Raphael - tense, angry and beyond clear rational thought - a hand curled into a fist as bright pink paint drips down the curve of his beak.
Mike - young, naive, and unwilling to fight back in order to prevent unintentional injury - eyes wide in a mixture of shock and fear.
It's clear to see that Raphael is still wound up from our earlier argument. I can see the pulse at his neck as it heaves in tune with his heart just as well as I can spy the sweat beading down his temple. Mikey is caught in the corner with a stray water balloon held loosely in his fingers; his free hand idly scratching at the back of his neck. These small clues are all it takes for me to understand how everything played out.
Mike never enjoys seeing either of his brothers in distress; whether it be physical or emotional. All he wants is to hear Raph laugh; to see the glint of humor and mischief in his eyes again. So he does what he does best - be Mikey. Yet Raph is on too short of a fuse to understand that our little brother only wants to help; to calm the raging storm and restore the balance. Raphael is blinded by his anger; all he sees is red and all he will do is react on instinct. Raph has the potential to explode and destroy everything around him; including himself.
In a matter of seconds I wedge myself between the two; slamming a fist against Raph's chest and raising my free arm in a basic block. My hand hums from the force it undertakes as I swiftly catch Raph's punch and expertly twist his arm behind his back. My own arm aches from the force of Raph's throw, yet I remain firm and unforgiving with my grip.
"Watch yourself Raphael. A temper out of hand, is a flaw exposed," I murmur low in his ear before loosening my hold on him. He whips himself around in a huff - an argument at the tip of his tongue and a fire alight in his eyes - then freezes at what he sees. I turn around to find Mike with his head between his knees and his hands over the top of his head; the balloon forgotten at his feet.
Preventing Raph from approaching the youngest, I crouch down before him and brush my hand over Mikey's knuckles. He jerks his head up in response and it pains me to see it in Michelangelo's eyes - the simple fact that he now understands even those close to you have the potential to be cruel.
Darkness...
Complete... and utter... darkness...
Not a single sound to be heard...
Neither is there a single light to be seen...
Yet there is a hint of warmth...
The scent of grease and black coffee...
A sensation of safety...
familiarity...
tenderness...
Donnie's hand hovers over my Ore; hesitant as he debates over whether what he is going to do is a good idea. His eyes shift around in slight nervousness, his fingers flex in a beat of anxious preparation and his breathes come out in shallow spurts. Otherwise he remains almost lifeless.
"Don," I lightly touch the back of his fingers, "what's wrong?"
His brown gaze flits to mine and I can see that he is thinking; calculating all the possible outcomes. I can picture the gears within his head turning; pieces flitting about, begging to be put into its correct place in order to reveal a logical enough answer. Earlier he was so confident in his decision, yet now he seems to be second guessing himself - unsure and wavering. It isn't reassuring in the least.
I lean back, distancing myself from his touch as he mulls over what it is that he wants to do.
"Don, you don't have to do this," I whisper softly, holding back a racking cough. The sickness has progressively been growing worse and there seems to be no cure. Illness is no stranger to any one of us, yet I can tell that both Splinter and Don are growing worried. So I am not surprised once Don approaches me with an idea; a possible solution that he is spending his free nights searching for. What does surprise me is the solution he has found.
"You're hurting," he snaps back. I frown at his tone and continue to lean away from him. His ever perceptive gaze catches this and he stops me with a single touch to the arm. His gaze softens as he presses his forehead against mine, his breath washing over my face. My gaze seeks out his own and I can see my pain reflected in his eyes.
"You're hurting and it's hurting me to see you like this Leo. I can practically feel the pain and the pressure," he elaborates. His fingers idly trace the back of my neck as he continues.
"I want to help you, but I don't want to hurt you even more. I've made all the calculations and there's -" his eyes focus on my Ore for the umpteenth time, "sixty-five percent chance for survival."
Slowly I find his free hand and squeeze it gently.
"It will be fine Don. I promise," I offer him a small smile as I draw away. He takes a deep breath and gives a nod in affirmation. I brace myself for what will happen next; my eyes shutting in acceptance.
"I'm sorry..." A soft whisper reaches my ears before olive fingers kiss the surface of my Ore.
Lethargically opening my eyes, a low groan escapes from deep within. Colors skim before my eyes in an inconceivable mixture of purple, orange, red and green as I fight to return to consciousness; a haze of memory trying to override my sense of reality.
"... slowly coming around," a familiar voice murmurs lowly.
"Donnie?," I croak out.
