Author's Notes: This story is one of three in a series I've been calling "Quality Time." They are one part non-angsty character study and two parts pure unadulterated fun. Each is written as two juxtaposed oneshots meant to take place at about the same time. Humongous thanks go to my friend Winnychan, who scoured this story for errors and weaknesses. She is wonderful, and an absolutely amazing writer. Go read her stuff. On a completely unrelated note, Winny, you owe me fifty bucks ;). Have fun, and remember to review.

Disclaimer: I do not own TMNT, Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, Robin Hood: Men in Tights, or anything else in this story, nor do I make money off of this. I am totally broke.

Leonardo slid into a chair at the kitchen table with a sigh, closing his eyes and leaning forward. He planted his elbows on the table and pressed his fingers against his temples. After the ache in his head became less annoying, he drew his fingers to his shoulders on either side of his neck, and pressed firmly against the knotted muscles there. He heard someone come into the kitchen. After a moment, his ears perceived the rattling of pills, a popping sound, more rattling, and shortly thereafter, two light clicks on the table in front of him. He looked down at the pills his brother had set on the table before him. They were twin circles, red, each with a small E on the front. He looked up at Michelangelo, who closed the pill bottle with a hollow "pop!" and replaced it in a cupboard above the sink.

"How'd you know?" Leo murmured, picking up each pill separately with one hand.

"You were going like this," Mikey told him, rubbing his own shoulders. "If it was a migraine, you'd be going like this," he said, shielding his eyes from the light with both hands.

"I'm glad it's not a migraine." Leo popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.

Mikey pulled up a chair beside him, turning it around and sitting on it backwards. He folded his arms over the back of the chair and rested his chin on them. "How do you do that, man?"

Leo shrugged. "You learn."

"I couldn't. Just watching you makes me gag."

"Just be glad you don't have to take any meds on a frequent basis."

"Hey, remember how for a while Master Splinter was thinking about putting me on Ritalin, and it turned out I didn't have ADHD, I was just really hyper?"

"I still wouldn't rule it out," Leo replied, rubbing the base of his neck slightly, fingers crammed awkwardly between his shell and his flesh.

Mikey sprang up. "Lemme do that." He jogged around the table.

"Mikey..." Leo sighed.

"No, man, really, I give the best massages ever. April loves 'em." Mikey paused behind his brother, waiting anxiously.

The truth was that Leo didn't really like massages. He supposed they helped some people, but to him, they simply hurt. Having a tension headache coupled with someone poking painfully at knotted muscles wasn't an idea with particular appeal. Nevertheless, his kid brother's enthusiasm over giving the "best massages ever" was violently attacking his willpower, and he sighed again.

"It's not that I don't believe you, Mikey, it's just..."

"Please?" Mikey's fingers were already on his shoulders, wrists drawn upward to arch over the edge of his carapace.

Leo rolled his eyes up to the brother standing over him. Mikey's fingers began to tap impatiently on his skin. Knowing he would regret it, Leo sighed once more. "Fine."

Without further warning, Mikey's thick fingers dug into the knotted muscle of Leo's shoulders, shooting pain all the way up Leo's neck. The older turtle hissed and seized hold of his brother's wrist.

"Okay, I get it," said Mikey. "I'll go softer."

"No, Mikey, you will stop."

There was a beat of silence, then Mikey spoke, sounding disappointed. "Leo, you said I could try to help you. You're gonna have to help me out here. Just try to relax."

"No, Mikey." Leo tightened his grip on his little brother's wrist.

"Leo, it's not gonna help if you don't try to relax, it'll just hurt. C'mon, trust me. I'm the best masseuse in the world."

There was a pause. "Masseur," Leo corrected him, trying not to laugh.

"Huh?"

"Masseur, Mikey."

"Nuh-uh. M-A-S-O-O-S-E."

Leo had to bite the sides of his tongue. "No, Mikey. M-A-S-S-E-U-S-E, which you are not. A masseuse is female."

Another pause, this time on Mikey's end. "Hmph. So you consider the dictionary pleasure reading," he mumbled. His voice picked up. "How about this: if you cooperate and my massage doesn't make you feel better, I'll make you one of my famous Hot Fudge Brownie Bomb Blast sundaes. Sound good?"

