Author's Notes: This was written for the birthday of the wonderful Kytyngurl2. Set in OT-verse, so yes, they are acting differently. Hopefully, some of you recall or have access to the episode Raphael vs. The Volcano, because while everything is explained in this story, it's just a darn cute episode. Mona Lisa is referenced in this story. For those of you who don't know, she's an OT-canon character who was supposedly Raphael's girlfriend.
I haven't been on much due to NaNoWriMo and the fact that my currect Big Project is not on but Stealthy Stories and my LJ. In December I'll start posting more new stuff on this site, including new Quality Time stories.
The clown hit the dinosaur and took off running. The dinosaur snarled and spat and huffed about neighbors.
Raphael sat watching them from across a glass panel, leaning back against the couch cushions, feet propped up on a small table Donatello had placed there for that specific purpose. There was nothing on T.V. besides this. Well, this wasn't really even something on. It was justsomething moving. It was also brainless enough that it practically killed the brain cells Raphael was so desperate to be rid of. See, if he went ahead and took out the last of them in one fell swoop, he might forget how hopelessly stupid he felt.
It had just been the day before that Raphael, convinced that he was dying, purchased the world's most absurd costume and paraded around as "The Green Defender." He'd saved kittens and old people. Well, and also the world. Sort of. If his brothers hadn't happened along, the world would have been toast. Another thing to congratulate himself about.
He was sitting on the couch with his feet propped up because he couldn't do much else at the moment, having injured himself in the stupidest way possible—he had fallen into a volcano. A volcano. Most people in their right minds wouldn't have gone near a volcano. Raphael had falleninto one. If Michelangelo hadn't tossed him a rope, Raphael would have burned more than his feet, which were bandaged and sitting atop the small table before him.
Raphael sighed and tried again to move said appendages. Considering how many painkillers Donatello had him on, he was surprised he could feel them at all. Well, he should be surprised that he still had feet, but he was past that now. His toes wiggled responsively, but his whole foot was lit aflame in protest. He hissed in pain and winced.
"You really shouldn't do that."
Raphael glanced over toward the kitchen. Leonardo was approaching with a plate of pizza in one hand and a fistful of balms and bandages in the other. He handed the first to Raphael, who took it even as the smell turned his stomach. Raphael was not hungry.
Leonardo knelt in front of Raphael's feet, setting the rest of his cargo on the floor. Raphael groaned. "Again?"
"Donatello says they have to stay clean," Leonardo reminded him patiently. He carefully plucked at the end of the bandage on Raphael's left foot, loosening it from where it was taped in place. As he carefully unwound the bandage, rolling it up neatly as he did so, the motion of fabric against skin caused a sharp intake of breath through Raphael's teeth.
"Quit that!" he snapped, suddenly tense. His leg cramped up from the strain of trying not to move it as Leonardo quickly finished unwrapping it. Exposed to the open air, the foot burned steadily but with less intensity than before.
"Sounds like time for more painkillers," was all Leonardo said, not even looking up at him. He picked up a bottle of ointment, then glanced up at his brother. "Well? Go ahead."
Raphael sighed and plucked a slice of pizza from the plate. Donatello the Genius had figured out a way to make the painkillers into a tasteless powder that could be sprinkled into the pizza sauce. Tasteless as it may have been, Raphael couldn't help but think it made the pizza different somehow, and he cleaned his plate with a look of distaste. As the painkillers set in, Leonardo started spreading ointment over his foot.
"You've been quiet lately," Leonardo chatted as he worked. "It's been awhile since you laughed at the T.V. Is something wrong?"
"Yeah, actually," said Raphael. "My feet got dipped in lava." He stared at his toes and tried again to wiggle them. It didn't hurt this time.
Leonardo, accustomed to his brother's frequent bouts of sarcasm, ignored the flippant comment. He reached for the roll of gauze. "Did you ever call Mona?"
Raphael watched his brother slowly wrap his foot, winding the gauze around and around the burned appendage like he was wrapping a sprained foot. "Not really, no," he said, feeling a little guilty about the admission.
"Why not?" It was the dreaded question. Leonardo stopped wrapping for a second and glanced up at him, genuinely curious.
Raphael sighed and flopped back against the back of the couch. "Leonardo—if I called her, and told her I had burned feet," he explained in a fake cheerful tone he would have used with a small child, "I would have to tell her how I got burned feet, and she'll know howstupid I was."
Silence came from Leonardo's end as the leader of the turtles continued to carefully wrap the bandage. After almost a minute, Raphael raised his head and stared down at his brother. "Oh, you're not stupid, Raphael," he mocked with a glare. "Thank you for saving the world, Raphael! Raphael, you're sooooo brave!"
Leonardo glanced up again. "I'll give you the last two, but…you know, I can't lie to you." He looked back down, continuing his work. "It was…pretty stupid, risking your life like that. And while you may have saved the plant population of Popalua Island—which was doomed anyway, in the eruption—Donatello says there wasn't anywhere near enough of that poison to affect the entire world. But…" He cut the gauze and tucked in the end, then met his brother's eyes. "I probably would have done the same thing."
Raphael snorted.
Instead of responding to the snort, Leonardo began to unwrap the other bandage. "The typical fallacy of Donatello's inventions notwithstanding, for all you knew, you really were dying. Then, instead of moping around and saying your goodbyes and doing whatever you wanted to do for yourself before…dying, you sacrificed what you thought would be the last twenty-four hours of your life for helping others."
That gave Raphael pause. It sounded a lot better when Leonardo said it. "Yeah," he gave him, "but…there was the costume."
Leonardo paused for a long time, then spoke without looking at his brother, choosing instead to spread Raphael's newly-exposed right foot with balm. "You don't get to talk to me about costumes, Raphael."
"Oh." Raphael's eyes lit up as he recalled his oldest brother dressed in a Musketeer outfit. "Hey Leonardo, on a completely unrelated topic, do you remember when you thought I was Porth—OW!" Raphael cried out as Leonardo "accidentally" pulled too hard on his bandages.
"Sorry, Raphael," Leonardo muttered, loosening the bandage and continuing to wrap the foot.
Raphael sighed as the pain in his foot faded. "So you think I should call her?"
"Mona Lisa?" Leonardo glanced up as he tucked the end of the bandage. "Of course."
"You don't think I should tell her about the costume."
"You should if you don't want her to hear it from Michelangelo first."
"Good point."