raph hates that don makes him feel that way, sometimes, like the two of them are kindred spirits. he's nothing like don. don is incredible, unstoppable, a carefully guarded secret weapon that only he and his brothers can keep. he's always going to be around to save the day, to figure out the hard stuff, to get the job done.
raph doesn't get it.
and then don chuckles. it's interesting, he says, that he's described exactly how don feels about raph.
but raph still doesn't get it. he probably never will.
[ @donnietechno here ya go. Sorry in advance because it’s more 2007.]
@riff--raph :
In hindsight, he probably should have been worried about his costume less and himself more. He had to be careful though, and that meant making sure his wrecked motorcycle got hidden back in its secret garage safely and his now torn suit hidden from Don. Missing the lair entrance a few times was always a good end to crashing your baby when you weren’t even chasing a perp.
He could hardly stand by the time he made it to Donatello’s lab, and didn’t make it very far in before he ate it on the cold floor, blood oozing from a crack in his plastron and a gash in his thigh.
The next thing he remembers is waking up in a sweat, being strapped to the table like a lab rat, and Donatello with a massive needle and thread at work on his thigh.
It took a few stitches to clear his head, and a few snarls to get his jaw working.
“Dammit Don, do you think you could make it hurt any fucking worse?” He clenched his teeth at another jab and turned his head, groaning as his vision swam from the combination.
“Never mind, head did it for ya.”
“Just doing my best to keep you from bleeding out all over the place,” Don said in his usual calm tones. He was used to riding out Raph’s bad attitude; he understood his anger. Didn’t share it, but understood it.
After all, it was hard to be one of four mutants in a world overrun with billions of fleshy pink bigots. None of the brothers “hated” humans; they all respected their culture and their capacity for compassion. And they loved April and Casey, of course; they were honourary turtles, really. But Raph was the one who found it easiest to resent humans for the freedoms they took for granted, and to resent the other three for not resenting the humans more. A vicious little cycle. Even above the bitterness between he and Leo...
But before that thought could land, Don tried to shove it away and focus on the wound. That was an unimportant detail from the past. He gripped Raph’s thigh tighter to try to get him to stop squirming as his other hand pushed the needle through again.
“So... feel like telling me about all this? I mean, you might as well since you don’t exactly have anywhere to go right now.”
"It is a dangerous thing with brothers, to think that you could be as strong as them, or as wise as them, or as good as them. To believe that you could have been the same person, if only you hadn't gone a different way." - David Levithan, Are we There Yet?
Chapter 12 - For Better or Worse, Brothers
Donatello glanced with heavy-lidded eyes at the cell sitting next to the jumbled file folders. The blinking screen fluttered chartreuse lines over the side of his face in the dark room. His fingertips padded in a nervous tick against his thighs. He leaned forward in his chair to get a better look, just in case he somehow missed the message light blinking.
He hadn't.
There was no light to indicate she'd called and he'd somehow missed it.
He slumped back. With one finger, he rubbed at his dry, red-rimmed eye and yawned. These all-night shifts coupled by his inability to nap during the day were beginning to wear him down. There was a tickle at the back of his throat.
"Can't get sick," he muttered, clearing his throat.
It had been two days since April stormed out of the lair. Two days without sleep. Two days of going over what he'd heard her yelling at his brothers. And over. And over. Two days of replaying the anger he'd felt at finding her in his father's room. Justifying it.
Two days of wishing she'd call; wondering if he should just bite the bullet and be the first to apologize, but feeling that he'd not been in the wrong: he specifically asked her not to mention she was spending some nights with him in the lair and to keep a wide berth from his father.
He'd told her in no uncertain terms that Splinter's health was in a fragile state. That upsetting him would make everything worse. Everything harder on him. And yet, there she was, making his life much more difficult than he needed.
Two days that felt like two weeks filled with nothing but stress: work and family-related.