Leo considered. In spite of what Mikey had to say on the matter, nothing he cooked could be considered "famous," and his sundaes—especially his Hot Fudge Brownie Bomb Blast—were too sugary for Leo's taste. "Only if you substitute the chocolate cereal with some of those coffee bean things Donnie eats to stay up late." Maybe the bitterness of the coffee beans would counteract the extra-sweetness of the rest of the sundae. "And no sprinkles or granulated sugar on top."

"Done," Mikey said with a grin as he got to work proving his skills as the world's best masseur.

Donatello was fairly certain that his foot was falling off. Yes, withering and falling off. It would serve him right for not seeing the glaringly obvious large pieces of glass shining in the streetlights like millions of poisoned daggers. It was fortunate, therefore, that he hadn't made his routine trip to the junkyard alone. Granted, he wished he'd chosen one of his less dramatic brothers to accompany him. Well, the only brother he had who wasn't dramatic was Leo, and Leo was having one of his bad days, so Donnie had chosen to ask Raphael to help him.

When Donnie had impaled his foot on a shard of glass, Raphael hadn't precisely lost his cool, but he had unceremoniously lifted his brother from the ground, slung him over his shoulder like a potato sack, and taken off running to find the nearest manhole like a hero in an action movie. While the movements Raph chose were indeed very stealthy and fast, they weren't entirely comfortable for his passenger.

"Put me down," hissed Donatello.

"Just a second," muttered Raph. He peered around a corner to make sure no one was coming, then took off at a dash toward a manhole cover, his footfalls causing his injured brother to bump awkwardly against his hard shell.

Donnie seized the bottom edge of Raph's carapace and held on for dear life. Once they were safely back in the sewer, Raph was going to get a talking-to.

Mikey hummed as he ground up coffee beans with a rolling pin and sprinkled them on Leo's sundae. He was fairly certain that Leo had complained about the lack of effectiveness of Mikey's massage solely to get the sundae. He didn't mind too much, actually—he had been thinking about making the sundae anyway, seeing as how Leo was having one of his bad days.

He glanced up as his other two brothers entered the lair, then started when he saw that Don had an arm slung over Raph's shoulders and was limping badly. The look on his face broadcast a strong desire that questions not be asked. Drips of blood spattered Raph's legs.

Leo looked up from the table. "What happened?"

Don shot Raph a poisonous glare. "Ran into some 'Foot' trouble," Raph said nonchalantly, not acknowledging the glance. "We took care of 'em. No big deal."

"How badly are you hurt?"

"We can handle it," Raph said dismissively as he walked up the stairs slowly, giving time for Don to hop alongside him.

As they slipped quietly into Don's room, Leo glanced over at Mikey. "How's it coming?"

Mikey pulled the stem off a maraschino cherry and placed it on top of the sundae. He felt like an artist. "Done," he said cheerfully, pulling a spoon from a drawer and bringing his masterpiece to the table. "No chocolate cereal, no granulated sugar, no sprinkles, just extra-chocolatey nutty brownie coffee-y goodness." He placed the ice cream before Leonardo and set the spoon beside it. "Bon appetit," he said with a flourish.

"Ran into some 'foot' trouble," Don scoffed. He flopped onto his bed as Raph shut the door. "Medicine cabinet," he said quickly, "in the bathroom. I need the tetanus vaccine and a local anesthesia."

As Raph left the room, he rolled his eyes and gave a frustrated sigh. They had all been coached in what was what in the medicine cabinet, as well as how to administer each item. He didn't like being patronized.

When he returned, he rolled Don's swivel chair from his desk to the front of the bed and sat in it, the tetanus vial clamped between his two fingers and the anesthesia between his forefinger and thumb. In his other hand he held a sterilized syringe. "Okay, pick yer poison, Donnie. Which shot first?"

"You are not giving me a shot," Don said flatly, studying the manner in which his brother held the vials. "I can take care of this."

There it was again. The familiar burn of anger flared up in Raph's gut. He took a slow breath, vision narrowing as his eyes did the same. "Don't patronize me, Donnie. I can do this."

"I know, Raph, but I'd really prefer to do this myself."

"Why?" It was a challenge. Raph couldn't wait to see how his brother would justify this.

"I'm just more comfortable with doing it myself, Raph. It has nothing to do with you." Don's eye ridges had settled low over his eyes, his tense shoulder muscles indicating frustration.

