There was a time, a precious few days ago, when I never would have watched Raphael for something as mundane as a movement. It seems like forever ago that I would have relished the silence, the stillness, and be foolish enough to think it peaceful. There was nothing peaceful about Raphael now. His stillness hinted of death, and he looked serene as a breathing corpse.
And, now, here I was, clinging to my brother's hand, wavering between frail hope and irrational desperation for a sign, however minute, that my brother was still there. I don't know how long I stared stupidly at my hands. How was it possible that my hands, that so elegantly welded a katana as if it were an extension of my own flesh, could cause Raphael so much pain? He had taken blows that would normally kill a human without so much as a grunt of acknowledgement. He had survived injuries with a sickening ease, fueled on by his perverse pride. Each wound he had suffered reduced all of us to unseen tears on more than one occasion. Raphael flaunted the scars across his battered shell as if they were badges of honor, paid for by our anguish. The regularity of breath being the one indication that he was still with us, and that he might return. Mikey had grown restless, and I had heard his footsteps over the floorboards above my head. I had excused myself to prepare a quick lunch of a sandwich, and a small respite from the weight of wondering if Raphael was going to live. That was what tortured us all. Were Raphael-God forbid- to succumb to his injuries, his death would be hell for us to endure, but at least we would have the solace of knowing he was no longer suffering. There would be the certainty of an ending, however cruel. I had left those horrific thoughts at the door way, when I had entered into the room to begin the long, and countless hours of watching Raphael.
I was ready to take my usual place, with my back to the bright arching window, a few feet from where Raphael still lay cocooned in his pallet. The silence in the room, until then, had only been broken by the strains of birdsong, or the branches scraping against the window. Raphael's sound was as loud and unexpected as an explosion in the usual stillness. When I heard the shrill, lost, barely heard whine of pain, I flew to Raphael's side, fearful of what was happening.
When Raphael opened his eyes, and stared blankly at the ceiling, I stared down at him, in disbelief. When his eyes brightened and slid to mine, with his brow furrowing, I dropped to my knees beside him, hope and fear warring in my gut. I tried to keep my voice to a soft whisper, but couldn't help it.
"Raph! You're awake!" The words trailed after me as I fell to my knees, and stared in joyous disbelief at my brother's burgeoning awareness. He squinted at the sepia light, eyes fluttering shut, and then flickering up to me.
Raph's eyes widened with recognition, the turbulent storms of his dark eyes finally quelled into something less than fear. His eyes shimmered with some emotion I could not name, as I dropped to my knees, inches from his face. I watched as his lips twisted in his teeth, grimacing with the effort to understand what all had happened. And then, he looked at me, and curled his mouth into what looked like a smile.
What happened next was both stupid, and gut-wrenching. It was my blind, foolish ecstasy of finally seeing Raphael returning, or maybe my ever incessant need to do something. I had already untangled the blankets that were shackling his limbs. I had only intended to move him from what looked like his uncomfortable sprawl when I lay my hand across the bruised ribs. I was always so careful, and yet that one careless gesture could cause so much unintended wounding. I don't know if I somehow jostled Raphael, or if his injuries were simply aggravated far more because of their severity. All I know was that I had somehow hurt my brother.
It was such a small sliver of sound, only a rasped whimper, as Raphael's face contorted with the helpless agony. I felt the flinch as he tried, instinctively, to writhe away from me. I saw his eyes slam shut, with the bright, searing tear leaking down the swollen cheek. And, most hellish of all, his hand weakly attempting to shove mine away. At that moment, I honestly didn't know which brother was suffering more. I think a dagger through my gut would have been less excruciating.
"God….Raphael, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!" The truth was so brittle in the words. I never, ever meant to hurt Raphael, and it seems like that was all I was capable of doing. I heard the grinding scrape of breath that almost sounded like a plea. He repeated the sound until I scooted close enough to feel his breath.
"Raph?" I heard him sigh, before his face crumbled. From his slouch on his side, and his face being propped up in the pillow, it was extremely difficult for him to move anything. Gritting his teeth, I heard the sharp grunt, as he rolled his head in negation. His hand was trembling from the effort it took for him to lift it out of the sheets. His hand fell, heavy as a rock, over mine, and I felt his fingers twitching in the effort to tighten the grip.
His dark eyes slid to mine in absolution, searing in their forgiveness, as they flickered to his bruises and back to me. He shook his head once more, his eyes sliding nearly shut, and fluttering in the attempt to stay awake. As gently as I could, I lay the quilt over him, and resumed my crouch by his face. Squinting, he followed my movements, and did not tense when I put my hand on his uninjured shoulder. He sighed again, but didn't pull away.
"I know that you're tired, Raph, and you need the rest to keep fighting. Go ahead and sleep. It's alright."
His eyes were nearly closed, but he managed to give me one more hazy-eyed gaze, with a lip curled into the first real smile.
"It's alright, Raph. I know you're coming back to us." I felt his nod underneath my hand, before his breath deepened, and his eyes slid shut and did not open. I felt his entire frame, a few moments ago, rigid with agony, go slack with sleep.