With a final, hopeful glance at his still unblinking phone, he sighed, and his gaze went back to the computer screen. Back to work. He scrolled through the night's call log, not really paying attention to the list of issues resolved and the much longer list of those still pending.
Douglas' warning about leaving customers with unresolved problems longer than twenty-four hours would mean a write up reverberated somewhere in the recesses of his muddled mind. The last chew-out he'd endured still rung in the back of his mind. The last thing he needed was another hour-long bitch session from his high-strung boss. Douglas wasn't going to be happy when he logged on today.
Donatello frowned. "So what," he muttered with a grimace.
But he scooted the chair forward a bit and re-examined the log which was accessible to his boss in real time. With a quick count there were eight resolved. Eight. That wasn't bad.
He scrolled down.
"Hm."
His stomach sank.
Fourteen unresolved. Six of them coming in at over thirty-six hours and counting.
Shit.
He sat back with a grunt.
Douglas was going to have kittens. Since the last screw up, he'd been put on probation. He'd be lucky if he wasn't fired by the end of the day. His eyes rolled up to the ceiling as he quickly estimated the time it would be in London. His boss should be in the office by now.
"Hm." He double checked his personal chat box. Nothing.
Then he remembered that Douglas had mentioned going on holiday. A tired grin spread over his face. That bought him some time. A week's worth. He could fix all this mess by then.
That womanizing, over-bloated hippo of a man wouldn't have anything to complain about if all these issues were handled by the time he got back. Well. Donatello was sure Douglas would find something to whine about as far as his work performance went.
"You know what?" Don asked the room. "I don't give a damn one way or another."
If he didn't need the paycheck so badly he'd have written a virus that would have infected the entire company, bringing down their system while exposing his boss of the various frauds that Donatello had strong suspicions were occurring every day.
If he didn't need the check. Which he did. And if he wasn't completely distracted by the cell phone laying still and lifeless within arm's reach. Which he was.
His gaze shifted back to his phone. I should call her. He reached forward, only to hesitate. He rolled his fingers back into a fist and lightly pounded the top-most file. He rested his forehead on his forearm, peering under it at the phone.
No. I don't have anything to apologize for.
He turned back to the work station. He logged off with sharp movements; his fingers clacking against the keys. The problems could wait.
"I need some caffeine."
He pushed away from the desk and ripped the headset from his head. It clattered across the keyboard and knocked an empty coffee cup to one side. Standing there, looking around with sleepy eyes and rubbing the sides of his head where the headset had imprinted slightly, he noticed how sloppy his work area had gotten.
He started to collect the empty Styrofoam cups, empty food containers and crumpled papers into his arms. When he turned to stuff them into the wastebasket, he noticed it was overflowing with garbage.
"Sheesh."
With a shake of his head, he headed out of his make-shift office, towards the kitchen; casting one last quick glimpse at the silent, dark phone. His brows dropped into a frown and he huffed.
At the threshold of the kitchen, his footsteps faltered.
Raph looked up from the table.
Their eyes met momentarily before Donatello turned his head, frown deepening, and Raph went back to the wrinkled paper spread across the table. Donatello moved to the side of the fridge. His foot kicked into an empty pizza box. Nudging it closer to the can, he huffed in aggravation. He shoved the garbage into the can, noting it could use an empting.
He straightened up, placed the empty pizza box tentatively atop the pile. He turned. "Hey, take this out to the dump."
Raph's brow cocked, but he didn't look up. "Tell Mikey."
Donatello bristled. "I'm telling you."
Raph brought his face up slowly.
They stared at one another, unblinking, until Donatello fidgeted and turned back around. He opened a cabinet and removed a bag of coffee. He gave it a shake, still feeling the hard stare of his brother on his shell. Continuing to ignore the silent challenge, he nonchalantly measured several shakes of the grounds into the paper cone. He cleared his throat and glanced up at the clock.
"Since you were up, did you happen to make Splinter's breakfast?" When he didn't get a response, he turned. "Raph."
Raphael shook his head, eyes locked on the paper. "Wut."