Raph tossed the vials at him with enough force to show that he was angry, but gently enough to ensure that they wouldn't break. "Go ahead," he spat, "but I ain't stayin'. I got better things to do than watch ya knot yourself into a pretzel tryin'a get that thing outta yer foot." He stood up and began to walk out of the room. This sort of thing worked on Don sometimes, more so than Leo, who usually saw right through it. Although not usually known for subtlety, Raph knew how to manipulate. Sometimes the only way to get Don to cooperate was to play his own game.

Right on cue, Don heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Raph..."

Raph paused, but did not look back.

There was a moment of hesitation before Don mumbled, "I could use your help with this."

Raph cast a venomous glare back at his brother. "Really," he sneered.

"Yes, really." Don looked hassled, but rather pitiful.

Turning back to face his ailing sibling, Raph folded his arms and leaned against the closed door. "You're not just sayin' it 'cause I made a scene?" His words were not a slip—he had chosen them deliberately to make Don relax.

It worked. Don suddenly started to laugh. His quiet chuckles created the severe temptation to smile, but Raph held his ground. "No," Don said finally, "I could really use your help."

After a moment of determining his brother's sincerity—which was pretty low, but acceptable—Raph unfolded his arms and walked back to the bed. Easing back into the swivel chair, he twirled the syringe in his fingers as though it were one of his sais. "So what'll it be?"

"First thing would be to get the glass out, I suppose," Don said with a grimace. "It hurts like you wouldn't believe." He lifted his injured left foot and rested the heel gingerly on Raph's knee.

Raph was busy with the vial of anesthesia. "Might hafta cut into your foot a bit to get it out," he warned him.

"I know. That's what the anesthesia is for."

After filling the syringe with the anesthesia, Raph flicked it to ensure that all air bubbles had made their way harmlessly to the top. Lifting his brother's foot gently with his left hand, he brought the syringe to the sole.

"Wait."

Raph looked up. "What?"

"You need to clean the area before administering the anesthesia."

"Your room's a disaster area, Donnie. We ain't got time."

"With rubbing alcohol," Don elaborated, indicating his foot.

The memory snapped into Raph's brain. "That's right. Be right back." Carefully setting his brother's foot on the swivel chair as he got up, he jogged to the bathroom.

Rubbing alcohol, rubbing alcohol...nowhere. Hydrogen peroxide? Nope. Iodine! That would work. He grabbed the bottle and a bag of cotton balls before returning to the bedroom, where Don was waiting anxiously, the pain of the injury obviously causing him some distress.

Raph took his place on the swivel chair again, setting the injured foot on his knee. "Okay," he said, pressing a cotton ball to the open bottle of iodine and tipping it. "We're doin' good." He gently rubbed the cotton ball against the sole of his brother's foot.

A hiss of pain arose from the injured turtle and his foot jerked, missing the physician's hand and making fierce contact with his chin. Raph's teeth came down on his own tongue. He swore, set the iodine down, and seized Don's ankle with his left hand, forcing the spasming leg downward. The taste of blood tainted his mouth from his bitten tongue and he aggressively attacked Don's foot with his bit of cotton, spreading dark iodine around the injury. Various sounds of pain emerged from his resisting brother.

After he finished administering the antiseptic, Raph set the foot back down on his knee and spat blood. "Just so ya know," he growled, reaching for the syringe, "this might hurt."

Leo stared at the ice cream.

It was melting.

It was very sugary.

Mikey, however, was watching him anxiously from the other side of the table, waiting to see if his brother would enjoy the sundae with as much gusto as Mikey had imagined while making it for him.

No pressure, though.

Leo stared at the ice cream.

He resisted the urge to hold his nose.

Instead, he shoveled a quick bite into his mouth and swallowed.

Sugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugar...

"Mmm," he faked, scooping more of the ice cream into his spoon. "'T's great," he added in a half-choke.

Mikey smiled wistfully. "You don't have to eat the rest," he said softly.

"No, I love it, it's great." He forced the spoon into his mouth again.

Sugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugar—

"No, really, Leo, it's okay, I understand." Mikey sighed, eyes trailing off, chin propped in his hands like a little lost child.

Leo stirred the remaining ice cream together idly. "I'm sorry, Mikey, I know you want to help, but I'm not a big fan of sweets."

