Italics are flashbacks
Bold is thought
Warnings: Blood, Gore, Language. Mentions of Mikey/Leo
Disclaimer: See CH 1
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In the lair, things were not as dark as they were on the street. The bright electric light in the dojo seemed to be almost too bright as Raphael punched the worn canvas of his punching bag. With every punch he gave to the bag, he could see his brother's horrified face. His horrified face that had come with what Raphael had spoken to the youngest turtle. Giving a savage growl, fist connected to canvas as the red-cladded turtle yelled loud enough to wake the dead. The punching bag swayed dangerously, forcing the tired, sweating turtle to grab it in order to stop the swinging. While he had been "training", Raphael thought that their lair was silent, but he was wrong. Now that the fierce pounding of his heart had stopped, he heard the television blaring out the news to no one in particular. His sais on his belt was colder then the next few thoughts that came into his head. Mikey must have left it on before he left, Raphael thought to himself, turning around to face the door out of the dojo. The orange turtle almost never left the TV on; he always turned it off! Raphael suddenly wanted to just leave the lair for a bit, maybe fight a few people with Casey. However, the blue wearing turtle standing in the middle of the doorway seemed intent on stopping him. This wouldn't keep Raphael from trying to push past him, though. He was always the stubborn one.
"What are you doing here? Come to give me another one of your god damn lectures for the fifty millionth time?" Raphael asked angrily as he strode over to the doorway and attempted to push past the older turtle.
"No, just to get some answers. What happened?" Leonardo asked, his voice cold yet concerned for Mikey and Raph. Those two were the closest amongst the brothers; it was very unusual for them to get seriously angry at one another.
"Not your buisness, Splinter Junior," Raphael bit back as he glared daggers at his brother for being so curious.
"How is it not my business, Raph? Mikey RAN from the lair, CRYING. He's my brother too believe it or not!" Leonardo shot back with the same angry tone that laced Raphael's voice.
"He'll get over it!" Raphael replied coldly. He bit his lower lip as he realized how cold his words actually were and looked down.
Leonardo did not move, though his eyes indicated he was shocked. He's never heard me like that before, well…at least when it came to topics involved with Don or Mikey, Raph thought to himself. Giving a small curse word to himself, he pushed past his older brother and moved into the main lair. All he needed was some punks to beat up with Casey and a beer to pass the time. Raphael convinced himself that Mikey would probably think it was a prank and return home after letting off a bit of his emotions as he went over to the coat stand. The coat stand was right next to the door and held an assortment of trench coats and brown fedora hats. After a while, almost all the turtles knew instinctively which one was theirs. Mikey's usually was crumpled on the ground carelessly, for instance, while Leo's was always too perfectly on the rack. If Raphael had not been so keen on leaving, he would have laughed at that thought. Leo's forceful orders to stay at home were unheard by the red-cladded turtle as he grabbed the torn-up trench coat and dirty fedora hat that belonged to him. Raphael put on the coat and opened the door to the sewer, stepping through with an angry sigh as he started to walk over to where the nearest manhole was. The sooner he was in a fight, the better.
As it turned out, it took a shorter amount of time then it usual did to reach Casey's place. It was only twenty minutes or so after his blowup with Leo that he was laughing with the vigilante. The smell and taste of beer was like an exotic candy to Raphael as he soaked all of it in. He had been introduced to beer accidentally when he was twelve because he had seen some kids his age do it. Raphael had seen them do many other things, many illegal things, but he could not imitate them except in one field – drinking. His early binges had had a negative effect on the young turtle, making him sloppy in fighting. The binge drinking had made him so sloppy that Don had forced the freedom loving turtle to stay in the lair because the smart turtle had thought he was sick. After his "discharge", Raphael had majorly curtailed his drinking. He actually had been on the verge of stopping his drinking habit forever before Casey came in with his cheap liquor. Now he was sitting in Casey's apartment, drinking himself nearly to death in an attempt to forget what had happened only a few hours prior.
"Hey Case, what do you do if you tell some one something really, really bad?" Raphael asked, looking over at his drunken friend as he took a swallow of beer.
"Apologize, idiot. Surely it can't be bad enough for a "sorry" not to fix it," Casey replied with a belch that made Raphael laugh.
"I'm shit well above "sorry", moron," Raphael replied with laughter still ringing in the air.