"Did you make Splinter his breakfast?" he asked, annunciating every syllable.
"What does it look like to you?" Under his breath, he muttered, "For a genius, you sure are oblivious."
Donatello stomped over and yanked the paper out of his brother's grip. He crumpled it with his fingers and tossed it to the floor. "It looks like you're doing what you always do around here."
Raphael's voice was low, dangerous. "And what's that?"
Donatello leaned forward, bracing his palms against the surface of the table. "Nothing."
Raph's eyes bounced back and forth between his brother's. Then, slowly, he rose up, waved his hand through the air and said, "I don't need this." The chair legs scratched against the floor. He stared hard at Donatello for another second before turning away, dismissively. Limping, he headed for the living room, one hand cupping his side.
"You mean you don't want to hear the truth."
Raph stopped. He twisted part of the way and winced. Thinking better of it, he turned back and kept going into the living room. Don was pushing it, but he wasn't exactly up for a spat. Besides, they'd beaten this particular horse to pulp. He rolled his eyes as his brother went on.
"Is it so much to ask that you take the garbage out? Or maybe, I dunno, help take care of our father? Put on a kettle or throw some bread in the toaster? Since you've finally decided to grace the lair with your presence for longer than a three hour block, I guess I'm in the wrong to ask for a little help."
Raph heaved a sigh. His entire side ached and he wondered if he'd developed an infection from the bullet wound. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. And every now and then, he'd feel a dizzy spell come on that he did his best to ignore, but secretly, he was starting to worry.
The night had been spent in a haze of trying to get comfortable enough to sleep. All he'd managed was to doze off for a few minutes at a time, and when he did he dreamt weird shit. Snippets of the dreams fluttered through his mind: Bonnie and Mikey arguing about Leo graduating from college; Casey babbling about Splinter's balding, and a news report flashing beyond on an enormous projector screen.
The vision on the screen blurring but one thing was clear: the Nightwatcher was hung, turning in a slow circle under an overpass.
What the actual fuck? He shook his head.
". . . and the lair is a mess. Just look at this pig sty." Donatello hadn't taken a breath it seemed.
"Christ, Donnie. Listen to yourself. You sound like an old woman."
"I wouldn't have to nag if you'd help. It's that simple. I don't know how many times I have to spell this out for you. Even Mikey gets it."
"Lay off me. Will ya? I'm too tired for your old maid shit."
Donatello's bark of a laugh was harsh. "Tired?! Tired? From doing what? Sleeping forty-six hours out of every forty-eight? And sorry to have to remind you of this fact again," Donatello said as he marched up to stand behind Raph, "but you do have to listen to whatever shit I need to give you. I'm the one in charge around here."
He gripped his brother by the shoulder and spun Raph around to face him. Donatello would've been surprised he was even able to had he not been so angry.
Raphael staggered a bit before righting himself. His face was a mask of pain that quickly smoothed into something like a muffled grimace. When his narrow eyes landed on Donatello's, they were glassy with pain. He snorted. "Finally grown a pair, eh? 'Bout time. No wonder April's been so pissed at cha' since ya been such a bitch."
Donatello cocked his fist back and swung it.
It connected.
Raph didn't even duck.
Donatello stared with open-mouthed shock between his throbbing fist and his brother's head slowly rolling back in place as he stumbled and righted himself.
Raph's eyes were closed as he rubbed his jaw. His free hand cupped his side and he wobbled where he stood, swaying from side to side as if he were keeping his balance on a rocking boat.
Donatello's moment of shock was immediately replaced by righteous fury. He wondered if this was how Leonardo had felt when he'd finally lost control when dealing with Raph. A sort of horror mixed with exultant rectitude. The son of a bitch deserved it.
"That's enough! I'm done with the attitude. Enough of your mouth. You're tired?! You don't do anything around here. And every time I actually need some help, you-you," he started only to clamp his mouth shut before he really got started.
