A/N: So, I've not written in a long time. It's been even longer since I've posted anywhere, but I thought for my favorite childhood fandom, I might as well give it a whirl. This accidentally got posted earlier without these notes, so this is the second posting—I apologize for the repeat. This started as a little writing exercise to get the brain working again, because I know even the most hard-nosed of oldest siblings can't be pains in the butt all the time—I'm sure once and a while Leo, like any older brother, would take one for Raph if he knew Splinter would rip him a serious new one. I hope that came across.
It's choppy and doesn't flow too well, that I know, but I was too tired to read it again. It may very well be boring too. If anyone has any constructive tips on how to improve either, I'd really appreciate it. Thanks, loves.
He was hungry, tired, and cold. The back of his head ached dully from the gangster's punch he'd sensed just a moment too late, a pain that traveled through his skull and throbbed at the back of his eyeballs. As he'd been ballsy enough to pick a fight with half a dozen Purple Dragons alone, escaping with little more than a minor headache was the least he could ask for. His feet felt like lead as he trudged through the sludge of the sewer toward their secret home. A sewer grate opened to the street above him, showing a Hunter's moon waning behind a dilapidated apartment building to the west. In the east, the first pale vestiges of sunrise tickled the edge of the sky. It was extremely late. Or very early…however you wanted to look at it.
He knelt on the floor of his master's room. The rat's ears were relaxed, his expression mild, but the barely visible twitch of his whiskers told the young turtle that their Sensei was less than pleased.
"Do you have an explanation for your actions?" Splinter asked calmly. The rat let the question hang in the air between them, growing heavier with each passing second. The student shifted nervously.
"Must I ask again?"
"No, Father," he answered, through barely gritted teeth. "No excuse."
He tried to shake away the headache as he hung a left at the next sewer tunnel, wiping a trickle of coppery liquid from the edge of his mouth. How late was it? Hunger pains gnawed at his stomach. Maybe he could get away with microwaving a couple of slices left over from dinner…that is, if Mikey hadn't polished off the last five. The microwave timer was loud, too—any other night he could've played it off as a midnight snack, but he looked as if he'd been through the ringer. Somehow, he didn't think he could convince Splinter he'd gotten out of bed bleeding, concussed and covered in alley slime.
His father circled around the room at a leisurely pace, the breeze created by his crimson robes causing the room's dozen candles to flicker. "Your loyalty and fierce desire to protect your brothers is commendable, my son. These are admirable qualities, something I have told you many, many times. But in order to be more helpful than harmful, they must be tempered with tranquility, patience, and…common sense."
He could feel his temper flaring, deep within his chest. "But I—"
"No excuses, my son!" Sensei's voice was quiet, yet stony, and he knew better than to argue with that tone, though every fiber of his being longed to rebel. "You and your brothers grow older with each passing day. You must learn to rein your anger, before the consequences become too severe for any of our family to handle. You will remain at home and meditate on this while you brothers train these next three days."
And just like that, his anger burst like the film of a bubble. "What? You—you can't do that!" He wasn't like his brothers. He couldn't be trapped down here, held like an animal in a cage—he, he would die. He had to roam. He had to be free. "Master, I can't—"
"Enough, Raphael!" Splinter's words were firm, cutting through his rage like hot steel through butter. He stood there, fists clenched, mind fuming, as his Sensei eyed him shrewdly. His gaze softened after a moment, filling with an unnamed emotion—was it sadness? Pity?
"Go, my son. We will begin our meditation later."
Raphael had always been one to skirt rules and flaunt his contempt of regulations. He respected his Sensei more than any other being he knew, and almost never resented him—as he didn't now. Splinter understood each of his sons in different ways, respecting their strengths, encouraging them to identify and confront their weaknesses. In order to be a swift, invisible, and deadly team, he and his brothers must be highly disciplined and constantly vigilant. Their father could not let him go unpunished for what he believed was an act that had put them all in danger. Raphael understood this. He also understood his own desperate need for space, for distance. Some people constantly longed for companionship; at times, he needed to be companionless, wandering alone, away from his brothers and father. Pummeling gangsters, picking fights, feeling the grit of the New York rooftops beneath his feet. At times, these were the only things that effectively channeled his rage. There were very few things that Hamato Raphael couldn't do. Being caged was one of them.