"Yeah, it's me. Just..." he releases a breath of concern, "just keep still Leo, it's alright."
"Alright? Alright?! Ya know damn well it ain't jus' alright. Move outta the way so I can beat his ass," Raph bellows out in a fit of rage.
"Please calm down Raphael," Don intones, "the memory flow may be interrupted if you decide to bust your own arse in a fit of anger."
"Yeah dude, relax. It was only just a game," Mike remarks.
"Was I talking to you? No. So shut the fuck up shell-head," Raph snaps in irritation, his booming voice making my headache all the more unbearable. It's as if a bomb has gone off in my head and I can barely think straight. My body feels heavy and my chest throbs with a dull ache; the feeling amplified in the hollow of my neck. Slowly I draw my arms beneath me and pull myself up into a sitting position.
"Don? What the hell happ-"
In the next instant I find myself being shoved up against the wall. A pair of thick fingers dig deep into my neck with increasing pressure; threatening to leave a ring of dark bruises. I draw in ragged breaths as I focus on the angry face before me - Raphael. His golden eyes are smoldering with an intense fire that highlights the red color of his mask and his anger.
Raph is truly terrifying when he wants to be, and anyone else would be having a downright heart attack right about now. But I know better. I have seen him at the end of his rope and right now I know that he is still in control. All he wants is to see me squirm, to make me feel out of sorts, yet I won't give him the satisfaction. He's fishing for a fight; a fight with me. But I refuse to take the bait.
Donnie has spent months working on the project - aka The Wreckroom; trying to perfect it into the most complex piece of machinery he has ever procured. Which is an understatement, since our residential genius has created a way for us to enter a world made out of nothing but our own thoughts.
Mikey sees it as the most advanced video game he's ever had. I tend to view it as an escape from reality and a perfect way to conduct training sessions.
There are four large cubicles placed directly in the midst of the room. Wires and pipes of all kinds line the walls and ceiling; giving off a muted neon blue and purple glow. Heart monitors and recent scans of our brainwave activity light up the screens, and right now my readings are going haywire.
"Shit Leo, I should shove your head up your own ass and toss you into the P.I.T.," Raph growls out menacingly. My beak wrinkles in disgust as the stench of cheap alcohol wafts up to my nose.
"Seriously Raph? Drinking with Case again." Now I understand why Raph has been on such a short fuse lately. He always tends to get pissy when intoxicated.
Despite my initial directive to remain indifferent, I can't help but feel angered as well. I'm angry at him for making things harder than they need to be. I am angry because of his repelling mood and his obvious disregard for my orders. The frustration continues to build at an exponential rate and for the first time in my life I feel like I am going to lose it. I bare my teeth and glare back at him in return. The ghost of my hunger is feeding off of the hostility brewing between us and if I'm not careful - all hell can break loose.
"If you want to fight... so badly Raph... why... don't you let go of me? Or... are you too... scared?" I gasp out in strangled breaths.
Immediately his eyes narrow dangerously, and I can see the fierce want swimming in the depth of his pupils. His fingers tighten about the flesh of my neck, and his breaths quicken in anticipation.
"Is th't so Fearless?" his voice rumbles deeply; faint puffs of his breath curling about my cheek, "maybe I'm jus' doin' ya a favor, or maybe I enjoy seein' ya so helpless for once."
A surge of pure white anger rises in me at that, and in retaliation I bring my right arm around in a high arch; slamming my elbow in the crook of his arm.
Instinctively I wedge my knee between us and slam the heel of my foot against his plastron. Almost instantaneously his fingers lose their hold on me, and I am able to draw in a jagged breath. Pushing against the wall, I stagger to a stand; posture erect, and muscles tense.
Raph rubs his plastron subconsciously as he flashes his teeth at me in a mixture of excitement and challenge. A primal instinct urges me to react, to show this underling who is boss. Growling deep within my throat, I prepare to lunge.
Suddenly a blur of purple materializes before me and I pause. His scent hits me before anything else and I take a moment to fully register the olive colored hand extended in my direction.
"Knock it off or else I'll be forced to place both of you in the P.I.T." Don's sharp voice lashes through the air; leaving no room for argument and snapping me out of my rage induced state. Raph's grimace mirrors my own as we both register the implications of Don's threat. There is never any love lost for the P.I.T.; another one of Don's projects that tends to have no real positive admiration from the four of us.
Donnie is addressing either of us, but his eyes are solely fixed on me. He's silently pleading for me to end this; for me to reinforce his sentiment and back up his peacemaking ways. Don is never one for violence, yet he acknowledges the necessity for force once in a blue moon.