Raph had pitched precariously to one side and, like a tower of bricks, toppled over.
With wide eyes, Donatello dropped. The fury still bubbled beneath the surface, but now mingled with concern. He knelt besides his brother. "Raph!" He slapped his brother's bruised cheek only to wince in empathy and switch to lightly patting the opposite one with the back of his hand. "Raph?"
His brother groaned.
"What's wrong with you?" he snapped. Then, more gently, "I know I didn't hit you that hard."
Raph made a sound that might have been a chuckle but it was hard to tell over the sound of his cursing mingling with painful groaning.
Donatello's eyes swept over his supine brother. They landed on the thick bandage on his brother's side, tinged with crimson. He hissed a breath. How did he miss that? In two days, how did he not notice his brother was sporting a wound that took up most of his left side?
He reached down and started to pick at the corner. Raph's hand gripped his wrist.
"Don't."
Donatello pressed his mouth into a line. "How bad?"
Raph shielded his eyes with his free hand. Slowly, he released Donatello's wrist. He dropped his arm to the floor and sighed.
"Raph," Donnie warned.
Raphael blinked rapidly as though he were clearing his vision. He shook his head and made a soft non-committal grunt and something like a shrug.
"Do I need to punch you again?"
This time a wry smile crossed Raph's face before dropping away with his breathy answer, "'S not bad. Casey took care of it."
"Casey."
Donatello sat back on his haunches. He rested his hands on his thighs and closed his eyes, gathering his composure. His stubborn, foolish brother had driven out an hour out of the city to be cared for by that dope instead of coming straight home.
Why?
He lurched forward and with one quick, brutal movement, tore the bandage off Raph's side.
Raph squirmed and hollered, "Fuck, Don! A little warning would be nice."
Donatello took a double take and leaned forward. He sat back with a hiss.
"That looks like a gunshot wound."
"Yeah."
"You were shot."
Raph nodded as much as he could in his position.
"Shot," he repeated.
"No shit. And here I thought it was a bug bite."
Donatello ignored his brother's attempt at bravado. This was bad. He reached out and gently padded the swollen flesh puffed around the stitches. "Infected, too."
Raph rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. He grunted at Don's touch, light as it was, it sent flashes of light across his closed lids. "Was afraid of that."
"This is why you finally came home. Nearly dying."
Raph rolled his head around to look at his brother. Donatello’s face was turned his way, but his eyes were locked on the festering wound in his brother's side. His expression was grim but there was something beneath that look, something like defeat.
"Nah," Raph breathed. "It's not like that."
Donatello's eyes rolled to meet Raph's pained stare. "Oh?"
"I didn't even want to come home." Raph explained, "Casey made me."
Donatello's expression soured. His face grew dark. "So, even getting shot wasn't enough to bring you back here with me in charge. It's that bad, huh? You'd risk bleeding out rather than coming back here and asking me for help."
Raph blinked. "N-No, bro. I didn't mean it like that."
Don's laughed out, "Right."
"It came out wrong."
He started to get up, but Don shoved him back. His head hit the floor and the room spun. He groaned.
"Save it." Donatello got up. "Don't move."
"I didn't wanna bother you with somethin' so . . ."
"Stupid?"
"Yeah."
"Right. Your life. Stupid. Got it." He pinched the bridge of his snout and crunched his eyes tightly closed. He held up his finger and pointed to the ceiling as he said, "My role – temporary though it is - as head of the clan means nothing to you, as you've so blatantly proven time and again," Raph opened his mouth to argue, but Donatello went on, glaring down at him, "and now it appears my medical prowess is unwanted as well."
His voice dropped, "I guess I'm really that bad at this."
Raphael said nothing. He rested his head back against the floor. He huffed a sigh. "I'm tellin' ya, it ain't like that."
Donatello looked out into the living room. He shook his head, mouth turning down. "First Mikey decides he doesn't need my help and now this crap from you."
Raph stared up at him. "Geez, Don. Don't take it that way. 'S not personal."