Mikey harrumphed. "You could have said so."

"You know I don't like sweets."

"You eat ice cream."

"I eat ice cream I dish up for myself, Mike."

"You massage yourself."

"It's different."

"Well," Mikey said slowly, "might you clue me in on something that would help?"

Leo shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I just...didn't sleep well, is all." There was a pause. Leo was afraid of the pause. It meant Mikey was up to something else.

Sure enough. "You like baths?"

"Yes," Leo said slowly, "I like baths. Know what else I like?"

"What?"

"Movies."

Mikey grinned. "Whatcha got in mind?"

Leo pondered. A slow grin spread over his face. "How about we see what's showing?"

Mikey brightened immediately and shot to his feet, dashing for the phone. Leo chuckled and stretched. His headache was already ebbing, actually, but if Mikey wanted to help, Leo would rather humor him than watch him torture himself. He watched as his little brother dialed the number for the theater they normally went to and scribbled down notes on the palm of his hand with a pen as he listened to the automated message. Mikey's enthusiasm for helping was actually something Leo truly admired about his brother. He didn't seem content until he'd made someone's day.

The younger turtle tumbled back to the table and plopped into his seat, reading the scribbles that trailed from his palm down his forearm like they were spilling out of his hand. "Okay, we got Nature's Call at eight-thirty-five, Clear As Mud at eight-forty-five, Attack of the Killer Tomatoes at nine, and Stephanie's Letters at nine. Whaddyou think? Clear As Mud's supposed to be pretty funny."

Leo studied the writing on Mikey's forearm. "Didn't they make Attack of the Killer Tomatoes years ago?"

"Yeah, this's a remake."

"They remade that movie?"

"I just said that."

"I mean, that movie was worth remaking?"

"It's a classic bad movie, bro! Doesn't get much better, or badder, than the Killer Tomatoes!"

Leo paused, eyes turning aside to think. He wasn't much of a watcher of bad movies himself, but Mikey seemed pretty psyched about it. "Then...let's go for it."

For once in his life, Leo had the pleasure of seeing Mikey truly stunned speechless. His mouth opened and closed, then opened and stayed that way as an enormous grin was slathered over his face. "Dude," he said finally, "you are so cool!"

Don poked at his calf. "This is great, Raph. I can't feel half my leg."

"I ain't a surgeon, Donnie."

"Anesthesiologist."

"Huh?" Raph peered up at him from behind Don's foot, which was propped up on the edge of the bathtub as Don sat on the toilet. Raph was kneeling on the floor of the tub with a pair of hefty tweezers. They had moved into the bathroom because of the amount of blood needing to be rinsed periodically from the injured foot.

"Anesthesiologist," Don repeated.

"Stop correcting me. You know what I mean."

"Raph, the purpose of language is communication."

"Yeah, and you knew what I meant, so shut it." Raph leaned in and looked like he was working. Don couldn't see what he was doing, and sat up straight to try to get a better look.

"Stop movin'."

Don sighed and relaxed again. "Could you set a mirror up so I can see?"

"Donnie, you ain't more experienced at this than I am, so just sit back and let me do my thing or I might get upset."

Don didn't miss the meaning he placed on the word "upset." "Fine." Silence fell. After a moment, he got impatient again. He couldn't feel anything, couldn't see anything, and he really, really hoped Raph was being careful not to destroy anything he didn't have to, and was getting all the shards out. If a sliver of glass was left in Don's foot, Don wouldn't know about it until after the anesthesia wore off and he could feel it. "Make sure you get it all out."

"I'm workin' on it. Trust me, if there's anything in there, it'll come out." Raph tore his eye mask off and threw it to the floor with a sharp release of breath before leaning in again with a look of intense concentration.

Well, without his mask, he would see better, so Don tried to relax.

Time passed.

Silence.

The ticking of the clock was getting annoying.

Oh gosh, he was bored.

He was bored.

Had he ever been so bored?

What was Raph doing?

"Siddown," snarled Raph as Don inched upward to see what his brother was doing. "I'm almost done."

Silence again.

Time passed.

"Okay, I got it," Raph said carefully, then swore.

Don felt the upper half of his leg move and peered down at his foot. Raph was scrambling to wrap a towel around the appendage.

It was bleeding.