He slammed the shoji screen to his father's private quarters, not even bothering to sensor the string of curses he spat as he left. His head spun, thoughts clouded with anger. He'd been stuck down here before, when he was sick or injured, but each time the experience had been nearly unbearable. He needed to move, to wander, or he would go insane.
"Well?"
He stopped, whirling like a mad bull. Leo was leaning up against the wall, watching his younger brother with eyes dark and arms crossed. Look at him, so smug, so sanctimonious…this was his fault. It was as if Leo LIVED to get him into trouble.
The oldest turtle's gaze was strangely unreadable, but something in it was strongly reminiscent of sympathy and sadness he'd sensed from his Sensei. Instead of taking solace in this, it only served to fuel his anger.
"I didn't mean for it to happen this way, Raph," Leo said softly. "I didn't want to get you into trouble."
He stormed past his older brother, sure that his gaze was sharp enough to kill.
"Fuck off, Leo."
He grimaced as the lair's stone door slid open, the low grinding sound echoing loudly in the cavernous front room. Sharp amber eyes darted toward the kitchen, the dojo, over the couches, and then the entrance to the lab; nothing stirred, and the only light came from the warm yellow bulb over the oven, the one they left on at all times to prevent people from tripping over things in the dark. Behind his paper screen, their father's room was dark.
"Home free," he muttered under his breath, shrugging out of his trench coat and heading toward the kitchen. An empty pizza box stuck out of the top of the over-stuffed trash can; guess he was making himself a sandwich. Snatching peanut butter and jelly from the cupboard, bread from atop the fridge, his stomach rumbled as he dumped the ingredients on the counter. Maybe he should add bananas, too; yeah.
"Raph?"
He froze midway through banana peeling, his fingers going numb. Shit. He knew that voice.
Behind him, Leonardo hovered at the edge of the darkness beyond the glow of the oven light, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. His eyes took in Raphael's bruises, the cut near his cheek, the overall air of guilt surrounding him; his look of mild surprise told Raph that he was awake by chance, unable to sleep, and hadn't purposely waited up for his brother. It didn't change the fact, however, that now Leo knew he had left the lair against Splinter's direct orders. Anger suddenly surged within him, accompanied by a tiny pang of panic, which he despised. Their father would find out; he'd be confined to the lair for weeks now, not days; Splinter would watch him like a hawk, making it impossible for him to get away. He would be trapped.
Leo stood staring at him stupidly, his mouth slightly open. Raphael could see the cogs working behind his eyes. He steeled himself for the blow, for the inevitable lecture and fetching of their sensei-damn Leo and his stupid, cat-like stealth. Damn his unbelievable ability to walk in at the most inconvenient time and make Raph's life a living hell. He would never understand him; never comprehend how impossible it was for him to be caged.
His older brother blinked, closed his mouth, switched his tea mug from his right hand to his left. Then he broke their gaze and nonchalantly walked right past Raph, going to the kettle on the stove.
"I suggest avoiding Splinter tomorrow before we begin sparring," he said quietly, pouring steaming water into his mug. "Otherwise, he'll notice that those aren't from practice."
His anger vanished in an instant, replaced with unabashed shock. "What?"
The blue-clad turtle slipped past him without a word, blowing lightly on his steaming mug. Then, "Make sure you put all that stuff away. And wrap the bread well; it gets stale if you leave it open." And then he disappeared up the stairs, leaving Raph struck dumb in the kitchen. He'd been given a pass, a pardon. A reprieve.
Perhaps Leonardo understood him better than he thought.
Short and sweet, and incomplete. Criticize away, por favor.