Disclaimer: I do not own the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles who remain the property of Nickelodeon. I do not gain financially from this story.
Surrounded by the constant hollow murmur of traffic, I lie on my back on the roof, my head resting on the linked fingers of my hands. Listening to the soothing sounds of the city as her life plays out beneath me, I stare silently up at the night sky as it begins to purple. There's a sharp chill blowing in the air tonight but it has done little to cool my temper. I frown as pins and needles begin to set into my fingers, I try to push it to the back of my mind but fail. A ship's horn sounds in the distance, long and melancholy. Sighing I give up trying to relax and sit up, flexing out my fingers, I grit my teeth as the dull throb in the knuckles of my right hand returns. Stupid Leo, why does he have to have such a hard face? I continue to flex my fingers for a while, watching the bruised, grazed skin as it slides over my knuckles. I exhale heavily and rest my wrists on my knees letting my hands hang loose. A faint, fleeting siren rises and fades into the wind as I look out across the city. I watch her lights twinkle like stars in the hazy smog feeling the tension start to ebb from my shoulders. The relief is short lived, already I can feel my muscles begin to tighten as my thoughts drift back to home and that insufferable son of a dick I have the misfortune to call family. Mr Fucking Kill Joy himself. Mr Fucking Perfect.
A small chuckle escapes as my thoughts turn to how it all started. Mikey. Everything usually always starts with Mikey, I shake my head and laugh. I know I shouldn't go along with his hair brained schemes, but I don't know, I just can't help myself. I swing my legs over the side and watch my feet as they dangle above the dark streets below. The siren starts again, further away, mingling with the sound of traffic. I sigh to myself; my anger is slowly turning into regret as it sits heavily in my chest. Things were going great, we were having a laugh, not hurting nobody and then he walked in with his 'authority' and that fucking smug look plastered all over his face. I remember daring him, just daring him to say one… more… thing, and then. Then everything went red. I clench my fists and thump my knuckles into the rough brick, wincing against the pain. I so wanted to smack that smug look off his face, I think I could have managed it too, if Don and Mike hadn't hauled me off him. I knew it was wrong the moment I hit him, but I just couldn't stop myself. I won't lie; it gave me a deep sense of satisfaction to see Leo spitting blood. Heated words were exchanged, insults thrown, nothing really meant by it. The argument ended with the slamming of doors and the thinly veiled promise of further harm. I spent a while wandering the dark sewer tunnels, stomping through the sludge and taking my aggression out on the walls around me. Finally exhausted and out of breath I came up here in an effort to escape myself.
He never used to be so up himself, there was a time, when we were younger, when his pranks would rival that of Mikey's. But as we got older he changed. We all did in one way or another.
I pick up a small chunk of crumbled brick, rolling it through my fingers before launching it off the roof. A metallic echo rings through the alley below as it bounces off a fire escape and clatters to the ground. Despite my best efforts I'm beginning to feel like a complete ass. I sigh and flop myself back down onto the roof top and gaze up at the sky again. Black and seemingly endless, sometimes I wish I could just disappear into its depths, cast off these feelings and finally be free. An aircraft rumbles overhead and I watch as it blinks across darkness. Good ol' Raphael, always over stepping the mark, always having to take things too far, losing my fucking temper, never any self-control. Some ninja. New waves of rage begin to wash over me, tainted with self-loathing and jealousy. Why is it always so fucking easy for that shit head, why does he never lose control, how is he capable of pushing my buttons again and again? Is it really him, or is it me? I close my eyes and concentrate on the wind as it buffets against my skin. I can hear someone approaching; they're not even trying to be quiet. I lie still and wait. I can feel them standing over me now, their eyes on me. Slowly I open mine. I avoid looking at them.
"You ok?" I don't answer and continue to study the sky. A few moments pass before he sits down beside me and finds his own piece of sky to inspect. The silence hangs thickly between us as the awkwardness of the situation begins to prickle my skin. Another siren, this time closer, more urgent than before. He exhales noisily and gets to his feet, "You coming home?" It was more a statement than a question. Eventually I move my eyes to look at him, I try to stifle my snort as I catch sight of his face and fail miserably. "How's the face?" I enquire, looking back at the sky.
"I'll live. So, are you coming home?" He offers out his hand to me, I look at it for a few moments before accepting it. He helps haul me to my feet before catching hold of my elbow and pulling me into hug; I welcome it gladly and return it. We break apart and he places his hand on my shoulder. "You're a right dick, do you know that?" he asks, shaking my shoulder slightly as he looks into my eyes.
I smile, "yeah, I know."