back while he could. “If I ever run into the Nightwatcher while throwing backflips on roofs, I’ll get his autograph for you.”

 Mikey squealed, thrusting out a hand. Raph took it and let his brother effortless haul him to his feet. “This is why you’re my favourite brother!”

 Tonight, anyway. Raph wasn’t anyone’s favourite anything, but he’d take what he could get.  “Thanks. And remember… don’t tell Donnie and Sensei I busted my wrist, okay? I feel stupid enough as it is.”

 Mikey nodded conspiratorially, and Raph was certain he would never more closely guard a secret in his life. “Count on me. Here, take the packs and try to keep it iced. You’ll be back to punching me in the arm in no time.”

 He pressed five ice packs into Raph’s good arm, gave it a thought, then took one back.

 “… Might need one after the gig today. All right, duty calls! Catch ya later!”

 Mikey grinned big and wide and whirled away. Yeah. Way too much energy for this time of morning.

 “Hey… Mikey?” Raph called out. Mikey, already halfway out the exit, spun in place. Raph waved his tensor-wrapped hand at him. “… Thanks.”

 Mikey’s answering smile was the very definition of sunshine. “I got you, bro! You know I always got your stupid butt.”

 Cradling his wrist, now down to a dull ache, Raph hobbled to his room. He bolted the door and crawled into bed. Either the ibuprofens were kicking in or he was too tired to worry about pain, spiralling into sleep with thoughts of Mikey’s smile. With everything else happening, it was nice to know someone still had his stupid butt.  

 Maybe things were not all right at the moment.

 But maybe one day, they would be.