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red-vortex · 2 years ago

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The Hours Between (part 2/6)

Prompt: Hiding an illness

Incarnation: TMNT (2007)

Pairing: Mikey/Raph

Rating: T for vomit, fever, illness

Summary: Raph suffers through a stomach flu. That’s it, that’s the plot. Mikey gets to keep an eye on Raph again, and maybe it’s the fever talking, but these cuddles are feeling very nice. Lightest hints of tcest in this one, but you can still read it as platonic if you want.

(Set sometime before the events of the movie)

For the @badthingshappenbingo

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 turned to 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 last 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 started barfing 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.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” 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 Dramamine 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.

#TMNT #Raphael #Michelangelo #Raph #Mikey #TMNT 2007 #Mikey/Raph #Sick Raph #Faintest hint of tcest here

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red-vortex · 2 years ago

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The Hours Between (part 1/6)

Prompt: “I’m fine”

Incarnation: TMNT (2007)

Pairing: Mikey/Raph

Rating: T for broken bones

Summary: Nightwatcher business is not without its risks. Raph comes home with a broken bone and lucky for him, Mikey is always there to help. (Set sometime before the events of the movie)

For the @badthingshappenbingo

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?”

“Would it shock you if I said yes?”

“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 we 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 effortlessly 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.

#TMNT #Raphael #Michelangelo #Raph #Mikey #TMNT 2007 #Mikey/Raph #Hurt Raph #No tcest in this but there will be in later parts

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