Like crazy.

Don's heart jumped. This had been the sort of thing he'd been afraid of. "Just apply pressure, Raph," he said, trying to stay calm.

"I know, genius." Raph squeezed the foot hard. Very hard. Don didn't hear any bones breaking, which he took to be a good sign. "I'll take care of it. How ya feelin'?"

"Okay so far."

"Well, tell me if ya get dizzy or faint."

"How will I be able to tell you if I faint?"

"Use your freakin' head! Geez, Donnie."

"I'm waiting."

"Don't be such a smartass. You know what I mean, and I know for a fact that I did just fine with the King's English."

Don sighed. "Is it slowing down?"

"Give it a minute, Donnie."

Don gave it a minute. By the clock.

"Is it slowing?"

"Don't be so literal. Y'know, you can be a real pain sometimes. Is this about me not letting you do this yourself?"

Don didn't reply. He didn't really know the answer, but he knew that he was still feeling very, very stupid for letting this happen.

Raph gave a frustrated sigh. "Donnie, I know you think you're the only one that can do stuff worth crap around here, but ya gotta trust me. I don't want ya ta walk with a limp for the rest a' your life or nothin'."

"Or anything," Don corrected him.

Raph's eyes flashed. He looked up at his brother. "An' ya don't have to be a million times better than everyone at everything, either"

Don gave a sharp laugh. "Which proves how little you know me." It hurt to admit. Don knew he was a genius. Raph was right in assuming that he didn't like the feeling of being threatened intellectually. "I just..." He sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. "Gosh, I feel so stupid." He sat back against the back of the toilet.

"Don't mope, Don. Me an' Mikey got the rights ta that. You wanna mope, you gotta get our permission an' pay royalties." This was a Raph-joke, which meant that he said this with a slight twist to his mouth that wasn't a true smile, and a little lightness to his eyes that wasn't at all a twinkle. His tone was wry, and he looked Don straight in the eyes. Most people would describe it as deadpan, but the twist and the light made a world's difference if one caught them in the first place.

A small smile crept across Don's face. This made Raph smile back a little. "Tell ya what," Raph said conversationally. "For every time you do somethin' stupid and I don't, I pay you a million dollars."

Don's smile broadened, and he felt a little tension release. "I'm rich, I'm rich!" he teased him.

Raph raised his eye ridges. "Not this time, freak show. This is the first stupid thing you've done in how long? And how many stupid things have I done since last time you did somethin' stupid?"

"Touché." Don chuckled a little. He hesitated, smile fading slowly, knowing what he must say next. Come on, got to say it some time. "Thanks for helping, it's just...it seems like I should be able to do this on my own." It was simple honesty, in the form of a plea for help. Advice. From Raph. That was two stupid things he'd done tonight.

"Nah, you're fine with me," said Raph, becoming oddly congenial. "I won't tell anyone about the real 'foot' problem."

Don laughed. "Clever, by the way."

"Ya think so?" Raph brightened in a way that Don almost never saw on him.

"Yeah. Worthy of Mikey, really."

"Well, I dunno about you, but my life just got meanin'."

Mikey was a happy turtle. In fact, if they made a commercial about turtle happiness, he would be in it. They simply didn't make turtles happier than Mikey. You see, the only thing that could possibly make a turtle as happy as Mikey is if one took him to a showing of a remake of Attack of the Killer Tomatoes and bought him all the snacks he wanted, including nachos and those little cookie dough bites. He and Leo were in the sewers, walking back home and sipping on their drinks (the free refills of which also made Mikey very happy). Yes, life was good in the Mikeish Empire of Mikeland.

In fact, the only thing that was not good was Leo's conversation about the movie.

"It was just so..." Leo paused, eyes almost crossing with incredulity. "It was...I mean, it was killer tomatoes, Mikey. Enough said. Killer tomatoes."

"Dude," Mikey interjected, "that's exactly it. It was a bad movie. A horrible movie. On such a level of suck that it was awesome. It takes a truly ingenious mind to reach that plain, that tier reserved for the truly great bad movies."

Leo shook his head. "Okay, educate me, Mikey. What am I supposed to think of it?"

"Well, for one thing, you're supposed to appreciate the gratuitous voluptuousness of the heroine's fake breasts and the low-cut top that almost made them pop out any time she did anything." Mikey raised his eye ridges and nodded for Leo to take a turn.