"I'M the moron? You said something, not me," Casey did not hesitate to bite back, dropping the beer bottle to the hardwood floor.
Beer splashed onto the hardwood floor and over his sais on the junkie coffee table in front of him, and Raphael knew this was the reason why the floors and furniture were always sticky. They did not clean up at all, especially when it came to spilt beer. The hotheaded turtle gave a groan, putting his own beer bottle on the table as he watched the television. He remembered it was hockey night, and Casey's favorite team just happened to be winning. Raphael winced when Casey jumped off of the sofa and began cursing at the losing team for scoring a goal. He was not in the mood for hockey right now, and definitely not in the mood for Casey's whack job advice. Even though it was pretty dark, the turtle could see the grayish walls that plagued the apartment. God does this guy need some sort of interior decorator, Raphael thought to himself with a small internal snicker. He admired the guy for his fighting skills, but for nothing else- including his sense of style. Raphael stood up off of the stained, dark tan couch and turned towards his friend.
"Well, heading out to get a lecture from Mr. Fearless Leader himself," Raph sighed, annoyed half to death. He knew he was going to get it once he got home, especially if Mikey wasn't there.
"Eh, gotta listen to the music one of these days," Casey shrugged with a hidden chuckle underneath those eyes.
"God, you're going to be telling me to obey his every word next," Raph snarled lightheartedly.
Raphael laughed, turning towards the door and heading on outside. The bright yellow walls of the dingy apartment complex made him glad that he was living in a home for free. Raphael knew that if he was a human, he might have had to live in a place like this. Raphael's thoughts did not linger on this, though, as he moved silently, avoiding everyone in the building. It was suprising that they had never noticed him because a walking, talking mutated turtle was not exactly normal. Then again, these people had probably seen the many alien invasions and just thought that the turtle was a nutzo pretending to be an alien. It reminded him of the fact that gang people, and even normal ones, usually thought that he and his brothers were wearing turtle costumes. Speaking of people to beat up, he wished that he had had enough time to go and maybe fight a few purple dragons, but he was getting the itching feeling that something was wrong. He exited the complex with a sigh, going into the shadows and heading towards an alleyway around two blocks from Casey's house. It was where the nearest manhole was. Raphael was in such a hurry to go that he forgot his sais on the table back at Casey's place. His weapons were not even on his mind as he hurried down a dark alleyway only a block or two from his friend's apartment. Raphael was getting that natural instinct to run anywhere but this alleyway. This sense was only heightened once he smelled blood. The scent of the stuff did not disgust him at all, however, because he had smelled it so many times on the battlefield. It was surprising that he had caught the scent at all because the turtle was so used to it. Raphael walked deeper into the alleyway, despite his natural instinct shrieking at him, like a person yelling at a character on the television, to run away. Curiosity had grabbed his mind though, and he continued on, getting a bit more anxious at every step.
Raphael could not help a gasp of air that left his lips as he saw a very familiar pair of nunchakus, nunchakus that were covered in crispy red blood. Mikey…! Raphael thought when he ran, dropped to his knees, and grabbed the cherished weapons with shaky hands as he looked around in a circle for a body. There was no one there, and as well as not even one clue to point that there was a body there, alive or dead. The same thought repeated in his head as he gave an audible moan, worry coming to the surface. Anger started to surface too, a type of possessive anger that had also grabbed him when Leonardo had been hurt by the Shredder. Part of him wanted to try and figure out what had happened to Mikey on his own, while the other part wanted to see if his brothers could help. If he had been younger, Raph might have gone with the second choice, but he was older now…more experienced. Feeling nauseous, the turtle got to his feet with hatred burning inside of him like a wildfire. A hatred of anyone who would hurt his youngest brother and his best friend. The mutant turtle ran for the nearest manhole on the alleyway opposite this one while he jumped from shadow to shadow like a cat. He clutched his brother's nunchakus in his arms as if his brother's very life depending on holding those weapons. Raphael was nearly about to jump into the open manhole when he felt a shiver go down his spine. Someone was following him, someone in the shadows. Raphael reached for his sais, but did not feel them in his belt. Damn! He thought angrily, and clenched his hands into fists, waiting for a fight. A fight did not come, though, only blinding pain in his head, and the tangy smell of his own blood.
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