Glancing at Raph, I come to find him coiled tight - muscles bulging, breath shortening, eyes blazing. He's a bullet ready to be fired and I'm the one holding the trigger. Taking a step back I clear my mind, relax my posture, and draw in a steady breath; re-garnering that control I am so famous for and snuffing out my anger. Unconsciously Raphael follows suite. The fight that could so easily be found in him a moment before slowly dissipates. Don and I are close. Closer than anyone in both mind and spirit. Yet there is no denying that Raph and I seem to be wired together in an unidentifiable way of emotions and physical actions; our own form of communication.
I can recall a time when we'd silently interact through our movements in a friendly spar. Hits, grunts, sighs and a flash of a smile had the ability to tell a whole story; to relay emotions and reassurances. Unassuming onlookers viewed our fights as mere training; our way of life. When in reality those spars were a verbal dance of words and side conversations. But times have changed and what was once special has now been corrupted by an unseen force. Now our fights are full of aggressive behavior, and insecure thoughts. Once a sucker punch to the shoulder meant "Hey bro, sup?" Now it screams "Get outta my face or I'm gonna rearrange yours."
I release a sigh through my nose and rub the bridge of my beak to ease the mounting headache. I need to recenter myself and refocus. This family is turning upside down and I feel as if I am following suit. Shit, I really do gotta get out of here before things get worse.
"Look guys," I cross my arms over my chest and roll my neck; satisfied to feel my control back in place,"we are not a proper unit out there. You've just witnessed how disorganized we are and how easily we were all taken out." There is no accusation or hidden hostility, just mere observation coloring my voice.
"Yeah, well, maybe if you'd told us that we were headin' inta a level seven shit yard then things would'a been different," Raph throws in with his usual arrogant snarl.
I shake my head and shift my weight; thinking. Slowly I try and explain. If only Rahpael could just take a step back and take a breath, to think and process. Then things would be so much easier.
"That's the point Raph. We can't expect for everything to play out perfectly. In a real world situation, even a well thought out plan can fall apart in a second. We have to be prepared for anything and everything; to be able to overcome a mission gone bad or a variable overlooked. Honestly, I don't feel like we are ready for that," for a moment I am met with mere silence. Then Raph shakes his head and breathes out a sigh of harsh chuckles. Gritting his teeth, he gazes at me evenly.
"I get whatcha sayin' Fearless. Despite misguided belief I can read in between the lines just fine older brother," he crosses his arms over his plastron and cocks his head to the left before taking small menacing steps toward me.
"I ain't behaving well enough for you right? You want me to fall in'ta line like a good solja boy; followin' orders like it's all dandy and shit. Well let me tell you this," he extends a hand and roughly pokes me in the chest.
"I ain't no solja Leo and it's about fucking time that you figure that out. I'ma Ninja, and I can damn well do what'eva I want."
"You're damn right you're a ninja. I'm just waiting for you to act like one," I bite out with a sharp hiss.
"What the hell did you just say?" Raph roars out, "How dare you! You little fucking bi-"
"That's enough Raphael. Training session is over," Don cuts in. I give him a questioning look; surprised at this intervention. Donatello rarely gets in between one of our fights. Normally he just observes or lets us have our space.
"Is that so Brainiac?" Raph grumbles snidely, "who says that I have'ta listen to you?" he finishes with an icy glare and I take that as my cue to step in.
"I say so," my voice is firm and hopefully Raph knows better than to argue with me on this. Especially when Don or Mike become involved. Raphael's expression is a mixture of anger, and frustration. For a moment I think that he's not going to let this go, but at the last second he whips himself around with a huff and stalks away with pronounced footsteps.
"Ain't he just a ray of sunshine?" Mike pipes up with sarcastic mirth. I can't help but frown in thought.
"No, that's you Mike," he turns to me with a questioning look. On impulse I extend a finger and lightly bop him on the beak. A cheeky grin breaks out across his face and it feels good to see him smiling. I jerk my chin in the general direction Raph has just walked off.
"It'd be best if you talked with him, get him to cool down before he breaks something. You have a way of knocking some sense into that thick skull of his," Mike gives me a smirk filled with hidden meaning, but before I can question him he's already out the door.
I apologize for any mistakes. This is the first time I am attempting a story such as this, let alone dealing with this fandom. Reviews are welcomed as always, and well... you should know by now how I feel about flaming. Thanks for reading!