The older turtle laughed. "Well, I...I don't usually think of that kind of thing as a good thing, Mikey."

"'Bout time you started, then. Revel in the dumbness that creates such beauty in the eye of the beholder."

Leo, still grinning, took a deep breath, his eyes sliding shut. "Okay. Um...the pointless explosion at the end."

"YES!" Mikey shrieked, his chest swelling with pride. "Perfect! That was exactly what I was hoping for!" He sniffed, crumpling his face into mock grief. "My li'l baby's all grown up!"

That earned him a thump on the arm. "Stop it, I like explosions in movies," Leo insisted, his smile turning slightly embarrassed.

"You don't ever show it." It was true. No matter how much Mikey, Don, and Raph celebrated a gratuitous explosion, Leo only seemed to be smiling patiently.

"It's silent. Mikey, while you're whooping and cheering when the mothership blows up in Independence Day, in my mind, I'm going..." his eyes half-shuttered and his hands tightened into fists that punched the air "...Hyesssssss."

"Really?" Mikey was beaming, eyes wide as saucers and shining like spotlights. "Dude, you are way more awesome than I thought."

"You think so?" Leo's eyes were sparkling.

It was then that Mikey suddenly felt like he understood his brother a little more. Being a younger kind of sibling, he knew what it was like to want a sibling's approval. Every younger sibling would give their left arm for their older sibling's respect. Heck, that was half of why Raph kept fighting with Leo, even though Leo didn't know it. It was universal. But he hadn't thought about older siblings wanting their younger siblings to admire them. He had just made this happen for Leo, and the idea of bringing that to someone made some cold, abandoned campfire in his chest burst into flame. Eyes twinkling, he responded jokingly. "Y'know, Leo, I can practically see your head swelling."

"Don't worry, it's too thick to pop."

"I wouldn't count on it."

"Ooh!" Leo shot him a look of mock indignation. "Y'know what else I like, Mikey?"

"What?"

"Mel Brooks."

"Whatcha got in mind?"

"Men in Tights."

"Call the locksmith!"

"There ya go," said Raph, wiping iodine over Don's arm after administering the tetanus vaccine. "You're done."

Don rubbed his calf. "I think I'm getting a little feeling back in my leg."

"Might wanna get some Tylenol or somethin' before it wears off," Raph advised, standing up and stepping over to the sink to wash his hands. He turned the water on and pumped soap into his hand. "Y'know," he ventured as he worked the soap over his hands, "you doin' somethin' stupid really makes guys like me feel a lot better about ourselves."

Don gave a little chuckle. "'Cause smart people mess up, too?"

Raph thrust his hands under the water. It flowed over his skin, carrying with it bubbles of soap like tiny rafters. "Yeah. We don't feel so dumb anymore."

"You're not dumb, Raph," Don said as if a little annoyed.

Raph turned off the water and stared down at his hands. He could feel his muscles tense, his heartbeat accelerate fractionally as Don's words hit a sensitive nerve. He snorted. "Quit it, Donnie."

"You quit it, Raph," persisted Don, voice settling into a the relaxed tone he used for lecturing, the tempo of his words picking up much like that of Raph's heartbeat. "I don't want to hear about your personal insecurities or either of your supposed complexes: martyrdom or inferiority. You patched up my foot better than I could have done it. You have shown far more intelligence in the span of this evening than I have."

His words were getting bigger. That meant he was annoyed and exasperated. Raph yanked the hand towel from its ring and violently dried his hands, agitated. "Cut the crap, Donnie. You made one dumb mistake. No way it can compare with all the dumb mistakes I've made."

"Like what?" As Raph glanced behind him, his brother tilted his head, eyes shining with irritation. "I'm waiting, Raph. Tell me about the fatally stupid mistakes you've made in your life."

"I..." Raph didn't know what to say. He knew he wanted to blow up, or hit something, but could do neither. He was in the bathroom, and there was nothing upon which he could release his building anger that wouldn't damage easily, including his brother. The only thing he could do to relieve the pressure building in his chest was to tell his brother the truth. "It's not the mistakes I've made," he burst out, turning back to the sink and leaning against it with his hands. If he was going to say this, he couldn't look at Don while he did it. He couldn't believe he was going to say it at all.