"Not personal, huh."
"C'mon. I just need a little space to do my thing."
"Your thing? Like getting yourself shot? Bleeding to death on the highway? That's your thing now?"
Don shifted his weight onto his heels. His eyes glazed for a moment, looking at nothing in the room, remembering something he'd seen on television. When they snapped back to Raph, they were full of suspicion.
"You run into that vigilante running around the city being shot at? That Nightwitcher guy?"
"Nightwatcher," Raph grunted through clenched teeth, as he gingerly pawed at his oozing wound. His gaze shot to his side, avoiding Donatello's eyes. "And nah, never seen 'em."
"City's not that big. Would be hard not to cross paths, I would think, considering his targets are some of our old friends. The Foot. Venom. The remnants of the Dragons. And he'd probably not take too kindly to seeing a large mutant running around. Funny that you two never met."
Raph glared up at him, keeping his mouth shut, until, "Your point?"
"Just making sure he's not the reason you were shot."
Raph's eyes met Don's. "Can we just skip to the part where you patch me up here, I'm leaking puss on the floor."
"Right. Patch you up so you can run out and do it all over again. Are you in such a hurry to get yourself killed before Leo gets back? Easier to die than to deal with him getting back."
Though he was glad to have the change in subject, he didn't care for where it now turned. "I ain't got a death wish, if that's what you're implyin'." Raph's face darkened. Eyes narrowing.
"And this ain't about Leo."
"No? That's funny. Because I seem to recall that your rebellious behavior, your revisit to the teenaged angst and restlessness started up again right about a week or so after Leo left."
"That got nothin' to do with nothin'." He fidgeted, squirming against the floor. "Will ya just get me – You know what," he growled, "I'll just do it myself!" He started to rise. "Fuck! Outta my way."
Donatello pressed his brother's head back down to the floor with his foot only to have it smacked away by Raph's hand.
"Stay put!"
"Stick your foot in my face one more time and you'll be hobbling out the rest of your life. You got that?!"
Donatello sniffed derisively as he turned away muttering under his breath. He stormed into the kitchen and stooped before the sink. "A mutiny," Donatello spat. "That's what I have here. A few months in charge and everything's in chaos." He slapped his hands against his bent knees. "Raph. Mikey," he dropped his head, "April."
The sound of their father's rice-paper door sliding open reached them. Donatello froze. The cabinet door under the sink hiding him partially from view, the first-aid kit in his grip. He peeked out over the top and suppressed a sigh.
"What is going on out here? Why am I woken to shouting?"
Donatello's mouth worked as he stood up. He took several steps towards the living room. He glanced down at Raph, laying there on the floor, his failure as leader in the flesh. Terrific.
"Nothing, Master Splinter. Go back and get some rest, I'll have your breakfast and meds ready in a few minutes."
Splinter worked his claws around the top of his cane. "I would have it quiet today. My head is not well." He rubbed the side of his temple. "I did not sleep. Nightmares." His voice grew distant. "Visions of storms. Children lost in fire and rain. Death."
Donatello exchanged a furtive glance at his brother on the floor. Raph gave him a questioning, worried look. He fingered the edge of the first aid kit. Shook his head slightly. Meaning to say, it's nothing to worry about. Sure that the new combo of meds he'd been giving Splinter was the source of his psychological distress and nothing more.
There was no such thing as visions. Or omens. There was just a failing heart and a poor excuse for decent medical care. Add that to his list of recent failures.
"And," his voice rose indignantly, bringing Don out of his downward spiraling thoughts, "Those computers of yours. They were beeping so loudly. Incessantly!"
Donatello looked from his make-shift office to Splinter's room; realizing his mistake, he ducked his head. "I'm sorry, Sensei. I forgot to close my office door all the way, I won't let it happen again."
"Hm. I need my rest."
"Yes, of course."
"I am not well. I shouldn't have to remind you of all my sons, Donatello."
"No, Father."