"Yes?" Don ventured after a moment of silence.

"It's..." Sharp exhalation. It was nerve-wracking, saying this out loud. "It's not the mistakes I've made," he said again. Then, more hushed, head dropping a little, "It's the mistakes I'm still making." He held his breath and closed his eyes, awaiting Don's reaction. He knew Don understood what he meant. He'd seen it from the other side. The fights, with Leo and with himself, trying to wrest himself away from his family and secure his own identity before he lost himself in the shadow of his brother's wings. The nightly ventures for freedom, ending in wounds both physical and emotional that he couldn't explain nor tried to. The anger, overreacting without knowing why, and hating it, but never truly able to convince himself that it wasn't his fault. Raphael didn't always like himself very much. But it was only in these moments, these rare times when he could see himself from the outside, that he could admit to himself that there was a problem, and that it lay with him.

He expected some sort of reply, but none came. Silence filled Raph's ears, deafening him for three heartbeats before he turned his head a little, viewing his brother through his peripheral vision. Don wasn't moving. He was watching Raph, waiting to see if his brother had anything else to say, but not offering words of condemnation or denial. A lump formed in Raph's throat. As he turned more, his eyes swerved to meet Don's. They were open and nonjudgmental, wide and understanding, almost afraid, perhaps of driving him away after bringing him so close. But the turtle staring back at Raph didn't speak, and his refusal to speak wasn't the sort that spoke volumes nonetheless. It was a simple, silent, I'm here. It was the only thing he could have done that wouldn't have driven Raph to leave the room, and it was far more than Raph felt deserving of.

The lump in Raph's throat hurt. He swallowed, which didn't lessen the pain, and blinked away threatening tears. "You ready to get up?" he choked, then cleared his throat, embarrassed.

Don nodded slowly. "Sure." He swung his foot from the rim of the tub to the floor and supported some of his weight on his hands, ready to push up. Raph took a deep breath and forced himself away from the sink. He took his brother's arm, helping him slowly come to his feet. Once Don was upright, he tucked his arm under his shoulders, supporting him as he took a careful step, using only the toes of his injured foot and limping badly.

The purple-masked turtle swayed a little, and Raph tightened his arm around him. "Easy. Let's make it to the kitchen an' get you somethin' ta eat."

He helped his lightheaded brother hobble to the kitchen. Upon arriving, he noted one of Mikey's creations abandoned on the table: one of his "famous" Hot Fudge Whatever Brownie Crap sundaes, by the look of it. It was clearly in the last stages of its life, the ice cream melted piteously into a puddle of brown foam, an island of brownie peeking out from the center. He grinned. "Ya need blood sugar?" he asked as he helped Don to a seat. "That'll give ya blood sugar."

Don eyed the ice cream. "It'll give me type two diabetes, that's what it'll give me."

Raph chuckled and nabbed the edge of the bowl with his fingertips, sliding it across the table in an arc to rest before his injured sibling. "Eat up. If you're gonna get diabetes, may as well make it happen with one-a Mikey's sundaes." He ventured to the fridge. "Whaddya wanna drink?" he asked, opening the refrigerator door and grabbing a can of Dr. Pepper.

He heard the clink of a spoon against porcelain. "Sprite," Don said through a mouthful of brownie and melted ice cream. A slurp sounded as his brother sucked a straying drop back into his mouth.

"Cool. I'll make popcorn, how's that sound?"

"Forget the popcorn. I'm all for the real stuff."

"Perfect. Doritos it is." Raph opened a cupboard and scoured it.

"We got any leftover pizza?"

"Sure. Pepperoni or ham 'n' pineapple?"

"Ham and pineapple, definitely."

"Ugh. Freak."

"Bonehead."

"Retard."

"Hussy."

Raph's eyes widened in shock, not quite believing what he'd heard Don say. He whirled to face his brother. Don was smiling at him, eyes shining. After a moment of speechlessness, a smile spread across the red-masked turtle's face. "Good one. Been keepin' it in reserve, have ya?"

Don only grinned.

Raph snorted. "Jackass."

Author's Notes: My recent migraine troubles inspired the Leo story, and I wanted someone besides Don to do something involving medicine. Also, anyone with older siblings knows how to manipulate people, even if, like Raph, they typically aren't known for subtlety. Remember to review!