"Very well. I would like oatmeal, my son. Without raisins."
"Hai, Sensei."
His eyes roved around the room, head cocked slightly, listening. "And where are your brothers?"
"Uh," Donatello cast another glance at Raph.
"Did you lose track of them again? Donatello, need I remind you that as leader, it is now your responsibility to know where they are at all times. To keep them close and safe. Secure. This is not too hard a task, is it? Leonardo always knew where each of my sons were at, at any given time. Why is it such a hard thing to ask of -"
Raphael raised one arm into the air and waved, stopping Splinter in mid-sentence, "Hey, Sensei."
Splinter's brows raised, "Raphael."
Donatello gave his brother a look of mixed gratitude and shock. Raph folded his arms over his torso and swept his eyes away. He had the decency to look a little guilty. But Don didn't care. He appreciated the gesture more than he could articulate.
Splinter's jaw worked. He frowned at Donatello. "My oatmeal. No raisins. And the peppermint green tea, extra honey. Do not forget this time."
"Of course . . . oh, no. Um, the honey. Uh, we have to watch your blood sug—"
His father burst into a rough bout of coughing. Bent over and shaking with the force of it. The coughing morphed into a series of short wheezing. He shook his head, blinking the tears out of his watering eyes. "Eh-Extra honey."
"Splinter," Donnie started, then changed course, "Okay, that's fine. A little honey. But . . . I-I just need to check your sugar levels before we –"
He slammed the end of his cane on the floor. "Do not argue with me, child."
Donatello ducked his head. Kept his gaze from Raph, not wanting to see his expression. Feeling the pit in his gut knotting tighter with his embarrassment. He coughed into his shoulder, cheeks burning.
Splinter scratched at his throat, rubbing it with a pained grimace. "My blood will be checked. I am not foolish. But, I am parched and need it to soothe my aching throat. Would you deny such a meager request?"
"I just . . . have to monitor your sugar levels, Sensei. If you have a –"
He raised a clawed finger and shook it in the air. "Leonardo would not. Leonardo would attend to my needs as I requested and never question."
Donatello pinched his mouth closed and nodded. Body rigid. He felt Raphael's eyes on him, but could not bring himself to look at his brother. He stared hard into the air in front of him, gripping the first aid kit tightly with both hands.
"This year cannot pass quickly enough."
Donatello bit his tongue, hard.
"Why do you have that?" Splinter asked, pointing one claw at the kit.
"It," he glanced at Raph who was looking up at him with a grim expression, "It's nothing. Raph's got a paper cut and needed a bandaid."
Splinter eyed him suspiciously, then with another bout of coughing, turned back to his room. He slid the doors closed behind him, but the painful sounds of his coughing lingered.
Donatello stood, wavering on his feet, feeling the glut of emotions crippling him. His heart pounded and his hands were slick. His jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth, aching throat working and eyes burning. He felt like he was losing his mind. Closing his eyes, he felt the room reel, but managed to remain standing. When he opened them again, he saw that his brother was laughing, silently; one hand perched at his brow.
"P-Paper cut."
An irrational giggle burbled up from his chest. Bursting the tension. He dropped to his knees. Raph reached out and swatted his arm, slapping it as his silent laughter erupted into muffled guffaws.
Donatello rolled his eyes, but found the chuckling flowing out of him, stronger and harder, leeching the hurt away. Before he knew it, he was bent over Raph, cackling into his brother's smelly armpit as he was roughly hugged and patted on the shell.
A/N: Again, sorry for the delay. Thank you for being patient! And thank you so much for the reviews and PM's! I always love hearing from you!
Love's Causality has been dogging me and so I've been working a lot on that sucker. Also, apparently, I'm on a Don and Raph brother-bonding kick lately. I think it's, in part, due to me watching Supernatural so much lately - on season 3, so no spoilers, please - but Dean and Sam totally remind me of Don and Raph and I can't help but see them whenever I watch it. (I LOVE the show so far! LOVE IT!)
